MVWD was a volunteer stint I did at a kid’s museum, which offered to let me come in for free whenever I wanted in exchange for helping out one day a week. My first day on the job went pretty well, compared to what was to come. The manager’s daughter was there all day, as I was told she would be every day. She was about four years younger than me, petite, and an absolute demon. Her mother had apparently told her I was allergic to peanuts, so she made an allergy joke I found offensive. I asked her to knock it off, she did so. Until next time.

Firstly, the door was locked when I got there (ten minutes late) so I went around back and got in through the fire escape. My boss and her little demon spawn finally showed up, and I was ordered to go scrub the fishtanks. The devil child tagged along to explain in detail exactly how much I was missing out on, not being able to eat peanut butter. Then I was sent to work the register for a while, with the devil child hot on my tail. She introduced me to customers as “The employee who can’t have nuts, so pity her.”

When I was told to go vacuum inside the maze I thought for sure she wouldn’t follow me. Unfortunately, she knew the maze by heart, got me totally lost in it, and proceeded to quite literally run circles around me, happily chanting “peanut butter” over and over. At the end of my shift I complained to her mother, who promised to have a word with the girl.

On my third day, the demon was home with the baby sitter and I thought maybe I could actually get some work done. My boss asked for some help moving a table; one of the legs collapsed and she was so surprised she dropped her end. The whole thing fell on me and bruised my leg so badly it could still be seen two weeks later. I resigned on the spot.

MVWJ was a volunteer experience. I jumped at a chance to assistant direct a play at a small theater. During my interview, the co-producers went on and on about the benefits of being a co-op theater. That meant that if you wanted to be in a play, you had to pay. And it wasn’t a small fee. It was almost $400. That was a red flag to me, but since I wasn’t acting in it, I overlooked those details. It turns out that W, the main man, didn’t care how good the actors were, he just wanted their money. After the first show, I was asked to become a company member, which meant I didn’t have to pay the co-op fee whenever I acted. I accepted because I wanted more experience on my resume, but I soon learned that the rules attached to becoming a company member made it so it was impossible to act in a show. The theater also went through a major renovation while I was there, and we were all expected to help out because he was too cheap to hire a crew.

One night, I was heading for the theater when I got badly rear-ended. When I called to tell him what happened, he just said, “Let me know when you can get here.” The next day I was in so much pain I had to go to the ER. The doctor told me to rest without any strenuous activity. I was supposed to work the show that evening, so I called W and told him about the doctor’s orders. He gave me a sob story about how hard he was working while sick and tired and told me to get my job covered or else. We had 40 company members on the call sheet. I called every single person and the only ones I could contact were either already working that night or had quit a few days before. By the way, turnover at this place was exceedingly high. I called W to tell him and all I got was a guilt trip. I was on painkillers and hung up the phone crying because I thought I let him down for allowing myself to get into a car accident. I almost drove down there in my drugged out haze but fortunately my sister stopped me.

Finally, I got into a show there. I was handed 10 tickets to sell at $20, and if I didn’t, I still had to pay for them. I only knew four people in the town, and it’s hard playing up a rundown black box theater known for it’s rat infestations. Plus, the week before the show opened, 90% of the cast quit. My final straw was when I caught wind that F, a girl training to be the artistic director suddenly quit. It seemed odd because she was very dedicated to the theater. I heard from another girl in the company that she had been working full-time without pay for three months with the promise that she would start getting paid at the beginning of the fourth month. Guess what? Payday came, he told her he didn’t have the money. Mind you, this is a guy who drove to work in a new Mercedes.

A day later I got a call from W where he left me a long voicemail about how he had to fire her (the girl who told me the story) due to “differences,” and how I shouldn’t talk to anyone else in the company about it. Yeah, right. I called my source, and she told me that he had literally just fired her for confronting him about it. A few days later, I sent an email telling them that I couldn’t work there anymore. I claimed I needed to find a second job to help me with bills, which was partially true, but I really just wanted out. I still haven’t heard much about the theatre, but that’s no surprise.