Loopy Pro: Create music, your way.
What is Loopy Pro? — Loopy Pro is a powerful, flexible, and intuitive live looper, sampler, clip launcher and DAW for iPhone and iPad. At its core, it allows you to record and layer sounds in real-time to create complex musical arrangements. But it doesn’t stop there—Loopy Pro offers advanced tools to customize your workflow, build dynamic performance setups, and create a seamless connection between instruments, effects, and external gear.
Use it for live looping, sequencing, arranging, mixing, and much more. Whether you're a live performer, a producer, or just experimenting with sound, Loopy Pro helps you take control of your creative process.
Download on the App StoreLoopy Pro is your all-in-one musical toolkit. Try it for free today.
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Teaching. I’ve got some extreme OCD tendencies (it takes me forever to do things most people find simple…it was a years long struggle to be able to finish a music track on my own), and I want to respect the job and don’t want to shortchange the kids, so you add grading papers and meticulous lesson planning to the babysitting part of the day and I was consumed to the point of resentment. One semester was enough.
I’ve been lucky in that I’ve never had a job a hated. But I’ve plenty of jobs where I hated management. Poor management ran me away from 3 of my favorite jobs that I’ve had. Baker, furniture builder, and machine operator.
Hey a fellow OCD’er! It takes me forever just to walk out the door after checking all the outlets and lights are off (except the one we leave on for the cats), all the cabinets are shut, everything’s unplugged. Then once I leave I gotta check that the door is locked. Over and over and over. It’s horrible honestly. Of all the “issues” I have, OCD is the one I’d most like to get rid of. Sadly there’s no cure. Hope you’re well, my friend.
I worked for three days in a factory that makes diecast molds. Getting home from work would consist of getting sulphur pebbles out of my hair, taking a very long shower, and coughing up a bunch of shit that was nearly green. And that was with a respirator on too. A lot of the people on the floor wouldn’t even use the respirator and would smoke cigs while working. Don’t work in places like that if you value your health.
Yikes
Telemarketing when I was in college. I had jobs where I had to clean toilets but telemarketing was the worse. It was the most degrading job.
I used to work for Jane Mansfield back in the 50s as her gofer. She was a sweet, sweet girl but I ad the unenviable task of retrieving Lobsters from her rear end!.....It got so bad I ended up pushing her down the toilit!
I posted a link on the prior page.
My worst music gig, and one of my first ones too.
Got called to play trumpet for a wedding, with 2 other trumpeters. Met them in an empty parking lot early in the morning where we waited for a contact person to meet us and tell us what and where we are to go play the wedding. Waited there an hour over the given time. Started thinking we’d been pranked, but a car and horse trailer showed up. Out popped the groom wearing a glittering robe and mask, and some of his friends. They were foreigners of some kind. They told us we are to play while marching down the road, and the groom will follow behind us on the horse to a temple. We didn't know any of their foreign songs they requested, and they didn't have any music for us. Frustrated with our constant "We don't know that", They finally said, "Play anything!" We wound up playing Sousa marches and Herb Alpert tunes, really,
So we started marching down the road, playing "Tijuana Taxi", leading the horse & masked groom to a wedding. The horse was so close I worried it may step on me. We marched about a mile down a lonely wooded road. They longer we marched, the more I wondered what I got myself into. They started shouting commands in their language, looking at us. I could tell they were not happy with us (neither was the horse). We finally came to a round temple at the end of this road where more people were waiting. The bride was there. They all gathered in a big circle outside the temple, moving around, chanting in some language, and clapping, and exchanging gifts/money. Looked like something out of a movie. They told us again "Play more song!". So we played Herb Alpert again while they chanted. After a loud universal shout, they all went inside the temple. Then some rich looking dude put us in a black car and drove us back to the parking lot. We got out and he just drove off without paying us. We were all like, "What was that?!" I never did get paid, or hear again from the dude who set up the gig. I'm still not sure what nationality those people were. Hope the horse is ok.
At least you got a memorable story out of it!
