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Updated 04/15/10
An excerpt from JOBJUMPER
(394 pages)
By Phil Irwin
(AKA The Whiskey Rebel)
Second edition is revised and expanded. 50 + more pages!!
$15 + shipping
$3 media or $5 priority shipping in the US & Canada
$7 shipping world
Jobjumper reviews at bottom of this page.
If you work in the food service industry you are considered to be at the very bottom of your profession if you work at McDonalds. They are known for hiring the most unskilled nidwad's all over America. Working there means you are either just "starting out" as an unskilled desperate teenager, or that you are a failure..a retard. A LOSER.
And if McDonald's won't hire you..son, you've got a real problem. You'd better hope the Army takes you..or that you can go to work for a relative.
In the world of retail sales the equivalent of working for McDonalds is everybody's favorite trashy home-electronics outlet...RADIO SHACK.
If you find yourself working at RADIO SHACK, you can be assured you are at the bottom of the fucking barrel in the retail world. You'd make more money and have greater opportunities for advancement by bagging groceries or setting up displays of .69 cent pantyhose at Woolworth's. Radio Shack pays minimum wage to its employees on a PERMANENT BASIS!! I was the leading salesman from 7 western states for two months in a row and never received a raise..SO MUCH FOR THE BROMIDES ABOUT HARD WORK LEADING TO GREAT THINGS!
True, they did pay a 6% commision to anyone lucky enough to meet a quota that was regularly and intentionally set too high for the huge majority of employee's to ever meet. Every year they showed what cold hearted bastards they were by actually CUTTING the commission rate during the XMAS holidays to 3% knowing that sales would be up and they might have to actually fork over a few extra bucks to their employee's....the same "trained" (HAH!) employee's that "make it all happen" according to their bullshit TV commercials.
You may ask, how can they staff literally thousands of fucking stores in all 50 states if they're so fucking cheap....wouldn't they eventually run out of desperate job seekers and science club nerds???
Of course not. Even the tiniest hamlet in America has scores of pencil neck geeks for them to choose from. Of course it takes a good while for their valued new hire's to catch on to the fact that the quota's are intentionally set too high...and they have other tempting carrots to dangle..such as the corporate TANDY MANAGER TRAINING PROGRAM.
Give a hush puppy wearing greasy haired loser an outside shot at managing a store, and he'll stick around for years!
Of course, since store managers are sworn to secrecy about their own pitifull pay rates, it'll take years for some poor slob who's picturing himself for the first time in his life as "the boss" to figure out the ugly truth that the SHACK pays its managers about .30 cents more per hour than the ordinary clerks and trainees. Of course, Tandy covers the additional wage expense by requiring managers to work lot's of overtime without pay.
Radio Shack isn't the only retailer by a long shot to seduce desperate suckers into working for peanuts using dirty tricks like this. A buddy of mine was duped into working for a big national rent-to-own outfit in a similar way. As long as these outfits don't actually do anything illegal, what's to stop them???
Of course I had to be awfully low on confidence and self esteem to take a job with Radio Shack in the first place. I actually knew better having experienced "National educators" cultlike manipulations and double talk.
I answered Radio Shack's add in the newspaper at a time when I was so beaten down that I spent entire days in bed with the blankets pulled up over my head. I dreaded being face to face with another gung-ho business suit wearing go-getter. I knew that I didn't stand a chance of saying the right things to get a REAL job at this point in my life.
Yes, I felt suicidal wasting away in bed during job hunting hours. Not only was my self confidence shot to hell, I also had little confidence that any smug "suit" was going to tell me the truth about a job after having been Georgia'd time and time again.
I needed to take an easy to get loser job to get my confidence back. I moped my way into the Radio Shack office in Washington Square mall when it was time for my interview. I could tell that the manager..Jeremy Bishop..was not too impressed by my beaten down, spacey demeanor. I couldn't even force a phoney smile onto my face..my handshake must have as limp as Grandpa's erection. But, Jeremy hired me anyway..probably because my credentials as a saleperson where more or less proven on paper. If you can make it selling shit door to door, you can deal with the walk-in customers at a mall without thinking..for a while at least. That's precisely the kind of job I needed to clear my mind of the raping's it had received on the job at better paying gis.
