Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Pot in the Park

About 6 or 7 months ago, I met a guy in the park. I won't name the guy and I won't name the park, but I met the guy as I sat in the park listening to some performers play My, My, Hey, Hey. No, the guy wasn't Neil Young. We talked for awhile and then he invited me into his apartment. This story is NOT going where you think it's going. He was, and is, a photographer. Cut ahead 6 or 7 months, and we're good friends. We hang out, listen to music on his amazing stereo system, and he teaches me about music I love but of which I am clueless.

During this time, I am desperately seeking a job. I find useless internships, I find promises for work that never come through, I skip interviews for jobs that are far away, too boring, or don't pay anything.... Everything but what I am looking for.

Despite being a very busy guy, even though he is on the edge of 70, the guy remains active in the music community and always has projects underway, and he finds time for me. The guy is full of energy and enthusiasm, it's lovely! He wants me to have money to pay for travel and life and to no longer rely on my parents' income. He worries! Oy, how he worries!

As we all know, though, work is hard to come by. Especially for a graduate student with a B.A. in liberal arts. No one actually knows what liberal arts are! Who would hire someone with absolutely no skills, knowledge, or experience?

This is when desperation kicks in. This point of my life. I've hit an age (whatever that is) that implies to some extent that I should be an independent, grown adult. Whether this is the case or not, that's another story. For, I am useless. Unemployed, and going to graduate school costs money rather than bringing it in. A sad reality for many Americans under 30 (or over 30, for that matter!) And so, here begins the journey into how low I'll go in the name of money.

1 - Dogsitting? Sure! Of course! I love dogs! Of course, everyone in the planet who matters does, too. Everyone and their pope is a dogwalker/dogsitter. Near where I live, no one seems to work, all they ever do is walk their dog(s). No one needs my services.

2 - Shot girl? I don't even know what this means. Are there shot boys? I get the feeling those only exist in gay clubs. I guess I pour shots.... I can do that! It requires absolutely no skill! Oh, wait, it also requires absolutely no clothing. With this darn anemia, I'd be goosebumped all night. Nobody wants shots from the chick with purple lips and an unsteady hand from shivering.

3 - Foot model? Now, that sounds easy enough! I have feet! Of course, they left out the fact that it's for foot fetish parties. And, no, these people don't *just* come for the feet. Another bikini job. For those of you who have never seen me in a bikini, this is why you've never seen Sasquatch. Yes, folks, I am huge, hairy, and I smell like deer manure. Don't ask me to put on a bikini.

At this point, aside from the hilarity that came from these options, I was pretty downtrodden. Would I never find independence? Is there something wrong with me? Everyone else seems capable of getting by... except the homeless. Maybe I'm homeless and no one has ever told me about it! That would explain it, I think?

It was then that the guy called me. Remember the guy from above? Almost creepy, but not? Yeah, him. He tells me he has a unique work opportunity for me. Unique sounds promising, but I knew right away it would be shady. In my world and life, nothing is ever quite so sweet and simple. Would I be sneaking baby tigers into the country? Assassinating a CIA agent who knows too much and wishes to leave the job? What's it going to be?

Well, it wasn't quite that awful, but he tells me about his cousin. A cousin he didn't even know existed until he was 35 years old. This sounds like a promising start. Dude just lost his best worker, dude has a bunch of weed he has to sell, and dude left it to the guy to hire someone new. The guy knew I was looking for work, and voila! I was the first person he contacted about the prestigious position.

Mostly open hours after 2 PM, at least $900 a week, and all the brownies a person could ever ask for! Well, no, there was no promise of brownies. Maybe that can be negotiated, though. They must have some untouched ones, right? Oh, he also claims that all customers are connected to him personally and have been for the last 10 years or so. Thus, all trusted.

He told me that if I am interested I can come by on Monday, August 31st to discuss the opportunity further.

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