In terms of money: being an iOS YouTuber. Absolutely zero competition. Would probably make more money gouging out an eye and begging on the streets of Bombay. In terms of grimness, working in a chicken house one summer as a student, where some kind of virus was rampant and where our job was to grab and take out dying chickens, 2 at a time, to be loaded onto a cart. Next port of call was the incinerator, I guess. Maybe a coincidence, but I became a vegetarian shortly after, and was veggie for a few years, before I started eating meat again.
Ugh as if the smell of chicken houses up close wasn’t bad enough. That sounds horrible my friend.
No job is worth dying for. Good call on leaving that place.
I haven't had this experience, but I'm with you on the veggie. My partner and I often prefer meat substitutes, especially when talking about chicken.
Warehouse job packing dog food. Worst of it was the swollen hands, but it kept me pretty active.
I was a temp with the state agency responsible for paying unemployment benefits. The agency had somehow found its way to overpay tens (maybe hundreds) of thousands of beneficiaries, and I was part of a contingent of temporary workers responsible for determining who and how much money should be clawed back from the poor suckers. I was right out of college, and a degree was my only qualification for the job.
In other words, the State had, through its own fuck up, overpaid the dole to a large swath of unemployed population, and my job was to help them identify which broke mofos were on the hook to pay it back. I lasted a few months before the absurdity of it became too much. It was not at all physically demanding, even offered overtime, but it was a special circle of hell, except on the rare occasion when I was able to slip some clearly destitute individual's folder into the wrong stack.
Wow this was wild. Would love to hear the story of how you landed this gig!
Was it an allergy thing or swollen from over use? I’ve had the latter before and it sucks.
Internal medicine physician in a COVID-19 ward in the first weeks of the pandemic…we used literal handkerchiefs as masks.
As a patrol officer, that time phlegm from a hanged suicide’s mouth fell into my own and I reflexively swallowed, as I reached up with my knife to cut him down, whilst his distraught wife and little kids screamed a few feet away sticks in the mind. A lesson learned. Keep your mouth shut when handling corpses.
As a detective specialising first in domestic violence and later child protection, the job also certainly had its moments. That time I had to find a paediatric burns specialist to explain to a jury that there was no way a three month old baby could have ‘fallen’ against a steam iron in such a way as to create the iron shaped full thickness burn on his chest and torso in the manner described by the suspect, his father, that it rather would have taken holding the iron against the struggling baby for at least thirty seconds, sticks in the mind.
But that job was… very satisfying, actually. Bringing a little justice to the bad people.
The worst actual job I did was as a 16 year old Saturday kid in the butchers department of a now defunct supermarket. My duties included cleaning out the freezer room while it was still operating (cue hilarious adult colleagues locking me in and turning off the light to see how long it took me to start banging on the door to be let out) and washing razor sharp knives. The top task though, was dragging out the massive plastic tubs of viscera - slit slimy windpipes with lungs attached, whole animal heads, purplish-grey shit filled coils of intestine etcetera - and feeding this mess by hand into a huge industrial mincing machine, flattening out the resulting chunky slop into large freezer trays where it would then be sawn up into frozen blocks as pet food.
Bits of the mess would spit up from the large pan of the grinder mechanism into my face. If the prune-like gall bladders burst before vanishing into the machine, the room would fill with an incredibly awful stink, and I still remember seeing bloodied sheep’s eyeballs spinning round and squelchily bursting like balls on a nightmare roulette wheel in the big circular pan atop the machine. All for £5 for the day.
Ah, the good old days!
I mean this in the best possible way - your music sounds like your last work experiences haha having blood n guts splashed on one’s face will definitely make you wanna go make some harsh noise dark ambient masterpieces lol
Ahh yes the good ol days 😂 I think minimum wage was $5.15 when I started working. Are you retired now?
Oh yes.
One good thing about cops. They get to retire early. One bad thing about cops - a surprisingly large amount of them don’t make it past five years in the sunny uplands. All that shift work and 3am takeaways exact their toll I guess. I’m into extra time already… 
Lutfisk! Say no more. I lasted two days throwing heavy fish (Common Ling (a cod variant)) bodies from one lye bath to another. You had to wear protective clothing as the baths are corrosive. This was one of my early employments, I was only 15, and I did have other shitty jobs later, but, could always look back and think: "at least it's not..."
I still have it. Work life balance....what is that? No time to music creation (or anything else like having a family or any friends). Pressure, terrible coworkers, at the border to burn out since long time. But there is no escape........
