h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

My first summer job was working at the Galway Races (if you're interested, they're the only seen-day racing festival in Ireland, or Britain for that matter). The work only lasts for a week, but the pay is OK and they will hire absolutely anyone (literally. It's seriously no experince requred). Also, since the week stars in the last few days of Juy and ends in the first few days of August, you can write on your CV that you worked from July to August. Don't look at me like that. It's not lying, it's being economical with the truth.

I worked there for two years. The first year I was washing dishes, which was a distinctly nice job - good, fun people to work with, easy-going supervisors, the fact that we could pretty much take breaks whenever we liked...

Here's another bonus: The guests are given complementary plates of biscuits, muffins, and fruit cake. However, on the one day my parents happened to attend (my dad gets two one-day tickets as a perk o working for the health service), they sent their pate back to us. Upon seeing this, a number of other guests did the same, and this tendency even continued for the rest of the week. We also got roped into helping the waitresses clear up during the last couple of days, which netted us even more treats.

The second time, I started working for a coupe of days before the week began, helping to set things up. This mainly entailed sweeping floors and moving heavy objects around - tough, but it wasn't too bad. I made some new friends, an we had great conversations about things like what was in Scooby Snacks (the answer is marijuana).

Then for the festival proper, I worked in one of those places that sells beef and chicken rolls. This was Hell, especially on Ladies' day. And when I say Hell, I don't mean an unpleasant experience. I actually man that if I die with too many sins, Satan will sentence me to work in this capacity for all eternity.

The pace was insane, and we simply couldn't keep up with demand. There weren't enough bread rolls in the entire complex, the beef and chicken was cooked atrociously slowly, and every single chef was like Gordon Ramsay without the creativity in use of the F-word. And, of course, customers got all antsy due to our slow pace. Granted, our service was woeful, but we did the best we could. (Since experiencing the phenomenon of having to deal with customers, it's irked me that when something goes wrong, they always complain to the till monkey as opposed to whosever fault the problem is).

Gah. That was horrible, and I only made minimum wage.