Somehow, during a particularly hard period of unemployment and lack of money, after a long and unsuccessful job search, I ended up in a murky office. It was stated that this organization sells commercial and other equipment, but sales experience is not required. Without really explaining anything, I and another applicant were sent on a study tour with two experienced employees. We arrived in some very remote village, experienced employees took out packages with some kind of kitchen junk (sets of knives, graters and something else like that) and went around the courtyards to sell all this. They worked rather clumsy: they announced a promotion with the distribution of branded goods, but one of the goods had to be paid for (usually it was an iron or a mixer). The goods were Chinese and of low quality, from some illiquid warehouse, where they were taken for free. Then it was pretty dumb to walk around the courtyards and watch the whole process.
I have worked in different jobs since the age of 14, i.e. from school. Not to say that these positions are shameful, but I think that they are suitable for people who are only in the process of getting an education. The first was the school labor squad, where we did completely different work: washed windows, repaired chairs, removed old leaves in the garden. Then the position of a waitress in a children's camp. Also not the most pleasant job. They carried dishes and food, cut napkins, bread (by the way, I almost lost a finger on the bread slicer ...), washed fruits and removed from tables (and children love to piggy). Then I was a conductor, also during the summer holidays. Of course, it was not a completely dirty job, but it was necessary to travel until 11 o'clock in the evening, and often not quite adequate drunk men came across ... so this is also not the best job for a young girl. Well, the crown was the position of a nurse in the intensive care unit (as she entered the honey). Naturally, many future doctors go through this ... but what I saw enough there, you can't tell briefly, taking out ships, for example, is the most harmless, and it is better to leave the rest with you)
Typically: a promoter. And on what products I did not stand: vitamins in pharmacies (about which I could not associate a word), vodka (the funniest thing, once a rich customer gave me a competitor's vodka with the words "Here! This is better! Know, and do not advertise shit! "), mosquito repellent and much more.
Now I don't think it's a shame, for the simple reason that I basically worked to provide myself with pocket money and not borrow from my parents. This is commendable, not embarrassing. But during the 1-2 course, it was very inconvenient and unpleasant to meet friends and acquaintances who came to the store and saw me in a ridiculous promo form.
Therefore, I conclude that there is no bad and shameful job in the student body. There is nothing to be ashamed of at work if you have free time and lack of financial resources. Work, get money, buy fancy things, go to cafes with friends and to discos! :)
And in my student years I did not work much and I am more ashamed of it. True, now I plow like a horse, but we are not talking about that. Probably the most, not that shameful, I worked in the security. This work is unrealistically thinning the brain, you sit, watch TV, make rounds and contact the base. This experience discouraged me from any desire to work in a private security company.
This was before entering the university. During the summer holidays, I sometimes worked part-time in a stall (which is now being demolished) with friends on the outskirts of the city. Traded in snacks, cigarettes. But what was remarkable and especially embarrassing: the stall had regular customers from a nearby drug dispensary, so these guys, let's call them that, came for reinforcement and vigor - hawthorn or pepper vodka.
I started my working career during my school years. I was 14 years old and during the holidays I went to sell fried cakes. They were fried in the morning in the kitchen of a local restaurant, I put them in a basket and walked to the kiosk, located on the central square of our town near Moscow. The pies were of two types: most with meat, the rest with cabbage. They cost 8-10 kopecks a piece - it was in the USSR. Usually in 2-3 hours I sold the entire stock. Most of the buyers were men; some of them were trying to get me interested in dating. For some reason, the feeling of greasy eyes remained in my head, the same as the oily surface of my pies. At 14, I was about 170 tall, and quite passed for an adult. And the image of the criminal code did not appear in the greasy eyes.
And now, in detail about the origin of the pies. The restaurant where they were cultivated was absolutely Soviet, with tablecloths covered in flies, dirty walls and oversized waitresses. The cooks were also not from Vogue magazine, therefore, without suffering from anorexia, they sculpted pies at such a speed that some of them flew out from under their round fingers. Having flown the distance set by gravity, they dropped to the floor with chipped tiles, which rebelled against the local sanitary and epidemiological station and washed once a month. On the floor, regardless of external and internal circumstances, cockroaches always moved. By observation, I determined that the trajectory of their movement and the trajectory of the flight of the pies never coincide - this work gave me not only commercial experience, but also advanced in physics. A pie cannot be picked up from the floor until it jumps off its own - this is a sign in the restaurant business. After contact with the floor, the pie ended up in a vat of boiling antique-type oil. But even at this stage, the pies did not find eternal rest. As an oily brown crust formed, they were dragged out of the vat with a huge colander and dumped onto a baking sheet. Not everyone was able to find themselves in a supine state and calmly flow out unabsorbed oil. Particularly zealous elements flew out of the colander and fell on the floor, strewn with the corpses of flies, over which cockroaches bravely stepped over. Be that as it may, every piece of baking ended up in my basket.
By the way, not only did I not bite a single pie in a month of work, but I never even licked its hard tip.
After that summer, I have not gone to cafes or restaurants for three years.
Since then, I know that there are no shameful professions. I realized this, standing for hours at the counter with pies and watching people scurry back and forth.