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 and 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.
I always knew I was going to have a good day, (besides the days the milf bartender wore a mini skirt ), when the Superfan stumbled through the front door. People like the Superfan are the reason most places charge an admission fee. I'm not sure what was wrong with the poor kid, but I heard he lived in a group home down the street and would come here when he was bored. We called him the Superfan because he loved to watch football games on the club's televisions. The thing about the Superfan was, he always cheered for the defense, so he'd get pissed if either team scored a touchdown. Way pissed. So pissed in fact, that by the third quarter, he would start to pace up and down the aisles and act very aggressive toward people and he was a big boy. That's when Mike the manager, who found the Superfan extremely amusing and hated making him leave, would finally give me the green light to bounce him. Once the Superfan tried to roll on me when my back was turned, but Mike stamped his foot, and the Superfan ran out of the building.
One of my best buddies on the job was Sam. He usually worked the four to midnight shift, so I got to spend half my day with him. Sam was in his early forties and had grown up in Philadelphia, but moved to Las Vegas when he was in his twenties. Unfortunately, Sam's mother was ill and he had to move back to take care of her. I felt really bad for him because his eyes would turn into pudgy, happy, little slits every time he told me how exciting Vegas was, and how much he wished he could move back. Sam also really wanted to rent midget on midget porn. It was totally for the novelty though, it was nothing sexual. He just wanted to "watch how the little people did it." See, you can walk into any mom and pop video with midget/non-midget action, but straight-up, all-midget porn is a real find. Trust me, any time I'd walk into a video store I'd look to pick one up for him, but no dice.
He was way cooler than the other three security guards. Terrance and Alphonso were buddies. They fancied themselves quite the playboys and wasted their days striking out with any hot young cashiers that happened to be around. I'm not sure why neither of them liked me very much. I'm just going to go out on a limb and say they were jealous of my hot polish ass (or as I like to call it, "the killer tomato"), because that's the reason most dudes resent me. No, really. The midnight to eight a.m. security guard was a dick. He always used to show up fifteen minutes late, so when I worked the four to midnight shift I'd miss the last el train and have to ride the Night Owl Express bus. I'm so glad that he was relieved of duty when he accidentally locked his whiskey in the office and kicked the office door in to retrieve it.
It was right before New Year's Eve when shit finally went down. Ulah came up to me and said she overheard Terrance and Alphonso laughing about how they were plotting to call out their second and third shifts, so I'd be screwed into working on New Year's Eve. This was right after I couldn't go home for Christmas weekend since Terrance wouldn't switch a shift for me. That day my ex-girlfriend called me and said that she would pay for the ticket if I'd walk off the job, completely fuck everybody over, and spend New Year's eve with her in Chicago. So I did the only logical thing. When I went to get my last paycheck two weeks later, I found out that Ulah's emphysema had gotten so bad that she had to go on disability. I fantasized on the train home about winning the lottery and anonymously paying for her hospital bills.
Here are the past issues, in case you missed them or need to review:
January 2006 Security Guard, Part Six (The Turf Club Final Installment.. )
September 2005 Security Guard, Part Five
July 2005 Security Guard, Part Four
April 2005 Security Guard, Part Three
February 2005 Security Guard, Part Two
January 2005 Security Guard, Part One
December 2004 Headhunter
November 2004 Christopher's Bakery
September 2004 Bike Messenger
June 2004 Hospitality Staffing
March 2004 A new Temp Agency for Steve!
February 2004 The Civil Service scam
January 2004 I Become a Trainer
December 2003 Clean Water Action
November 2003 More Office Bullshit
September 2003 The Office Job
June 2003 Brick Factory
March 2003 Carter's Children's Ware
February 2003 Isaac's
December 2002 The Conclusion of The Incinerator
October 2002 The Incinerator Three
August 2002 The Incinerator, part 2
July 2002 The Incinerator
June 2002 Data Entry Yoni Style
May 2002 The Microchip Factory
April 2002 The Demolition Man
March 2002 MXL-Safety Glass Sweatshop
February 2002 Flagging
January 2002 Temp Agencies
November 2001 Corporate Movie Theater
August 2001 K-mart
Don't miss Steve's other regular column: Steve's Not Having It