I was a pizza delivery boy at the Pizza Oven in Canton. I wanted to get fired so bad, I actually wrecked the delivery car, but they wouldn't fire me because I was the only person they had working there.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
The year the bus drivers went on strike in Pittsburgh, I was twenty-three and living on the edge of the city in a neighborhood that was on the verge of becoming a ghetto. I had just been fired from a good job as a cartographer in a design studio where I had worked for about four months.
I am such a do-goody, people-pleasing kid - or I was - I don't think I've ever been fired, not even from an ice cream shop, magician for kids' parties, not even in my early jobs in radio.
Eventually I became involved with somebody, and I was fired.
I left school at 16 and my mother got me a job as a trainee wine taster. But one day I followed some girls into St Martin's art school and saw a voluptuous woman sitting on a stool being sketched. I decided to get myself fired.
I went out there for a thousand a week, and I worked Monday, and I got fired Wednesday. The guy that hired me was out of town Tuesday.
I have had hundreds of people work for me over the years, and I don't think I ever fired anybody.
I got fired when I was a dishwasher at Denny's. That set me back a little bit. You don't realize how important dishwashers are until you do the job.
I was a mechanic at a go-cart place, a deejay at a roller rink, a telemarketer in New York, a grocery bagger.
In L.A., I worked as a bagger at a Ralphs for about two weeks. And I said, 'I just can't do that.' Not that it's a bad job. I would put the bread down and then the cans down on the bread, so I got fired. Or I just left. I'm not really sure which one happened.
My first waitress job was at Johnny Rockets in New Jersey, and then I waited tables at a sports bar.