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| My days working at the Sheraton Hotel/Casino |
While at a seminar last year we had to share something about ourselves that no one else knew about. One of my colleagues submitted the fact that he had had twenty-two jobs all up in his life. Everyone laughed. It does seem excessive but then I began to list in my head the jobs I have had from fifteen years of age up until now and they added up to quite a few.
Casual dress shop assistant (15) – I was eventually sacked for ringing in sick four Saturdays in a row.
Squash Court Attendant (15) - given my marching orders for attending my school swimming carnival instead of work.
Carny or Showy (16) - for five days during show week selling show bags.
Casual health food shop assistant (17) - told to finish up because I turned up with a hickey on my neck.
Dental nurse (18) - never sacked but came very close when I posted the banking envelope in the letterbox by mistake.
Rental car hostess (19) - never sacked but should have been for sleeping on the job, see…this post
Radio Station Sales Executive (22) - only lasted three months due to a lack of sales ability.
Corporate Hotel Sales Executive (22) - very cushy job with no verifiable sales necessary but lousy money.
Agency Babysitter (22) to supplement lousy money from job above - only lasted one night because I kept getting better social offers.
Record Company Sales Representative-(24) only lasted three months due to a lack of sales ability.
Real Estate Agent (24) - lasted one week due to a lack of interest in houses and real estate in general.
Waitress in Mexican restaurant (24)- was friends with the boss who let us all drink on the job. Restaurant closed down.
Printing Sales Representative (25) - only lasted three months due to a lack of sales ability.
Casino Hotel Sales Executive (25-28) – very cushy job and not bad money, overseas trips! Yay!
Private DramaTeacher and Childrens' Theatre Director- (28-40) - Loved working for myself but not very lucrative as I hate taking money from people.
Primary School Teacher (44- present day) – the only job I've ever had where I don’t get bored.
Not the best resume in the world.
The worst job of the lot was the babysitting job.
The agency sent me to a mansion in Double Bay in Sydney with a million dollar view. This suburb is renowned for all the rich folk that live there and the family I was sitting for seemed to fall into that category.
There were three little kids under the age of eight and at the self-serving age of twenty-two, I had no experience with or interest in children. To me this was just an undemanding method of earning extra cash to pay on my overdrawn credit cards. My plan was to tuck the kids in bed early and watch telly for the evening with my feet up.
The matriarch of the house didn’t even acknowledge me as she wafted past to the door in a cloud of Chanel no 5. The distracted father gave me brief instructions about bed times, left me in the kitchen and rushed after his wife.
The matriarch of the house didn’t even acknowledge me as she wafted past to the door in a cloud of Chanel no 5. The distracted father gave me brief instructions about bed times, left me in the kitchen and rushed after his wife.
I wandered upstairs to the bedroom where I found all three kids sitting precariously on top of a lofty cupboard.
“Um…don’t you think you’d better come down from there guys?” I cautioned nervously, “You might fall and hurt yourselves.”
“We’re not coming down. Caspian says you’re a witch.” said the little girl.
“Why do you think I’m a witch, Caspian?” I asked the eldest boy.
“Because you look like one!” He screamed at me. “We want our real babysitter back. We want Mrs Cheeseman. I’m calling the police!”
I eventually talked Ritchie Rich and his siblings down and after about six bedtime stories they went to bed.
Only another three hours before their parents were expected home; time for Melrose Place, I thought cheerily.
Wandering through the dark, spacious and opulent bottom level I soon discovered there were no light switches to be found. That’s weird, I thought. The only light seemed to be in the kitchen and even worse, there didn’t seem to be a television anywhere. What is wrong with rich people, I pondered.
“Um…don’t you think you’d better come down from there guys?” I cautioned nervously, “You might fall and hurt yourselves.”
“We’re not coming down. Caspian says you’re a witch.” said the little girl.
“Why do you think I’m a witch, Caspian?” I asked the eldest boy.
“Because you look like one!” He screamed at me. “We want our real babysitter back. We want Mrs Cheeseman. I’m calling the police!”
I eventually talked Ritchie Rich and his siblings down and after about six bedtime stories they went to bed.
Only another three hours before their parents were expected home; time for Melrose Place, I thought cheerily.
Wandering through the dark, spacious and opulent bottom level I soon discovered there were no light switches to be found. That’s weird, I thought. The only light seemed to be in the kitchen and even worse, there didn’t seem to be a television anywhere. What is wrong with rich people, I pondered.
Are they rich because they don’t pay electricity bills? I scanned the downstairs rooms for a bookcase, magazine rack, anything I could use to while away the next three hours.
Nada, niente, nichts, nani mo, nothing!
So for the next two hours and fifty-five minutes I sat at the kitchen table staring at the wall.
When Mr and Mrs Toffee Nose arrived home, Mummsy impolitely bolted upstairs while Daddykins reluctantly handed over the nineteen dollar babysitting fee.
“I’ve only got a twenty dollar note,” he grumped, “Do you have a dollar coin for change?”
