Barcelona.
One needs to be sparing with specific details here to protect the guilty (of which I am one).

Anyway, was basically hired to take half a dozen Irishmen sailing in Barcelona. Unfortunately these chaps weren't very interested in sailing and in 7 days the furthest we went was a mile and a half out of the marina.

So, the rest of the week was spent on the biggest binge of my life. I know this because I saw the sun rise on five consecutive days. I went home at the end of the week a physical and mental wreck, yet was still forced on a night out in London immediately on my return.

Unfortunately my conscience wouldn't allow me to charge my drink (and drug) expenses to them, so ultimately I only just broke even financially...

Oh well.

On second thoughts it was only potentially an easy job. My own hedonism made it remarkably hard...
(Woodlouse say it with flowers. Send her a Triffid, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 12:36, Reply)

it seems easy is being misrepresented here.
for a lot of you, and no disrespect intended, it seems easy translates to 'easy to fuck about without getting caught due to no work/management'
Now, i've had a few along these lines. shit, my b3ta post history will show a while back i was working 12hr night shifts with jack all to do but play pool, watch films and doze, inbetween a hectic masturbation schedule and massive, massive drugs.
Now to me that wasn't easy. it was hard, finding new and inventive ways to fuckarse about. and, inevitably, it was boring and unrewarding, and ruined my social life.
for me, an easy job is what i have now. ok, it might be busy, and there might be monumental amounts of trying to bridge the gap between a good design, and a marketing person with no aesthetic tendencies who wants desperately to get involved in the process as it makes them look like they're actually earning their inflated 50k plus salaries, not just making a few phone calls and having business lunches. but you know what? i fucking love it. i get to do design for print, i get to do web design, all sorts. i even get ferried round england currently, but as of november, europe, large parts of scandinavia and hopefully stateside soon, taking photos, filming, ordering about emotionally fragile model types and offending image-obsessed self conscious fashionistas with my robust approach to humour and eating, and my refusal to ever look vaguely cool or coordinated. i get to make cool videos, work with extreme sports, cover music events, get wasted, and generally enjoy myself. and then, when it's all done, they pay me! fuckin a. now that's easy. oh and i get on with my boss, coworkers, and peripheral people. who wants to fuckin touch me? eh? eh?
yeah you do.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 12:35, 2 replies)

I was working as for a contractor to a government department...
... we were paid to run tests on certain items of 'government kit'.
as this was quite specialised work we tended to only have kit to test about 1 week in 4.
3 weeks would be spent doing the crosswords in all the major newspapers, listening to the radio and discussing current events

I would like to say we worked *really* hard at the times we did have tests to run..... yeah... I *would* like to say that
(essexfriend, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 12:29, Reply)

Arsehole Ranchood (a pearoast)
It's my b3ta birthday, so seems appropriate for my first pearoast...

When I was a poor student, trying to raise money for a lads holiday, my best mate and I had a job at a university putting a sticker on each prospectus.

One of the lecturers was called Ashok Ranchod (if I remember correctly). The printers had spelt his name "Arsehole Ranchood". I don't think Ashok was best pleased.

I guess it was cheaper to pay us to put a sticker with the correct spelling over the typo on every copy than to reprint the lot. There were thousands of the bastards. We had a cracking holiday as a result though.
(Tighthead, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 12:10, Reply)

Sunglasses Salesman in Boots, Manchester
***grumbles***
(rhyswynne - on every social network mullarkey known to man, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 12:08, 1 reply)

Cribbage, lovely cribbage.
Some years ago, my agency sent me to a temporary warehouse set up to handle Christmas overflow for a major super market. It was 30 miles away, and they paid 50p per mile each way.

Every morning was the same: clock on at 0400 to find the load wasn't ready. Play cribbage. When it appeared, usually up 6 hours late, it would be impossible to do as it would put me over my permitted hours. Clock off, go round my MILs, who lived 700 yards away, and help with decorating.

Three months. In all that time, I took out 6 loads. One was a single box of peanuts. In a 40 foot trailer. To Sunderland, a round trip of 360 miles.

The day the warehouse closed the staff were all issued with new uniforms at 0600, and called into the canteen and sacked en masse at 1100 (remember, this is just before Xmas). By the time the site closed at 1300, 1500 gallons of diesel had gone missing and the managers' cars had all been repeatedly keyed.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 11:58, Reply)

However , the hardest job..
Tugjobs were all very good when you're 13, but after seeing Swedish Erotica Vol 3 at a mate's house and the look on a man's face as he was vigourously fellated, it suddenly made my hand seem a little, well, passé. Notwithstanding my lack of dirty-minded girlfriend, or a girlfriend at all in fact, I thought it might be possible to do it myself. It didn't look very far if I bent over, so that night I had a go.

