I hate work... now I don't mean I hate the idea of work. I believe in working. The idea of working for what you need and want is a good concept. Productivity is good. I'm a pretty hard worker once I put my mind to it. Working for credit, working for a grade, working to help somebody else, working in order to gain knowledge... all good things that I love. Working for money... this is where I find my problem. Working for money is a necessary thing. I understand this. And the idea of a job that I love is appealing to me. It's not that I want to be a slacker. I just hate work. I've been thinking. Why is this? Where does this huge aversion to work come from? It goes back to my first jobs... or every job I've ever had! Let's start in high school. My dad thought it'd be a great idea if I started to work for a Temp Agency. He said I'd get office jobs where I'd gain "valuable experience". Dad was wrong. Instead I worked in warehouses with dirty men where I focused more on evading sexual harassment than sorting or building whatever it was that I was supposed to be doing. Here is where I learned the fine skills of climbing up on large boxes, building boxes, sorting boxes and hiding in boxes. I hate boxes. I also learned a bit of Spanish... words I never learned in high school Spanish class. Valuable experiences? Yes. But not the ones that Dad was thinking of.

Later, I worked at Costco. I was one of the sample ladies that everybody loves. Except they never let me sample food. Instead I was the irritating lady who tried to trick people into buying colored suntan lotion (in SEATTLE!) and the newest water purification devices. The only perk was that I worked with one of my best friends. He and I would abandon our stations and run around the large store with our walkie talkies and then hide from our supervisor under the table cloth of the booths that actually had food and ate our well-deserved snacks.

Finally, a friend of mine found me a great summer job in-between semesters. He worked for the police department and it wasn't long before I was employed with the Bellevue Police Department... as a decoy. I kid you not. They dressed me up like a cop, put me in a cop car with a cop radio and sent me out... UNARMED!!!!! Picture this... I'm 5'1... not big... our "fake" squad had ONE DAY of training and it went something like this:
Large "fake" officer who had no real training of his own: Now, while you're walking the parks at night alone, you will probably on several occasions be attacked. Now if a guy attacks you like this... then you do this... and if he comes at you like this... then you do this...
Cop-wannabe-boy: What if he's armed?
Large "fake" officer: Stay away from the pointy end.
Cop-wannabe-boy-2: What if it's a gun?
Large "fake" officer: Don't get shot and try to call for a real officer.
Cop-wannabe-boy: Okay.
Large "fake" officer: Okay, and if he comes at you like this then you do this... got it?
Me: Wait. What was that last one?
Large "fake" officer: Oh! Not you, Emily! If anybody ever comes after you at all then you just run like %*$#
Me: Okay...

And so the job went. Night after night walking the parks of the gang-infested city wondering how they'd eventually kill me. And now, I work with a small autistic boy. Small meaning age-wise. He's seven. But if you'll remember, I'm only 5'1 and "small boy" has almost got me beat. Beat in height and beat literally. I go to work every day knowing that somewhere during the course of the day he will kick, hit, scratch or punch me and most likely will throw a desk or some other large object at my head. I just have to wonder in what order it will happen and at what point of the day. See? I hate work. Work equals fear. Is it possible to find a job where physical abuse and emotionally traumatising experiences are absent? Where the pay check is worth the risk? I've gone to college for four years and what do I have to show for it so far? Great reflexes and a few scars.