The job started out with good intentions. Back in August, a friend of mine decided he wanted to go back to college and build up his percussion chops again. He had a full time job working as the shipping/ receiving guy for a violin shop, but he didn't want to quit it outright. I agreed to cover the time at the shop when he was at school. I didn't have a day job at the time and needed some steady money to get through the rest of the year.

I jumped into the job unexpectedly to the owners. I showed up unannounced because my friend said he was going to be out of town on a Monday and told me to show up in his place. The owners were wary of my presence, but I turned on my casual charm. Before I knew it, I was working four days (twenty four hours) a week.

The shipping/receiving room was in the back of the shop, and I spent most of the time alone with boxes. I opened all incoming packages and taped up all outgoing packages. I learned how to tape cardboard boxes quickly and fairly cleanly. I discovered the difference between a 14 1/2 inch viola and 1/2 violin. I packed up violins, violas, cellos and basses. The shop sent out stringed instruments and related paraphernalia all over the country. Some for rentals, some for purchase, and some for approval (people would try them out from their homes).

In the beginning, the job was almost overwhelming. The fall semester was just getting under way, and families were calling in for hundreds of rentals. 30-40 packages went out each day. I spent almost every moment on my feet, taping boxes, packing and unpacking, grumbling when cellos came back (they were the most difficult to pack), dumping Styrofoam peanuts around cases, and keeping the room presentable in case the bosses wanted to show off the facility to someone.

My attitude to life became blue collar. Bust my ass, so I could go home and drink a beer. I dressed in nothing but T-shirts and jeans. I went home with cardboard dust smeared across chest and stomach. My back became a rock. I grew out a beard. I started to root for the punishing, grind 'em out style of the Steelers and Bears in football. The work was honest, draining and simple. Seemed like a good fit for a guy like me, but it was not to be.

After the peak season ended at the end of September, the work slowed down significantly. 30-40 packages dwindled to 10-20, and a lot of dead time existed. As much as I busted my ass when work was to be done, I had no problem hanging out waiting for more packages to come back. Even after prepping the shipping room to its fullest, dozens of hour went by without much to do. This was dangerous for me. If given free time, I can always think of something better to be doing than sitting in a shipping room waiting for a violin to come back to pack.

I was pretty listless by October. I got all of my work done efficiently, and no package was reported damaged that I packed. I did the job well, but it lacked any sort of fulfillment. I made $850 a month after taxes, and that allowed me to float by. Even when a good friend of mine died, I still felt enough duty to go to work, even though I was prone to break down quietly in the back room for the first week after the fact.

At the beginning of Thanksgiving week, I innocently asked the payroll lady if I was getting paid for the holiday since that was a regular day for me to work. She said she would check with the boss, and I went to work unpacking the Fed-ex boxes we had gotten in that morning. Then, the lady boss (it was an upscale Mom and Pop business) came back and began shouting and berating me. She excused me of being lazy, putting my feet up on the desk, and going to sleep on the job (all these things were untrue). She also screamed that if she caught me loafing again that she would kick me out the door. That's the imaginary line I let no employer cross. Never threaten to take my job away, or you can have it back.

My resignation letter came the next day, and I agreed to work to the end of the school semester. I ended up helping my friend for only one semester, but it was better than not at all. My last day was this Thursday, and there was still far too much dead time. Everyone said they would miss me (even the berating boss), and I parted on good terms with the establishment.

Another job come and gone, and all I can really say is that I learned how to pack stringed instruments rather well. Another line on the resume, another life experience, another attempt to be part of the work force, and all I keep thinking is that there has to be something better out there.

Chris Jungle will collect no unemployment.