Yeah yeah, I know what you're thinking, but I'd bet a tenner to a turd that there isn't a guy on here who hasn't tried it at some point in their youth.

Anyhoo, that night, I was sitting on my bed and I hunched over and failed to get remotely close enough. So I decided to lie on my back and roll over. I got my legs over my head and touched my toes on the bed. I rolled a little further, and got my knees on the bed behind. I was very close, so close I couldn't focus on it. I grabbed the back of my legs and pulled down to close that last 3cm when something twinged in my back. It felt like someone had jabbed me with a pair of compasses.
I rolled back straight and my neck ached a bit, but it'd put me off and I gave up and went to sleep.

The next day my back ached so much I got my mum to write me a note for PE. "I dunno mum, I must've been laid funny during the night."
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 11:39, 11 replies)

My job was to say No
I worked in an accounts department doing all their IT odd jobs.

Strangely the company's IT department didn't like this so I was transfered to IT.

My job now was that people from accounts would come and ask me to do the same odd jobs I had been previously doing, and my job was to say NO.

I did that for a year.
(spacemonkey, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 11:28, 1 reply)

Easiest job
was with a car-hire company. This involved driving a car somewhere, and then been given a lift back again. Occasionally I had to give the cars a valet, which was pretty much a once-over with a jetwash and a quick hoover in the footwells.

I stuck it out for almost a week, but in this case easy = boredom and for minimum wage, I had to leave for fear of losing my sanity.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 11:26, 1 reply)

Paid to drink
I was once paid to lie on a bed for 8 hours and drink large amounts of gin and tonic. Pretty young researchers chatted to me during this time and occasionally drew blood samples. At the end they gave me a meal to sober me up and put me in a taxi home. Very pleasant.
(Smale is stuffed, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 10:48, 5 replies)

radiology fleshlump
I was lying on a table, bare chested and my jogging pants pulled down dangerously low. The elderly man held a compact cylinder with the tip slightly larger and egg shaped. He dipped two, or three, fingers of his free hand into a pot with clear and oozy stuff. Then he stepped a bit closer to me, and began to spread the slime across my lower abdomen, massaging it in gently, while politely addressing the crowds of what he was going to do with my inner organs. His engaging manner and dry humour on them invading my cavities in public amused us.

After he had deposited the last of it across my hairy, pale paunch with a jolly swipe, he proceeded to fiddle with a bigger device that the gently humming hand held part was linked to. He asked around, which part of my intestine they would like him to penetrate first. My helpless smile at the situation and shabby, hungover mug i carried let some of the people assembled show sympathetic shrugs. One hand firmly pressed against the side of my guts, the taskmaster now pressed the phallic contraption below my navel. My colon inside the pubic bone appeared in ghostly greys, gently swaying like big lazy snakes. Transmitted on several screens, and commented by the man, they took a journey up my wotsits.

He rubbed it downwards slowly, stopping to adjust, pointing out his intents to the audience. At one point, he could exactly describe the bits i had for breakfast and that i was about to fart inside the next hour. Every now and then, he would grab a bit of the slime and spread it on me, until my whole lower abdomen was finally covered. And so they went on for more than an hour, without cease now trying this angle, now another penetration depth. And the audience was invited as well to take part in traversing my guts, to focus on blood vessels and to trace the lines of my bones. Wavering in and out between interest and lack of sleep, i obeyed commands to move and hold breath.

Afterwards i had a massive fart cascade on the stairs outside, then lit my roll-up, smiling. There now were dozens of strangers that had a decent peek and fumble. They possibly went deeper than the great Long Dong Silver, and left this clear liquid drying just above my crotch. Stroking, nudging and circling my soft nether regions with their relentless tool. Money was all right as well. What wouldn't i do..
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 10:41, 5 replies)

Car Parking, by such a long way
Occasionally I work for an event organising company that do all the signage and "traffic management" at big events (car shows, game fairs and the like), which is basically standing in a feild and pointing.

The people who work with you are some of the funniest around and don't give a shit about anything (eg: I was fifteen when I worked for them and they let me drive the van around the event with other people 'van surfing' in the back with the doors open. They asked me back). As long as your line of cars is half-decent then the event manager doesn't really care and you can just listen to music at volumes that society doesn't appreciate and argue with people who don't read signs/do as they're told.

