In the midst of my unemployment, I was employed for one day. Just one.

Aside from doing a few random things here and there for the Gazette, I was hired by a printing company as the plant's proofreader. I like grammar. I like proper spelling. I thought a proofreader position would be absolutely perfect for someone like me.

Oh, but little did I know. My naive, new-to-the-working-world self was a little misled.

I don't like to complain about an honest day's work. An employer pays an employee to do a service and the employee should do the job to the best of their abilities simply because they're being paid an honest wage to do it.

Unless it's not an honest wage! Here. I'll explain.

During my proofreader interview, I was given a test - I had to find as many errors as possible, spelling and otherwise, in several test samples of what I'd be proofreading. It seemed like a grammar error test. Little did I know that proofreading also included the placement of perforations, that the quantity listed was correct, that borders and backgrounds were correct and more tedious details in addition to spelling and grammar (which seemed to come second to the tedious details). Misled #1.

Also during the interview, I found out I'd more than likely get a few hours of overtime. "Around four hours," one of my future managers said. "I don't think the proofreader really gets that many." However, during my first day on the job, I find out from the nice man training me that the company had implemented 24 hours of mandatory overtime for every full-time employee.

Seriously? Why wasn't I told this in the interview? I mean, Jesus. Four hours versus 24? Large discrepancy there, employers. Misled #2.

And to top off the whole bad experience, the building wreaks of iodine in the ink used to print on the paper. For someone prone to migraines like myself, the end of the day couldn't come quickly enough - by lunch, I had a migraine the size of my car due to the constant chemical smell.

But I'll quit complaining.

So I quit. You betchya. Back to unemployment.

But like I told my mother - I'd rather be broke and happy than bankin' and unhappy. Maybe that sounds unappreciative, that I should've stuck with it a little longer, that maybe I would've dug it, but, frankly, I think I have too much ego for it. I'm good at what I do, but it felt wasted there. And I'd just end up with a migraine.

Maybe I'm just a hippy bohemian. I'll get a job someday.