By Steve Levandoski
Let's face it. If you are a musician you will probably never make enough money to pay the rent on that 2-bedroom apartment you share with 8 other people IF you are lucky enough to get signed the little money the record company doesn't screw you out of will be squandered on MC Hammer-type mansions (he's doing credit card commercials now), or tied up in some lawsuit. You will need to get a shitjob. I've enjoyed the privilege of having a losing about thirty different jobs in the four years since I dropped out of college. This is my guide for al you young bloods out there. Each issue will feature a different job I once had in chronological order,and how to take advantage of it while it takes advantage of you.
Here are the past issues, in case you missed them or need to review:
August 2001
November 2001
January 2002
At Addecoo, my first assignment was to be a
flagman, I mean flagperson. A flagman's duty is to
wave traffic for telephone companies to make sure that
the workers don't get run over while putting up new
telephone poles. Considering that most roads in
Lancaster County get one car going past about twenty
minutes or so, this is a really easy, but extremely
boring job. Besides the mind numbing banality of the
actual job, there are two things that really suck about
flagging. One is standing in subdegree weather and
the other is having to deal with Koreanwar
era, I-just-retired-from-the-tracter-factory, rednecks.
I did, however, get to wear orange vests, with
matching construction hats and orange flags, so it
balanced out.
The first guy to introduce himself was Willy. He was sporting a faded leather jacket and wearing blue snowpants that had to be at least fifteen years old. Willy walked up to me and said," I'm Willy. I shot a man in Florida who was fucking with my sister, and I feel no guilt. I could give a shit, I'll kill any man who pisses me off. Hell, I'm packing heat right now! Do you think I'm kidding? What's your name?" I didn't care much for Willy. He later got fired for getting caught sleeping on someone's lawn while on duty.
The next guy was such a prick I can't remember his name. Let's call him douche bag, or D.B. for short. D.B had N.R.A bumper stickers on a the bumper of the line pension-packet limosine (chevy pickup). I almost stole the sticker to put on my wall as a trophy, but I decided agaist it, because I found out that he had a gun too. I overhear D.B. tell Willy that his friend in the Korean war got a "raw deal", because he got an inhonorable discharge for just shooting a "(insert African-American racial slur)" in the head who was in front of him during a charge. His friend shot the innocent man on purpose and tried to make it look like an accident and received no jail time. I didn't care for D.B either.
Anyway, I kept to myself for the obvious reasons and the job wasn't too bad. You showed up at six o clock in the morning and sleep in your car in the parking lot untill about seven or quarter of A truck then honks and then you follow it to the site. You cruise around for about forty five minutes and then arrive at the telephone pole that needs fixin'. Then its time for a half an hour coffee break. Now, its time for you to flag while the workers use a giant mechanical arm to lift up a telephone pole. Next they tie the pole to the existing pole and switch the wiring. Two hour lunch break, then back to flagging while the workers cut down the existing pole. The workers are finished at about three o'clock, and sign the flaggers time cards for five O'clock. Then we head home, while the union telephone workers hide out at their office field and bullshit until five. That's when they head back to the main office to clock out. So for about four hours of actual flagging, you get paid for twelve, and you get two hours of pay when your not even their.
Finally the job got so boring that I wound up going a little insane. First I amused myself by teaching myself to whistle. This took about two weeks. Then I starting telling jokes to myself and started pacing to keep warm. The telephone workers saw me pacing back and forth, while cracking-up laughing at the jokes I was telling myself, and decided I was crazy. They told the good people at Adecco that they didn't want me there anymore. Adecco called me the next day to go to my new job.
Next weeks column is MXR-Safty glass sweatshop.
Don't miss Steve's other regular column: Steve's Not Having It