Best. Job. Ever (so far)
(one-winged-angel-616 isn't as depressed as she sounds, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 10:39, Reply)

Counting Gollies.
I was the bloke who counted the Robertson's gollies you lot sent in to get your free badges or whatever.
No I didn't. I just approved every application, enough gollies or not.
I got a bonus for being brilliant and getting through the most applications.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Fri 10 Sep 2010, 10:04, 5 replies)

When nerds get wild
I was paid £150 per hour by dodgy Russian billionaires to do their ‘IT’. As a girl with all the requisite parts – some of them fancy – they’d invite me around to crawl around underneath desks for a bit, maybe bend over. Once, I went swimming. Hardly any work would ever take place; often times, my first hour was spent drinking tea and thwarting the sweaty horny-handedness of the oligarch’s son.

Now, I realise that this was a very misogynistic role and that I, as a vaguely intelligent lady, should have some feminist ideals, but…

Making £3000+ per week having spent the previous months starving – a couple of those nights actually kipping in the open air…yes, I’m pretty sure I’d allow people to look at my arse, as long as nothing went up it. At that point in my life, somebody could have paid me in jellybeans and I’d have shown them my underpants.

P.S. I have a nice job now with nice people and a direct complaints line if somebody looks at my backside with awesome wonderment / disgust / lust.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 10:04, 4 replies)

I got it wrong
As a young shaver I was a temp working for multinational electronics manufacture in the testing department. My job involved pressing a button and putting a tick in a box. It was a dull job and without prospects, and with no qualifications there was no way forward for me. I was loaned to the engineering and development department for 3 months to do some slightly more interesting work, but still testing. When the loan period came to an end the first manger thought I was still on loan – because I just didn’t go back- and the second manger thought I’d gone back to my original job.

I had a room tucked away on the 2nd floor, well away from the managers on the 5th floor, with a couple of high spec computers and various test and measuring equipment. I became a ‘gun for hire’ working on any problems that sounded interesting, and turning down anything boring by claiming I was too busy. Before long the busy excuse was the truth.

Eventually I got found out when a colleague bypassed me and went to my supposed manager to ask for some of my time. I was immediately summoned to a meeting with both managers. After calling me an idiot and raising their eyebrows at the amount of overtime I had claimed, my role as a freelance MacGyver was ended.

The price I paid for this deception was immediately getting a permanent job in product development, being sent to university to do a funded degree, a few years of interesting work, international travel and lifelong career prospects.

Reading these stories you can imagine what an idiot I feel now, I could have sat on my arse, played computer games for 8 months and got paid for it.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Fri 10 Sep 2010, 10:04, 1 reply)

Dole.
Once a month I sign my name on a piece of paper.
In return I get two hundred euros a week, plus my rent and any medical expenses.
Not too bad, but it looks shit on a CV.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 9:54, 5 replies)

Digital Equipment
1992 - The company was winding down soon to be taken over by another MFR. Our job roles (customer services) just weren't needed as we used to work through distributors, so the hardest call you would get was someone looking to buy some hardware at which point you sent them to the distributors. Our days were filled up by smoking, extended lunches and surfing the net with Alta Vista. South Park had just come out so that was my poison of choice. Apart from the fact I had to sit next to a racist Israeli life was good! I ended up losing the job by getting too drunk at a works do at the grand in cheltenham and calling one of the merging directors a cunt....for no reason :\ I don't think I was cut out for the corporate world.
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 9:53, Reply)

Hedge fund
I was meant to be a systems developer. Once hired, for reasons that still escape me, I wasn't assigned any work. For 9 months. Neither was my boss, nor the other developer who'd interviewed me. No one could quite tell me why I'd been hired. My own boss' boss would just tell him to "sit tight. something will come up soon".

An average day went thus:

1. Get in at 8
2. Go to canteen and have free breakfast. Fail to make up mind between hash browns or chips. Go for both.
3. Go and buy newspaper.
4. Sit on toilet with newspaper until purged
5. Sit at desk/read b3ta/make crude jokes/throw things at each other
6. Go to canteen and have free lunch. "Ooooh grilled sea bass, don't mind if I do"
7. Arrange a team meeting. In the pub
8. Come back at 5 pissed to get our stuff
9. Go back to the pub

This eventually got a bit tedious, and although we didn't have any work, we were still expected to be there, and at least look as though we may be doing something... so it got to the point where we'd take it in turns taking days off.

Eventually, I quit as I was becoming a fat boozy bastard, and I'd almost forgotten how to do my job (and eventually doing nothing all day isn't as great as it sounds).
( rofl harris, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 9:49, 1 reply)

for a while I had a temp job at Feltham Young Offenders
I was what is called an Operational Support Grade. The prison was having an IT upgrade and my job was to escort a load of network cable installation guys around the prison - I was basically a walking set of keys.

