Testimonies: The worst job I ever had

The worst job I ever had was as a filling stuffer in a mattress factory. I had just come home from wartime Navy service and had several months to wait before the first semester of my freshman college year was to start.

Although I was only 20 years old, I had done pretty well for myself in my three service years. From a raw boot I had worked and studied myself up to first class petty officer, the equivalent of an Army tech sergeant. Aboard ship and on shore stations, I had been an instructor, leader of work details and talker on a gun mount. I thought I was pretty hot stuff when I went looking for a job.

My pride wilted a bit after I went through the dreary search process. The only offers I got were from fast-food joints for pay of about half of what I had earned in the Navy. Actually it was even worse when my free food and living quarters were factored in. After a couple of weeks, I called the office of my high school counselor. I was told by the enthusiastic counselor that he had a great management training job for me.

Now, that sounded like an appropriate opportunity for this ex-sailor who had managed men at sea. I took down the address, put on my Sunday best clothes and went for my interview. I began to have some suspicions when I found the building in the shabbiest part of the city. The sign said it was a mattress factory. What the hell, I thought, they must need some sharp manager trainee to get the place shipshape and quickly be promoted to big boss.

Instead of being taken to the office to learn my management duties, I was shown to the big open space where a bunch of weary-looking guys were stuffing … what else … mattresses. I was shown to a place at one of the tables, and told to … what else … start stuffing. No talk about my obvious path to management, just a gruff two-minute instruction on what to do.

The place was dank, unventilated and painfully hot in the July heat. It smelled awful, mainly because the stuffing was organic, mostly a combination of chicken and duck feathers. The other workers, probably illegal entrants who probably hadn’t bathed since coming across the border jammed into a truck, were listlessly doing the best they could. The polluted air soon caused me to cough and rub my eyes as I assumed my stuffing duties. The work for all of us consisted of stuffing, coughing and crying.

After three hours, we were permitted a half hour lunch break. While the rest of the crew just remained where they were and munched their tacos, I opted to go out into the city to get some fresh air. To this day, I wonder if they’re still looking for me. I never returned from lunch.