Of course my wife Marla and I were so hard up for cash that I felt it neccessary to go for a fullfledged "manager trainee" position. Doesn't it stand to reason that I should earn more with a lofty title??
Of course at the SHACK, a manager trainee's only additional compensation is his proud title. The corresponding additional duties were many of course... Such as dealing with flint headed problem customers that the part-timers couldn't deal with..and hours and hours spent setting up car stereo displays that never fucntioned correctly even half the time while the part timer's rang up all the easy sales or stood around bullshitting.
My co-workers in the store were an unimpressive lot. There was Chuck..a manager trainee who would be eligable for his own store soon. He was a fat pig that looked like the paranoid rent-a-cop in a couple of the "ERNEST" movies. I hoped that wherever he was eventually assigned to go that they had plenty of tic-tac's. His breath reeked!! There were a couple part time college kids working nights. One was a guy named Greg..a big dumb blondhaired jock type who looked like he'd fit in better at a sports shoe store..and there was leslie..a large breasted bimbo who I'm sure inspired many an awkward erection amongst the ham radio enthusiasts that shopped at our store. Unfortunately, Leslie couldn't learn to run the cash register..hell, she could barely figure out how to punch in and out at the time clock. Jeremy hated to, but eventually he had to let her and her big breasts go.
The other employee..Rick..was a part timer who helped out a few mornings every week before his bartending job at the seafood restaurant at the other end of the mall.
Jeremy and Rick impressed the hell out of me in one way, and I'm not talking about suggestion sales skills or battery club card memberships issued. They were both he-men drinkers who took me under their wings and led me to my full maturity as an alcoholic.
I was just starting out as an alcoholic..still in my early twenties. My climb to the next level began on a slow morning my first week on the job. My face and neck felt mysteriously numb. I got to talking to Rick about it. I confessed to him that I had closed down a notorious bar.."Charlie Brown's" the night before.
Rick's serious look turned into a broad grin. He clapped me hard on the shoulder and told me I had nothing to worry about..I was still drunk from the night before..THAT WAS ALL.
When Jeremy reported in at noon Rick told him proudly that I was still drunk and asked if we could take our breaks together so he could buy me a "little shooter" to fix me up. I swear..Jeremy looked me in the eye for the first time with a look of understanding. I soon came to learn that not only did Jeremy close a bar up every night, he'd damn sure open one up in the morning following the rare occasions he didn't.
From that day forward I joined these mighty role models in free and open discussions of our daily alcoholic states. When we closed the store for inventory Jeremy would supply along with #2 pencils and clipboards a half gallon of whiskey and dixie cups.
Every day Jeremy would enjoy happy hour down at the lounge Rick poured at. Woe be unto the customer who got in his face after his daily afternoon trip to the "neptune lounge". Once I had to interrupt his tippling to summon him to deal with a huge fat lady who wanted to return a battery operated car that her brat had caked up with mud and then broken.
The lady had been screaming at me and Greg..demanding the manager. When Jeremy got there he took the batterred, soiled toy in one hand and started laughing...he flashed a wink at Greg and I and thrust the filthy, cheap plastic toy back into the fat ladie's hands. He then pointed his managerial finger towards the door and ordered the bitch out of his store.
She was SHOCKED!! But she left..mumbling under her breath that she's get a lawyer after us. Yeah sure. For a cheap $5.00 piece of shit toy. Jeremy winked at us again and headed back down the mall to the Neptune.
* * * *
One of my duties as a manager trainee was to provide guidance and direction for the part-timers the SHACK hired to fill out the scehdule. My skills were soon put to the test by a six and a half foot tall ex-biker named Mike Dustin that Jeremy hired.
Don't get me wrong...I actually liked Mike.
Really.
He was a great guy, and a welcome change of pace from the dweebs that I was usually stuck working with.
