let's be honest-part 1 (1980 through 1997)

THIS IS THE FIRST IN A SERIES OF ME CHRONICLING MY EMPLOYMENT HISTORY

i am not qualified to do most of the things that i do for money.

when i look back on it, it seems that i used to be, but with time and the aspiration to do intersting work i have recently found myself in situations i am ill-prepared for.

so, starting from the beginning, lemme splain:

Job: paperboy, Glen Rock, NJ - time unknown, possibly late eighties
Expected Skills/Knowledge/Training/Attributes: none, but maybe fear or lonliness helps
Actual Qualifications: a bicycle, helpful parents
The Experience: I tire of this quickly, but not before experimentally opening the door of a car in the driveway of a house I am delivering to. I take nothing, but am shamed by my curiosity a little. But not too much. I quit after a very short time because the job is terrible and I am paid, I think, nothing.
Result: I do not work again for many years.

Job: intern at Robert Cole Productions, Inc., New York, NY – summer 1994
Expected Skills/Knowledge/Training/Attributes: successful completion of middle school
Actual Qualifications: graduated the eighth grade (dean’s list)
The Experience: I answer phones, print things, type things, mail things. I also commute.
Result: I gain a respect for my father of a type that I never could have without seeing him in his work. I leave this job to attend High School.

Job: intern at Boneau/Bryan-Brown PR, New York, NY – summers of 1995 and 1996
Expected Skills/Knowledge/Training/Attributes: successful completion of the ninth grade (and then the tenth), the word of my father
Actual Qualifications: both of ‘em (all three)
The Experience: My first immersion in a heavily gay atmosphere. Do phones and copies and put together press kits and mailings. I cover reception when Jamie goes to lunch and one woman tells me that I have a great voice and should be on the radio. I ask her if she knows anyone. She tells me no, she works in television. I rush to drop the mail at 5 everyday and do local messenger duty, which I love (it being summer in Times Square and absolutely chock full of all that humanity has to offer in terms of tourism and capitalism). I am hit by a livery cab while riding my skateboard across 48th street and end up laying on the hood, unhurt. The terrified driver grabs my shirt and shakes the living shit out of me jabbering incoherently and clearly shaken by the momentary thought that he had killed me or whatever. The whole thing is entirely my fault.
Result: I enjoy the office environment, even when the people have their not infrequent disco freak-outs. I become chummy with people twice my age. At the end of each summer I leave to attend High School.

Job: barista at Nova Coffee Shop, Ramsey, NJ – fall 1997
Expected Skills/Knowledge/Training/Attributes: presentable appearance and attitude, the ability to communicate with customers and operate coffee machines, some math
Actual Qualifications: all that, plus no fear of being burnt and an innate ability to steam up some pretty sweet milk foam.
The Experience: My first customer service position. I am very good at this job. I enjoy interacting with the customers and I make delicious espresso drinks. I eat a ton of freshly baked goods of all types.
Result: After two months I leave for Tahoe. This has been my plan all along, but I lied in order to get the job and had told the owner that I was planning on staying indefinitely. This is the first time that I lie in order to procure employment. It will not be the last.

Job: clerk at Video Maniacs, South Lake Tahoe, CA – mid-November to mid-December 1997
Expected Skills/Knowledge/Training/Attributes: a basic grasp of computers, a possible interest in movies, not a thief, some math
Actual Qualifications: totally overqualified for this one
The Experience: Incredible. I am away from my parents for the first time in my life, I can do whatever I want, and I get a sweet job at a video store working the four to midnight shift so I can snowboard every day before work. One day, the old married guy I work with on some nights brings in a twelve-pack of beer and we drink it sitting at the counter, watching movies. We smoke pot in the store. A Blockbuster is across the street so there isn’t all that much traffic at the old VM. No one really to witness our transgressions or really bother us at all. Another night I compose my college application essay, which I send to both Brown and NYU. One university accepts me. The boss is this amazing little mountain man with a bushy mustache and, I think, only plaid shirts. He has a nice down vest and a manner of speaking which listening to amounts basically to how it must feel to be tethered to a pole in the middle of a dusty yard with old dolls and action figures in the corners of the fence and the whole time you’re the dog, and you’re thinking, “Why the tethering when there’s this fence here?” Anyway he is a moron and is actually the interim manager, hired by the bank that took over ownership of the store when the original owners went bankrupt. He is embezzling quite a high percentage of our daily take. I never catch on. We rent out pornos by the truckload, and I sometimes feel grossed out touching the tapes even though they have amazing names. I get into an argument with a man over late fees. Later that night his wife convinces him to call me at the store and apologize. I sleep late on a day I am covering this girls shift and no one is there to open the store. When I get there, I see people waiting outside. They are not happy with me, but I ignore everything they say and go about the business of opening the store.
Result: Someone buys the store and we are all laid off, promised it is only temporary, and never contacted again. I never receive my final paycheck for somewhere in the neighborhood of $84. I am broke. My parents fly me home for Christmas. I throw up at two friends’ houses on consecutive days. Neither makes the slightest mess.