For most of us, the first thing done each week is punching in a timecard Monday morning. Next, many of us sit in front of a computer monitor in between four cubicle walls for several hours. We get an hour lunch break, then it’s back to the office until clocking out at 5 p.m. This is work.

But everyone’s definition of work isn’t the same. For some, work can be much more gross, weird or dangerous. Whether it’s shimmying to the top of a wind turbine to do maintenance or scooping up dog poop in neighborhood backyards, the following workers have some of the more unique occupations in the area.

Matt Penkava and Eric Andersen

Occupation: Lead technicians,

Vestas Americas Wind Technology (LeRoy)

Ages: 29 (Penkava) and 25 (Andersen)

Matt Penkava and Eric Andersen don’t work in a skyscraper — there aren’t many of those around in LeRoy, Minn.

But much of what they do revolves around 262-feet tall wind turbines that soar over the flat, rural landscape.

As lead technicians for Vestas Americas Wind Technology, Penkava and Andersen are in charge of 29 other technicians who climb the towers daily, either for routine maintenance or on-the-spot troubleshooting at the 243 turbines located in Grand Meadow and across the border in Iowa.

Penkava and Andersen used to be technicians themselves, but now find themselves in more managerial-type roles. However, the two still do go out on jobs several times per week and keep their climbing skills sharp.

Penkava said an average climb to the top of the tower takes eight to 10 minutes. Andersen, who has worked for Vestas for nearly four years, said his first climb was a bit nerve-wracking, but both he and Penkava said it’s something you get used to.

“Yeah, you have a little bit of nerves the first time,” Penkava said. “But it’s safe. That gives you a lot of peace of mind.”

Safety certainly is stressed before and during climbs. For starters, technicians work in teams of at least two, meaning there’s always someone there if something goes wrong. And while ascending, technicians strap into harnesses, which are connected to a cord that runs from a turbine’s base to its top. If a climber stumbles, a safety latch catches and he or she dangles from the cord.

However, to get to the very pinnacle of the climb — a cramped, cone-tip compartment that resembles a NASA lunar module — technicians do have to leave the cord and actually scale across the outer surface of the tower before sliding into the compartment. But during this daunting walk, technicians secure themselves to different holds along the tower’s surface, sort of like a rock climber going up a mountain.

Life in that compartment is indicative of the working space throughout the turbine. To maximize efficiency, turbines aren’t built with much extra room, meaning workers often have to contort themselves into weird positions simply to tighten a bolt.

But Penkava said aside from that, maintenance work is a pretty standard check of moving parts, fluids and wiring.

“Basically, it works just like you car,” Penkava said.

That is, if your car was perched 80 meters in the sky.

“By looking at it, you have no idea how tall they are,” Andersen said.

Bud Johnson

Occupation: Cemetery manager, Calvary Cemetery (Austin)

Age: 33

Laying people down to rest isn’t as simple as lowering a casket and piling on some dirt.

Bud Johnson knows this first hand.

As cemetery manager at Calvary Cemetery, Johnson is in charge of getting plots ready for burials. Because deaths come unannounced, this means answering calls from funeral homes at odd times and often having to dig quickly.

“I’ve been called on Christmas Eve to hear ‘we’re having a funeral in two days,’” Johnson said. “I dug graves on Easter Sunday, too … Death never has a day off.”

Digging the 3-by-8-by-6 hole isn’t usually Johnson’s biggest challenge. That role is reserved for tricky weather and ground conditions.

In winter and early spring, snow and frost make getting into the earth quite an ordeal. Johnson first must clear away the snow while being careful not to damage any nearby tombstones. Next, to tackle the deep frost, Johnson covers the grave-site-to-be with a metal hood that resembles a barbecue cooker. One million Btu are then fired into the ground for 24 to 36 hours.

When this is done, the ground can be quite soggy and muddy, so Johnson has to be careful when digging not to cave in his hole. He also has to be careful not to upset nearby grave sites, so he carefully plots out his dig before tools hit the ground.

“Knock on wood, we’ve never had anything happen,” Johnson added.

Johnson acknowledges that he has an odd job, but he said it is something he enjoys. He became the manager five years ago after having done some grave site work while in construction before that.

The cemetery manager said the 28-acre cemetery doesn’t give him the creeps as it might to some, but rather exerts a calming influence over him.

“It’s peaceful,” Johnson said. “It’s quiet.”

But there are some hard parts of the job. In addition to the occasionally odd hours, Johnson said some digs have been quite emotional and personal.

“I’ve had to dig graves for family members and people I’ve known all my life,” he said. “Those are the tough ones. But it’s your job. It’s what you signed up to do.”

Ryan Anderson

Occupation: Co-owner, The Doo Crew (Austin)

Age: 36

When looking to create a niche business 10 years ago, Ryan Anderson only had to look down. Then around the yard.

Anderson and his wife started the Doo Crew in 2000 to provide dog waste removal services for local residents. His company has grown steadily in the last decade, and he now has 30 or so regular customers — a number that often swells to 60 in early spring when people “panic” over poo in their yards, Anderson said.

