There’s no tidy arc or grand revelation here. Just true stories from the grind—gritty, absurd, and unexpectedly funny.
If you’ve ever clocked in, burned out, or wondered what the hell you’re doing with your life—this one’s for you.

“A funny, delightful, and incisive tour of working odd jobs.”
—Kirkus
“Wild… Reading this book is a ride.”
—Independent Book Review
“Fast, matter-of-fact, and full of memorable moments.”
—San Francisco Book Review
“Insightful, humorous, and engaging.”
—The US Review of Books

Review

There are memoirs, and then there are wild, gut-punched, whiskey-soaked truth bombs like Job Junky. Rudy Ridolfo’s unconventional chronicle of forty-odd jobs spanning decades reads like Hunter S. Thompson and Charles Bukowski got together to document the gig economy before it had a name.

What begins as a sardonic retort to a dismissive remark, “You were in the movie business,” spirals into a fever-dream confession about the absurdities of surviving while chasing a creative life. From sewage trucks and donut shops to nightclubs, acting gigs, and near-death moments, Ridolfo throws you headfirst into scenes that are messy, hilarious, and heartbreakingly human.

The structure is episodic, like reading journal entries dictated by someone who’s part philosopher, part hustler, and part accidental prophet of the working class. And it works. Because Ridolfo doesn’t just tell us what he did—he shows us how it felt to be discarded, desired, disoriented, and ultimately defiant.

There’s something profoundly liberating about this book’s refusal to be polished. The stories are vulgar and vulnerable in equal measure, peppered with gritty humour and surprising emotional depth. As a writer, I found myself admiring how effortlessly he shifts tone—from bawdy to tender, from surreal to sobering. It’s memoir meets street theatre meets a cigarette break in a film noir.

But what elevates Job Junky is that it’s not just about jobs. It’s about identity. About masculinity. About family wounds and inherited violence. About the price of pursuing art when life keeps shoving reality in your face. It’s not merely a working man’s diary, it’s a manifesto of survival with grace, even in degradation.

That said, the book’s rawness may not suit everyone. Some anecdotes push boundaries, and others may come off as overly indulgent or chaotic. But in Ridolfo’s world, that’s kind of the point—there’s no tidy resolution, only a relentless will to keep moving.

Ultimately, Job Junky is a masterclass in lived experience, told by a man who has nothing left to prove and everything to confess. It’s equal parts tragic and triumphant, and if you’ve ever felt like your “real job” was just a myth you’re still chasing, this book is for you.

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