Someone (Not Me) Has To Do The Dirty Work

by Hurls · July 4, 2026

Mike Rowe used to host a reality show called Dirty Jobs. The premise was simple: as best as he could, Rowe would assist someone who did the dirtiest, most repulsive, least comfortable jobs. He spent time as a garbage collector, embalmer, portable toilet cleaner, dairy cow midwife, bridge painter, or turkey inseminator. The show ran ten seasons. I have no idea how Rowe completed some of his cringe-worthy tasks.

Here’s an unofficial list of dirty jobs, though I think it misses the mark. Sure, some of these are disgusting, but not the dirtiest job of all? Read on.

My list of jobs is far more common. For a time in high school, I considered being golf pro. To be clear, we’re not talking PGA tour or even the lesser tours. I could have, I think, been a local pro, the guy who gives lessons and is the face of a course. I chose not to because the pay was low and the future seemed pretty limited.

After golf, I seriously contemplated a career as a youth pastor. In fact, that was the plan for a few years. Then I did an internship for a youth pastor at a megachurch in Fullerton, CA. When I peeked behind the curtain, I found a lot of tasks that didn’t match my concept of the job. The hours were long and not always predictable. A youth pastor often hits the road for various camps and holiday events. Pay was low and the shelf life of a youth pastor is short. You don’t find many forty or fifty year old youth pastors.

Teaching offered more perks, better pay and job security, and it was a far more family-friendly career in terms of time off. It wasn’t easy by any means; few jobs are. But it checked the boxes on my list.

Early on, I was conversing with Joanne, my neighbor in Chicago. She discovered where I worked. See, Wheeling HS had a reputation as the “gang school” of the Northwest burbs. “Aren’t you scared? I’ve heard kids there carry weapons. How do you deal with them?”

She wasn’t joking. I suppose, she considered my job a dirty job. I reassured her. No, I’m not scared. No, my students aren’t packing weapons. Every school has its issues. “In fact, I think teaching high school is a lot of fun.” She shook her head in disbelief.

It’s all perspective. Joanne couldn’t imagine doing my job just like there are jobs I can’t imagine doing.

You want to know my ultimate dirty job? My daughter Mindy is a pediatric ER nurse. I cannot do her job. I don’t mean I don’t want to or wouldn’t find fulfillment as an ER nurse. I don’t even mean I’m not smart enough, though I might not be. I mean, there is no way I could perform her duties. I could clean a stable, shear alpacas, or replace light bulbs in a tower. ER nurse–no way, Jose. Let me count the ways. (Don’t worry, there are no HIPAA violations here.)

ER nurses deal with emergencies, people in enough distress to suspend their life because it’s an EMERGENCY. Mentally, they might be frantic, anxious, terrified, angry or all of the above. Physically, there’s something really wrong. The whole situation conjures fears of the worst-case scenario. An ER nurse has to wade through that muck like Andy Dufresne escaping Shawshank on a stormy night.

Then there’s the repulsive, the disgusting, the trinity of yuck. I’m, of course, referring to blood, vomit, and body waste. I can’t stand getting a shot or giving blood. Mr. Squamish, that’s me. And I loathe the smell of vomit, mine or someone else’s. And I’d need a hazmat suit to clean feces and urine. No thankee to all of those. Who do you think cleans those up?

Wait, there’s more! She works in a pediatric ER. She deals with patients from 0-18. That could be a newborn with a cold or a senior in high school on suicide watch and everything in-between. She might see a pre-schooler with appendicitis or a football player who snapped his femur. Mindy and her colleagues work twelve hour shifts. In her case, it’s 7am to 7pm. Every time she goes to work for her twelve hour shift, she opens a new box of chocolates, and I don’t mean that in a good way.

In the worst BOGO ever invented, she deals with minors in all sorts of distress AND a parent. Sometimes, two parents, which makes it a BOGT. There are many times when the parent is worse than the kid. Whiny, complaining, scared, absent and so much more. Or sometimes the mom and dad are duking it out verbally right there in the hospital. Mindy has to keep the peace, assess the patient and home conditions, and cultural influences. She’s a living, breathing Swiss Army knife on the front-line of defense.

Her job is not typically life and death, but she’s dealt with that too. On rare occasions, a patient will die. Or doctors will discover a life-threatening condition that requires far more care than parents thought about when they entered the ER. Remember, we’re talking about minors here. Some patients have little life expectancy, and how sad is that? I have trouble sometimes listening to her stories. She has no magic pill to erase the nightmares she witnesses, so she carries the stories with her.

*What’s harder than being an ER nurse? Being a pregnant ER nurse!*

I won’t even get into how nurses put up with doctors. Let’s just say doctors aren’t known for their humility. ‘Nuff said.

The job has joys and satisfaction, even a few laughs as well. A patient recovers from pneumonia and a mom cries tears of relief. After a few weeks, a premature baby gains enough weight to go home to her family. Some parents just need to be educated on health and wellness, and ER nurses do that too. A mom was freaking out over her son’s bellyache that turned out to be constipation. More veggies, mom.

Back at the nurse’s station, they laugh and commiserate because they’re all members of the same club.

When I was teaching, I sometimes had a hard time putting school away and transitioning to family life. I’d carry the baggage of Debate losses or low AP scores, maybe a class going poorly. My job was child’s play compared to the pediatric ER, and keep in mind, I think very, very highly of teachers.

Happy Fourth of July to all. Whether your job is mundane, stressful, or maybe even dirty, I hope the Fourth provides rest and time with family and friends. But I hope it a little more for those who do the dirty jobs.

Oh, one more thing. For those who like to celebrate Independence Day with explosions, let’s be sure to keep all your appendages intact and avoid an ER visit. Or as we Hurleys are apt to say, DBS (don’t be stupid).

Thanks for reading!

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