Here’s a post for a prior class that gives another example (with comments this time) and some general guidelines on what makes a good post.
As promised, here’s a good example of a post. Forget about the content–it’s on Faulkner, after all–but note the approximate length, the semblance of a coherent argument, and the specific reference to the text.
For Tuesday, you are responsible for a post on any aspect of chs 1-18 of MARTIN EDEN. Please have it completed by classtime, though late is of course better than never.
It’s safe to say that my worst job was simultaneously my best job. I’ve been working at my parents restaraunt since I was 15, and although for the longest time it felt like a drag, looking back at it I can see how much the experience has taught me.
My father was strict with his schedules and never allowed my sister and I to get special treatment. We worked the same shifts, and got paid the same amount as everybody else . Although he didn’t treat us any better than the other people, sadly at times he would treat us worse. Being his children he felt it was appropriate to yell at us for any mistake we made, yet he felt it was unprofessional to yell at any of the other waitresses. He also claimed my sister was a distraction to my work, so he would intentionally send her to a different location to work almost as a punishment which made it worse since the time always seemed to drag.
While working there I would look forward to the day my father sold out. and the day came this Thanksgiving where the papers were signed for all four locations, and I couldn’t believe how sad I was. It was ironic since I thought of this day for years, associating it with more happy emotions.
The worst job I ever had was as a busboy in a restaurant in the East Village. My shifts were during brunch every Saturday and Sunday, so I had to be there at 9am. That means I had to wake up at 8. I was in college, so that meant that I either couldn’t go out on the Friday and Saturday nights before, or that I would and show up hungover and sleep-deprived. I had to run food and barback in addition to being a busboy, and still didn’t make much money in tips. I had to deal with managers and customers that I despised. I knew I didn’t want to work there anymore when one “hip” customer shoo-shooed me with his hand because we didn’t have any hot sauce other than Tabasco.
I have never worked in my life so I have neither of these experiences to speak of. But I’m fairly certain that whatever my first job will be, it probably won’t be a very good one. I suppose the only “job” I’ve ever had is writing fictional stories–some my own work, and some inspired by already existing work. Considering this “job” is unpaid, and is always mentally exhausting I think this is probably the worst and only job I’ve ever had. …Even if it isn’t really a job since no one is holding me accountable for all of my unfinished short stories. Despite this notion, I intend to pursue my goal of publishing one or all of my stories and becoming a world renowned author. Perhaps this is a lofty goal, one that seems impossible–as so many have told me–but my aspirations of success transcend mere dreaming.
And I’m babbling cause there’s really nothing better for me to do hahaha.
uhmmmmmmmm dat time when i was workin at da frankfurta spot and i burnt all da dawgs and i got fired