Some jobs are hard. Repairing roads in Georgia in August, for example. Moving other people's furniture. Being the president of the United States.

Jobs that require dealing with caustic chemicals and extreme temperatures, carrying really heavy items or constantly showing my birth certificate—I know that there is value in almost any kind of work, but if my circumstances or choices placed me in these vocations, it'd be a bad fit. Perhaps one of the worst jobs I can think of, though, is the job of Human Sign.

You've seen them out there on the side of the road in brutal August and dreary November. Depending on their level of dedication and professionalism, they're hopping and strutting and waving their "We buy gold!" placards at motorists. They're propped up against their Little Caesar's signs, listening to their iPods and staring at the sky. They're lighting their cigarettes behind their "BodyPlex Fitness $99" advertisements, ducking behind the cardboard to block the wind generated by the constant woosh of cars.

I am not so clueless that I think, "Why would anyone do this job?" Nor am I so heartless that I feel like doing work like this is somehow beneath me or degrading. That's not at all what I'm saying. The people who hold these signs do it because they need the money, and kudos to them for getting out there and doing work that must be uncomfortable and boring. All snark aside, if I needed a job I hope I, like these folks, would have the gumption to get one and go do it. I am simply wondering what it's like to do this kind of work. What's it like to be an animated billboard? What are these sign-holders thinking as they stand there hour after hour, day after day, these living but not-quite-lively parts of the landscape?

Penny, a woman in her 50s whom I found stationed outside of one of two "We Buy Gold" outfits on Atlanta Highway, is delighted to have this job. It's her first day, she tells me, and they gave her the choice of holding a standard-issue "Sell us your gold" sign or a big, sparkly blue flag. She chose the flag because she thought it was pretty, and she is waving it with typical first-day gusto as I approach her. I stand on the side of the busy highway chatting with her, and she's as willing to answer my questions about her work as she is to entice people to part with their old jewelry.

She tells me that she doesn't mind standing for eight hours on the side of the road, waving the flag. She believes it does help bring people into the store, so she doesn't see it as a waste of time. "It's not boring. I listen to music, or talk on the phone," she says. "I like to wave at the people in the cars, and sometimes they wave back."

"You must have a lot of time to think out here," I suggest.

"I tell you what," she replies, "Most of the time what I'm doing out here is praying. I'm singing hymns, or thinking about scripture. This job is a blessing. It's the first one I've had in three years, and I'm so lucky to have it. I believe God has been good to me."

I ask her if she ever gets lonely out here, surrounded by carloads of people on their way somewhere else. Is there anyone to talk to?

"Well, just him," she cocks her thumb at the empty curb on the other side of the parking lot's entrance. "But we mainly just nod at each other. He's the competition."

As she's talking, a lanky man in his 40s walks slowly to the "We buy gold" sign he left propped against a shrub when he went on his 15-minute break. I say goodbye to Penny and approach him. His name is Kenneth, and he's been doing this job since July. He stands on the side of the road from 10 a.m.–6 p.m., unless it's Tuesday or Sunday, which are his days off. He tells me he got the job through a friend, and that he earns enough money to pay the bills.

I ask him why he thinks there's a need for sign holders. Why don't the businesses just, I don't know, put out a sign? "Well, I point," he says. "Signs don't point. And I used to throw my sign up in the air, but then I got this bigger sign so I don't do that anymore. Now I just point at the sign and then at the store. People tell me I'm doing a good job.

"I used to be really scared to stand out here when I first started," he tells me, "Scared of the cars. But now I'm used to it. It's not boring. It's work. I listen to the radio. It's work."

Kenneth tells me that a successful sign holder will be someone who is enthusiastic and willing to brave bad weather. I think of the first sign-holder I met several weeks ago, when I was first researching this article. Carter Kessler definitely has what it takes to go pro holding signs. He was out there on Lexington Highway at 7:15 on a freezing, soggy morning, but this did not dampen his enthusiasm at all. He waved at the cars passing by, and bobbed and twirled his sign in a way that would make Penny and Kenneth proud. I pulled off the road and asked if I could talk to him. He was excited to tell me about his platform and his plans for the future, and was understandably confused when I kept bringing the conversation back around to sign holding.

"I understand that you want to cap civil servants' salaries," I told him, "But what's it like to stand out here holding this sign? What do you think about while you're out here?"

"Well, really? Sometimes I talk to the people in the cars. 'Hello, Mr. Ford Man.' 'Hi there, pretty lady in the van.' Mostly, though, I sing hymns to myself. I'm usually out here, singing hymns."

"Do you really think waving the sign will help you win?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "It shows that I'm hard working and passionate about the issues. And hard working."

"So, you're going to win."

"Absolutely. I'm going to win." [Editor's note: He got 29 percent of the vote.]

Like Penny, Kessler was willing to stand for long hours in bad weather. Like Penny, Kessler sang hymns while he held his sign and had hope that his efforts would be fruitful. And like Penny, Kessler gave his job of sign-holding his all while he did it. Let's hope that whatever he does in the future he feels, like Penny, that God has been good to him.