It seems like a buzzword today is “jobs.” You hear it all the time from political agenda machines. But you also hear it from people who need jobs.

What’s so great about jobs? We all know that Steve Jobs was amazing at his job, but, I’m sure most people look at having a job as a necessary evil. Some even refer to it as a “living.”

I remember Mick, Rocky’s trainer in the movie series, telling Rocky what he thought of him working for a loan shark. Rocky said, “It’s a living,” and Mick replied, “It’s a waste of life.”

Pursuing education to get a better job while having to get some “living” job in the meantime is probably where a large majority of students find themselves. Me being in that population of not having the graces of Big Daddy’s pocket, I’ve gone through my fair share of terrible jobs.

My first job was working for a kid’s play place with those huge inflatable things kids pillage all over with their dirty little faces. Nobody seemed to notice that I wasn’t too committed to the job, but being fresh in the workplace, I did my best. Sometimes my best meant taking a nap in the back.

My boss was 16 years old, same as me. He liked when I made prank phone calls to adult men’s clubs, pretending to be professional stripper looking for work. During the prank call, I told them my audition was electric and consisted of throwing salsa on the crowd, dressed as Whoopi Goldberg from her role in “Sister Act.” I wonder how my life would’ve been different if I gotten that job.

Another time, my coworkers showed me a hole in the wall of the “employees only” area that led to people working out at the Gold’s Gym located next door. We came up with an idea to squirt water at people as they worked out, except we used fountain drinks, such as root beer or Sprite. The innocent muscle heads would look around in bewilderment for the cause of the raining root beer. Even with such freedom, I still was annoyed at having to vacuum every night, finding band aids, and, without fail, one giant sock. I also had to set up for birthday parties, which sometimes happened when our manager would book a local punk or metal band to play. I have to say it was a strange juxtaposition: Seeing mothers and metalheads trying their best to have a good time in proximity.

My youthful age had no sense of discipline, and so I quit the minimum wage job for greater heights.