Oh i am an executive for an industrial pipeline construction company.
The work was good maybe 10-15 years ago but all got worse and it will not get better.
Sometimes i dream to just break out of everything. Simple things without responsibility and not so much pressure make you more happy sometimes.....but no money, no good.
Two months on a research trawler in the north atlantic. Catching hundreds of tons of fish only to be weighed, measured, killed and thrown back into the sea. A carnage just to collect data, and the fish not even allowed to be processed and sold. We usually tried to throw the sharks back into the sea first, so that at least they had a chance of survival.
I found it scary to experience myself how emotionally numb you get, when you have to do such a bloody job. I am glad that numbness did not last long after this journey. And that journey happened a long time ago…
But that’s not the end of the story: That crew was frightening. The radio officer hated me - it was the time, when a lot of ship to shore communications was still done in morse code, and as a licensed radio amateur his transmissions were no secret to me.
And then the grand finale: When we came back into port, a welcome committee of police and border force came on board and arrested several crew members that were later tried and sentenced for murder and smuggling.
Some members of the scientific crew weren’t much better: In the evenings boasting about the great time they had during the time of the student protests in the sixties. At daytime treating their own students like shit.
I’m glad I did not do this for a lifetime and not even a year. While I was on this ship I often listened to the Dubliners song “Go to sea no more….” on my little tape recorder.
Golf range Ball collector : whenever the mule came out I became target practice, even when it broke down and I had to get out to manually repair something. Those balls just kept flying (knowing full well they could’ve killed me with a nice temple shot).
A friend of mine is a police officer in the US, and his retirement plans aren’t based on age, but on reaching a certain number of years of service.
However, he does plan on getting part-time work once he retires, but is adamant that it won’t be in law enforcement of any description.
It’s the same in the UK. Most usually, for those who joined when I did, this meant 30 years. (Not anymore.) But along with everyone else in public services, this got butchered and various schemes were introduced to get rid of expensive cops like me. A pincer movement of a spurious fitness test which set the same benchmarks for fleet footed 20 year old patrol officers and people in their fifties who were world class experts on say, the intricacies of international extradition processes, and a gradual chopping away of benefits meant I opted to bail at the earliest possible point, after 25 years, age 55. Been playing in the garden ever since, and hope to do so for a few more years yet before the sun goes down and I get called back into that last narrow, cold house.
At the point I went, the job could literally hire two freshly promoted young sergeants for the salary I was drawing as a crusty old git sergeant. The fitness tests were, deliberately, cynically, getting harder. And if you failed? Well, they could sack you on reduced benefits. The writing, as they say, was very much on the wall.
Three months after I went, I got a begging letter. It seemed in their haste to ditch expensive old farts they’d also lost anyone who knew how to, you know, investigate things. Would I consider coming back as a civvy contractor to, er, ‘line manage’ a team of baby tecs? You know, like those other people used to. What were they called? Oh yes. ‘Sergeants’.
My answer was brief. And anyway, the bell hadn’t rung for the end of playtime yet.
(Warning - some offensive language ahead, but only in context of what was said.)
Playing a regular gig at this one restauraunt from 2013-2015. 3 years of hell. The boss was a complete and utter tosser and a huge bigot - basically Archie Bunker but far worse. For instance, he had "pet names" for everyone, including the Black waitress (I dare not repeat the word here), the bartender (the "blonde slut"), and I was the "idiot savant" due to me having mild Autism.
And even worse is he'd make the customers at the bar laugh by referring to us as these names. One day while on break, he was talking at the bar about how he "gave Jim, the idiot savant over there at the keys, a job, because I felt sorry for him", and I sarcastically said, "Yeah, good thing this miserable (Italian slur) gave an idiot like me a job, or I'd simply sit home and drool on myself." (The boss was Italian.) Funny how he never used the "pet names" ever since that.
I finally quit in 2015. The restaurant has since shuttered down in 2016 last I heard. Gee I wonder why.
That said, compare that to my current residency, and it's a complete 180. My current bosses are possibly two of the nicest human beings. Nice husband and wife team. And with wonderful coworkers.
Bot maybe? Second post with this text in the thread.