Walky Walky Walky Buckets Buckets Buckets

So I've decided to tell another Boss From Hell story of my very own. When I was about 15 I got a summer job at a local golf driving range. My job was to walk back and forth along this super long line of tee-off places and pick up the empty buckets. That was the whole job. That was it. My kind of job... or so I thought.

The first alarm bell that went off was during my salary negotiation, The boss (lets call him Dickweed) told me that he was going to pay me $3.00 an hour. Negotiation over. Sucked extra because at the time minimum wage was $3.35 an hour. Dickweed told me how $3.00 was generous of him because some places don't even pay that. Whatever. It was an easy enough job but I remember thinking then... 'Dude, you're ripping me off for .35?' I'm friggin 15 years old!

The first day I worked it was ok but it was super boring. Walky walky walky. Buckets buckets buckets. Bring them back to the shed where I'd get a mini-lecture from Dickweed. Dickweed would say stuff like, 'If you stay here for two years...I'll let you run the cash register.' Or 'If you stay here for four years I might let you drive the jeep' (ballpickerupper-cart jeep thing). Granted driving the ballpickerupper jeep that everyone aims at was a fantasy of mine at the time... but not sure if I was willing to put in the time.

My first shift was like 8-6. At 6 on the dot I'm ready to take off and Dickweed tells me that the 'night guy' called out sick and he wanted to know if I could work till 11. That sucked especially when you're ready to leave. But I did it. The next day I went to work again. I brought a walkman for the walking which made things alot easier boringwise. Except Dickweed didn't like me wearing the walkman and told me to take it off. In case he needed to call me or something he had to make sure I could hear him. Meanwhile unless I was standing right in front of the shed I'd never hear him anyway. Dickweed.

At 6:00 the next day I go to leave and Dickweed tells me that the mysterious 'night guy' called out sick again and he needed me to work till 11:00 again. I said ok. AGAIN. Walky walky walky. Buckets buckets buckets. 15 hours at work. $39. (one hour deducted lunch and one for dinner hour). When I went to leave that night I got zero acknowledgement from Dickweed for my extra efforts.

The next day I called up and quit. I couldn't deal with Dickweed. It was never gonna work out between us. Not paying me minimum wage. No walkman. No niceness. That was that.

In later years when I'd hit golf balls at the range I'd always aim for the jeep pickerupper-cart. And if I ever made contact and heard that good 'clang' it would sound extra sweet...

ok bye!



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