I feel I need to clarify that 1) My comment was written a bit tongue in cheek. There are bad jobs. Like dead-boring, repetitive jobs that suck out your soul and break your back 2) I’ve worked some of those jobs out of sheer terror of starving to death, quite literally 3) I mostly live inside my head where the entire world is an improv stage and every one of you is either a co-star or an extra in my personal production of Me, The Musical. No, I’m not paying you scale; you pay me for the privilege of working in my production. I’ll give you exposure.
So even really bad jobs for me are fodder for my life story, about 10% of which I have written down, mostly on sticky notes that have fallen off my CRT monitor and out into the trash, but those that survived are in my book Monkey with a loaded typewriter, which is on Amazon and you should buy PLEASE BUY MY BOOK!! Writing it was a bad, soul-sucking job and I need the payout.