The problem was that Mike put me on the spot repeatedly by selling stolen car stereos and radios out of the cab of his truck to Radio Shack customers. He was a very persuasive guy..he'd usually start out showing potential customers our usual over-priced low quality shit. When it looked like they weren't interested, he'd drop a subtle remark or two about having just the hi-tech, flashy unit that the customer really wanted BY AN EXTRAORDINARY COINCIDENCE out in his truck. He'd wave at me to let me know he was taking a "coffee" break and come back 15 minutes later looking fat and sassy like a man with a big roll in his pocket.
Well, I knew what was going on..hell, he TOLD me what he doing. But I wasn't about to rat on him. Frankly, I'd rather see HIM make the sale than Radio Shack. And, of course i didn't want to risk the wrath of an angry ex-biker who was built like a goddamn Kodiak bear even if I HADN'T approved.
The Mike Dustin's of the world are on my side of the fence; he was an uninhibited S.O.B. who was born to drink, fight and fuck. His natural enemies were the same "suits" I hated so much. I knew I risking my job by turning my back on Mike's private flea market in the parking lot....but really, what was I risking??? It was a minimum wage job. If the mighty SHACK had paid me a decent wage I might have sided with them.
One Sunday afternoon Mike and I were working together. We got a call from the ditrict manager inviting us to a "champagne fountain" (whatever the fuck that was) celebrating the grand opening of a new store a few miles away. Well, Shit. man.
We were both suckers of course for free booze. We decided to pool it over to the new store in Mike's Ford pickup.
We closed up the store at 5:00 and climbed into the truck. When Mike turned the key the stereo automatically switched on booming out ZZ TOP's "TUSH" at a decibal level that fried my eardrums like eggs on a hot August sidewalk. I looked over at Mike grinning over his bushy biker-beard...he probably would have laughed even harder if my ears had actually started bleeding.
The speaker demonstration done with, he turned down the volume so that we could talk about the corporate wimp's we expected to see at the "champagne fountain". We knew the celebrant's would cringe when we walked in the door together. Mike scared the shit out of everybody and I weirded them out with my dyed rockabilly hair and thrift store wardrobe.
To maximize our appreciation for our co-workers misery, we smoked up a couple fat joints of Columbian weed Mike was dealing on the side (probably to customers). We also killed off a couple sixpacks on the way. At some point Mike popped my cassette of the final mix of our first RANCID VAT record. The first song "go to work" featured annoying guitar feedback and even more annoying gargled vocals by Marla.
But, oddly enough Mike got a kick out of it. Up to that point, he had never heard anything weirder than Frank Zappa in his life. I'm sure the heavy smoke and beer helped some. He very solemnly asked if he could become our permanent roadie and soundman. I didn't know what to say. I knew he'd eventually sober up and regret offerring.
I was touched though.
Careful to lock the doors to ward against car stereo thieves, we entered the party. Both district managers..Dick..a Dabney Coleman look-alike and Gordon..a babyfaced John-boy Walton type were personally filling champagne cups at the fountain. We stepped up to bat..Mike giving Dick a good natured punch on the shoulder. Both DM's looked at us warily. I'm sure any fear they had of us was exceeded by their fear of insulting us.
They poured and we drank. AND DRANK, and drank and drank. After a few cups, Mike noticed the classical music bubbling pleasantly in the background. He looked around for the offensive source of "pussy music". Locating the guilty radio receiver, he gleefully twirled the dial to KGON...the local stoner station. Dick and Gordon looked like they were ready to cry as the storefull of 30 or so guests were treated to "Radar love" by Golden Earring...with Mike singing and air-guitaring along.
After an hour or so of steady guzzling, the fountain ran dry. Not wanting to leave without thanking the big bosses, Mike walked to where Dick and Gordon were standing. He grabbed them each by a scrawny suit jacketed arm and delivered one of the finest eulogies to a party I've ever heard.
A battlecry parted his footlong biker beard..."hey man, PEACE, LOVE, DOPE..SEX,DRUGS ROCK AND ROLL AND KGON FUCKING RULES!!!!!
Dick and Gordon cowered in his mighty grasp and stammered out their appreciation that he could find time to attend.