The Austin resident acknowledges that the work is unusual, but he said he’s been around dogs his whole life and doesn’t get grossed out at all.

“I don’t mind the smell,” Anderson said. “I don’t really consider this a dirty job.”

But it should be considered a lucrative job — being such a unique company leaves Anderson with little competition, and he said the part-time gig is “doing well.” Currently, the co-owner knows of no other poo crews in Austin, and he said several have come and gone in Rochester over the years, an area Anderson serves for a slightly higher charge.

The Doo Crew helps its customers as often as once a week, or as infrequently as once a month, depending on what the individual pet owners want. While on-site, Anderson goes about the work in a pretty standard fashion — shovel and bucket. But upon closer inspection, it is clear the man is serious about the job — part of his scooping apparatus has a custom-made arm hold that Anderson said relieves tension during clean-up.

And the end result of the job is unique as well. Instead of throwing the poo away, Anderson brings it to a rural neighbor who uses it as compost for his cattle farm.

The Doo Crew co-owner said he gets ribbed for his work — “I’ve heard them all,” he noted jokingly — but it’s something that he enjoys doing and would like to keep doing down the road.

“I tell people, ‘A crappy day in my job is a good day,’” Anderson said.

Justin Holtan

Occupation: Owner, Cherished Pet Cremation (Hayfield)

Age: 34

Pets are often treated as important members of their respective families, so it’s no surprise that owners often want to do something to remember them when they die.

Enter Justin Holtan.

Holtan took over Cherished Pet Cremation in 2008, five years after a business acquaintance of his and a local funeral director started the business. Holtan’s background is in agriculture insurance, so needless to say, the opportunity was something he never expected to do.

“I would never have dreamed I’d be doing this,” Holtan said.

But he has adapted to the part-time job — Holtan still works in agriculture as well — and said he enjoys what he does.

The tool for his trade is a roughly 22,000-pound, $50,000 oven that Holtan said is actually quite simple to operate. Sometimes multiple animals are cremated at once, if owners don’t care to have the remains back. Other times, Holtan will cremate a single pet and package the ashes — either in a basic tin or, for an added fee, a more decorative urn — for the owner.

And owners have certainly brought in a wide array of pets. Beyond the traditional cats and dogs, Holtan has cremated a mini horse, a parrot, a cockatiel, a silver fox and a five-foot long bearded dragon lizard, among other animals.

He said pets sometimes come directly from the veterinarian’s office, or from an owner just dropping the animal off. But other times, pet owners want to stay for the whole cremation process, which typically lasts about three hours. Holtan said it’s not surprising to see the owners shed a tear or two.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “There is a wide variety of emotions.”

This doesn’t surprise Holtan, an owner of a cat and dog himself. He said pets and owners can become very close, and the process he oversees offers a final send-off.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “I think it’s a very respectful thing to do.”

Business varies, and pet owners call at all hours of the night, but Holtan said on average he cremates one pet per day. Being a volunteer firefighter on the side, Holtan said he personally isn’t grossed out by the gore because he’s used to it. However, he said the smell is something he can’t really get used to, and regularly bleaching the floor and equipment is a must to keep the stench — and the possibility of diseases — down.

But at the end of the day, Holtan said it is rewarding having a job that helps pet owners grieve.

“I really enjoy it,” he said of his work. “It’s kind of one last good-bye.”

Craig Jones

Occupation: Manager of research support services and building coordinator, The Hormel Institute (Austin)

The Hormel Institute is world-renowned for cancer research, with researchers often pushing the boundaries of science using cutting-edge technology.

But even the globe’s most sophisticated computers and devices have their share of problems, which is what makes Craig Jones’ job so important.

Jones is the head tech guy at The Hormel Institute, overseeing a staff of six. Among other duties, he performs maintenance on the Blue Gene/L supercomputer, a roughly six-foot tall box that is the only one of its kind in Minnesota.

Jones, however, has to be multi-faceted. In addition to working on the Blue Gene/L, he often has to fix problems on other high-tech equipment, including an X-ray crystallographer, which allows researchers to conduct molecular modeling and perform drug screening.

Because of the complex tasks these devices are asked to perform, Jones said he keeps busy with high-end maintenance. But it’s not just supercomputers that Jones deals with — he also keeps an eye on devices as simple as hot plates.

“It’s kind of a wide array of things (I work with),” he said. “That’s kind of unique about my job.”

Of course, maintenance isn’t the only thing tech people do. With average citizens getting more and more savvy with computers, the threat of hackers is very real to the institute, Jones said. And because researchers all have their computers set-up for their particular work — rather than in a uniform fashion, as would be the case at an average office building — Jones has to be flexible to a number of different possibilities.

“It’s more difficult,” Jones said, “but more interesting, too.”

Though he’s working alongside top-level researchers, Jones said they get frustrated just like average computer users. But ultimately, they have formed a friendly, symbiotic relationship, and Jones — who has been at the institute since 1976 — said he truly enjoys his work.

“(I like) the diversity of tasks and the diversity of people,” Jones said.

Age: 53