What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? Was it harmful, traumatizing, complicated, difficult, or just plain boring? Was it the worst because of your duties, coworkers, supervisor, or culture? Or something else entirely?

I’ve had various jobs — some very rewarding because I was pushed to learn and grow, others difficult because I was alone and lonely, and others just plain forgettable.

I was recently reminded of a door-to-door sales job I had in 1979. I was placed in a small town in Oklahoma that must have had a record number of tornadoes that summer. I shared a one-bedroom motel suite with 3 other college-age women. I was the youngest at 19 and slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. Without a car, I was dropped off in my work area every morning and picked up every night. We sold KJV Bibles, kids’ books, and a 2-volume set of medical dictionaries, and I carried a case with samples everywhere I walked. I spent a lot of time in the back rooms of the Circle K convenience store, waiting out a tornado warning. Ate a lot of Marathon chocolate bars and Dr. Pepper.

I was terrible at sales. Sometimes I tried my “pitch” to get in the door (remember, 1979), and when it didn’t work (because, of course, I didn’t think it would), I just asked for a glass of water. Did I mention I was terrible at sales? There were no cell phones, so I would call my mom on a pay phone every day, praying she’d accept the collect call. She always did.

Now that I’m a mom (and grandmother), I have so much sympathy for what I put my mom through. A thousand miles from her daughter and no way to help beyond being present through a phone line. And she didn’t even want me there in the first place. Both parents expressed concern about this little adventure I was adamant about trying. “What could go wrong? I’ll be with a bunch of other college kids?” “They say I can make a lot of money.”

I didn’t mention that the reason I didn’t have transportation was that my little yellow Vega died somewhere in southern Illinois along the interstate. My first call home was to my dad, who made two 10-hour round trips to retrieve it. The first time, the gas station where I’d left the keys was closed.

I ended up going home before the summer was over. I was “fired” for poor sales, but I wasn’t even sad about it. Home had never looked so good.

I think I measure every other job next to that one.

• Do I have transportation? Yes.
• Do I have visible coworkers (via in-person or on-screen)? Yes.
• Do I have running water, indoor plumbing, and healthy food options? Yes.
• Do I have to sell anything? No.
• Can I take time out to help my kids? Absolutely.

I wish I could tell my mom that she saved my life that summer, just by accepting my collect calls. And my dad, for showing me that love isn’t a word, it’s an action. And by the way, they never said, “We told you so.” At least, not that time.