With a mighty belch, Mike let 'em go. We left to get more beer.
A couple weeks later, Jeremy tapped me on the shoulder and led me to a secret conference down at the Neptune. He told me that he had suspected Mike of selling hot car stereo's out the back door of the store and his suspicions had been confirmed by a customer complaint.
He demanded that as a manager trainee it was my responsibility to terminate Mike's employment when we got back to the store.
What could I say?? What could I do?? Mike's goose was cooked. I felt glad that Radio Shack wasn't going to try to prosecute him. But shit...how do you fire a 300 pound giant without pissing him off??? I knew that Jeremy was asking me to do what was actually his job. He was too fucking scared to fire Mike..who could blame him. in a way, it seemed like maybe it WAS a better idea for me to break the news to Mike since we were friendly.
If Jeremy fired Mike, who knows..he might punch Jeremy out and wind up in jail.
When we got back to the store, I asked Mike to come out into the parking lot for a smoke. Outside I stammered and hemmed and hawwed.
Mike knew what was going on. he winked at me and sai "man, that chickenshit won't fire me to my face, will he??"
He was no fool. He had already grabbed his coat on the way out. He clubbed me on the shoulder affectionately.
"Man" he said "now I'll have more time to get fucked up and ball my ol' lady".
Well, at least he wasn't pissed off at me.
We exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch.
We didn't though..and it's my loss.
All those "suits" thought mike was just a big dumb crude jerk. But he proved he could operate in their world...if only for a few months. How long could they have lasted in his??? He knew how to use their fear of him to his advantage. The only way they could handle Mike was to wait for an excuse to fire him.
After a quarter century of working at crappy jobs, He's one of the only ex-coworkers I wish I had stayed in touch with.
* * * * *
The Whiskey Rebel's writings have entertained thousands of readers around the world in the zines Carbon 14 and AMP where his columns appear on a regular basis. Plus he written/published his own zines "Traitor Baitor" and "Drink Around the Clock."
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Jello Biafra: The all time must read for anyone who is sick of their ignoroid boss or just plain hates their job... so that means everyone right?
Ben Hamper (Rivethead): Phil Irwin's Jobjumper should be required text in every high school in America... not to mention every saloon and sanitarium. The world just seems more honest with these words on board. We can only hope for more.
Beth Ramona Allen (San Francisco Bay Guardian): Work, sex drugs, lots of drinking on the job, and a teensy bit of rock and roll- The Whiskey Rebel's off- beat humor makes for one hell of a good read.
Alex Richmond (Philadelphia City Paper): Both smart and smart-assed, this linear narrative spells out hard-won life lessons about working for almost every kind of employer.
Joey Goebel (Torture the Artist): In Jobjumper, The Whiskey Rebel shows us what happens when an intelligent, competent, anti-social man is forced to interact with idiots eight hours a day. His blow-by-blow account of life at work will make you sympathize with the wandering laborer, but you'll also envy him for the wealth of experiences it has obviously brought him.
Iain Levison (A Working Stiff's manifesto): Maniacal! An aggressive in-your face picture in our stalled and uncarring economy. I wished I'd worked with this guy!
V.Vale (Re/Search Newsletter): This proto-situationist 'autobiography' is much more addicting than one might think. There is a kind of dark humor that can be obtained from looking back on atrocious work experiences, including almost freezing to death-literally-on a temp job in Alaska. This book was highly reccomended by Jello Biafra-it is an American saga focusing on the number one problem today: survival, and is finally back in print. The author was in 'Punk' bands too.
Judith Schaechter: Jobjumper is hilarious-and bitter and smart and very, very entertaining- in the best way possible. Phil has suffered though some truly crappy jobs- and suffered all the more because he is never content to unquestioningly survive-but evidently for the higher purpose of some excellent story telling, and scathing commentary on what it means to be a working stiff.
Jeff Clayton (Antiseen) As a professional jobjumper myself, this book proved to be very inspirational and made me feel like I was not alone. It is a big fuck you to crappy jobs and crappy bosses everywhere.
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