So in the morning I met with the contractors, we went through the security checks, I escorted them to the relevant wing/corridor/service area/office or whatever, then sat there. Nothing to do until they'd finish then a 2 minute check that they had all their tools and had tidied everything up, and back out we went.

Apology for lack of funnies, but 8 years on my brain is still numb from the phenomenal dullness that having absolutely nothing to do all day, every day represents.
(OP, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 9:49, Reply)

CSP
I currently am working at the HQ of a building company,
I'm based on the IT support help desk, dealing with users and there pain staking simpal questions.

Job roll:
Answer the phone,
Tell the user there wrong
log the call
take the piss out of em with my other colleges.

job done.
(seejay2010, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 9:20, 10 replies)

Seeing these tales of being paid to sit on one's arse and press buttons...
All I can think is "I could write some software to automate that process".

Moral? Don't piss us techies off, we'll make you redundant.
(Flap Burger hasn't really got a burger made of flaps, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 7:52, 1 reply)

The irony about my easiest job, was the fact that in another way it was also the hardest job.
I spent a good year being paid while doing literally nothing. I sat behind the computer, chatted to friends online, looked at b3ta and read the news. The difficult part of course was pretending to look busy every time the boss walked past. The energy spent looking busy far exceeded the energy i would have used had I actually done the work.
(augsav forgot about B3ta, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 6:29, Reply)

I was once the stuntman for Songs of Praise.

( Haku Orange Whip? Orange Whip? Three Orange Whips., Fri 10 Sep 2010, 6:18, 2 replies)

Photographer's assistant
Spent a week on work experience back in the Eighties with a guy who had a contract with Mira Showers for their latest brochure. One entire, happy day was passed holding a gold Lastolite reflector two feet from a topless Linda Lusardi.
Got a signed photo from her and a fifteen quid bonus from him.
Easy money, and a particularly awesome day for a spotty seventeen year old, I'm sure you'll agree...
(Billy The Fish wants to gargle with Lucy Pinder's bath water, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 5:26, 6 replies)

I watch other people work.
I'm a roadway construction inspector. I usually sit in an air conditioned truck playing on my iPhone listening to music and watching to make sure the guys doing the actual work aren't messing anything up. Occasionally I do have to get out and talk to them for a few minutes or look at something up close but that's as close to "work" as that job gets. I'm not allowed to do any actual work on the job and can be fired for helping them work.

I shouldn't complain at all, but the thing is I don't care much for it. I'd rather be actually working on something. It's lead me to take on an additional night job so I can actually work on things. I actually put in over 60 hours a week at the second job on top of my 40 hours of easy work. I go to my main job to "rest". I guess I'm not very good at being lazy. Lots of people would love to have a job where they did nothing all day, but for me it's like torture.
(emuman cant afford PS so he beats MSPaint into submission, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 5:21, 2 replies)

Jobs I did while temping
You decide which was easiest:

1) De-Stapler Operative
Equipment: 1 pile of delivery notes and invoices stapled together in pairs, 1 staple remover, 2 bins.
Procedure: Pick up delivery note and invoice stapled together, remove staple, drop delivery note in one bin, invoice in other.
Repeat, for two weeks. Man I'm a fkn staple removing demon, seriously. I can also do a passable vampire impression by putting the de stapler in my mouth and going NGAAH NGAHHH! Ok it's crap but you have to work with the material to hand.

2) Ballot Paper Extraction Operative.
Equipment: 1 pile of envelopes containing ballot papers, 2 bins (spooky eh??).
Note: To remove any challenge, the envelopes were already opened by the envelope opening operative (another great job I never experienced!)
Procedure: Pick up envelope, remove ballot paper from envelope, drop envelope in one bin, drop ballot paper in other.
Repeat for two weeks. I'm a ballot paper removing machine, seriously.. Oh and two words... paper cuts!
( simbosan Hello you cunt, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 3:41, 2 replies)

My friend used to run a second-hand bookshop in Southampton.
Sometimes I'd cover for him when he was out.
It was in a 'scary' part of the city people generally avoided, so there were an average of two or three visitors a day. The job involved just opening the shop, reading books and listening to CDs all day, then closing the shop and taking some of the books home with me. Plus ten quid wages, for 8 hours' work.
( Zuowan, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 3:24, Reply)

I really AM paid to look out of the window.
:D
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Fri 10 Sep 2010, 3:03, 5 replies)

working in a student pub
... over the summer.

also falls into 'most boring job' and 'job in which you can complete the most daily mirror crosswords'
(ladyintheradiator, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 2:25, 2 replies)

Watching
a panel show without Jo Brand on it.
(iLLmatic, Fri 10 Sep 2010, 1:08, 4 replies)