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.
Not content with the soul-sucking purgatory that was my last temporary staffing adventure, I decided to give it another whirl. So I let my fingers do the walking and found Hospitality Staffing, located in historic Upper Darby. I called and some guy named Mitch answered. He told me to come right in for an interview. I was totally psyched.
After getting lost, and finding a music store cool enough to make me way tardy, I found the place. Hospitality Staffing primary dealt with catering, bartending, and other things I had no experience in. Mitch asked me what my skills were, and being the young, naïve, too-dumb-to-lie-convincingly/intelligently, Steve, I told him the truth. He said he'd "see what he could do". (Read: nightshift floor washer at the scrapple factory during asbestos removal.) I was scared.
The next day I got a call from one of Mitch's phone bitches. (Read: administrative assistant. Oh come on, the rhyme was fun for everyone.) I was to report to a hospital on City Line Ave. I didn't know why. I put on my official Hospitality Staffing uniform, which consisted of a white polo or turtle neck shirt combined with black pants, both of which I had to provide. (Coincidently, that combo is also the official Hessian Easter Sunday/child custody-hearing outfit.) I happened to notice my roommate passed out in a chair with one hand on a bong, and the other inside a bag of potato chips. I tried to wake him up, but he would just giggle and fall back asleep, so I left him be.
It took me two mother fucking buses to get there. (Taking two buses is such a bleeding hemorrhoid. If one bus is late, then you miss the second bus, and you're fucked. I hate being late.) I arrived and met the rest of the crew. I was the only white dude, and the only person not living in North Philly. We were greeted by our contacts, Nate and his assistant, Barbara. Then the boss guy, Nate, told us to line up, and briefed us Hogan's Heroes style. The reason our cuddly, ragtag team of misfits was hired is that the hospital was bought out. He was head of the custodial department, and wasn't very keen on losing his job during the restructuring, so he hired us to make it seen like he ran a crack team of Janitorial juggernauts. He asked if any of us had experience with floor waxing machines, and a bunch of guys went "yes sir, we do! We were in jail, uh I mean the Navy, Sir!"
I was put on wall wiping detail. Basically I wiped walls with a rag soaked in cleaning fluid. That made them clean. Jesus, was that hospital dirty. I would rather get shot on a West Philly street than that pigsty. Nate would periodically give the tops of doors the white glove treatment. Sometimes we got to mix it up by cleaning shitters. That's where by I bonded with my friend.
God I wish I could remember his name. He was such a cool dude. He was my age, about 21. I will refer to him as cool dude. The hospital had a chapel, and he used to do mock sermons bemoaning God for making him a janitor as punishment for being Muslim. "Fly straight you heathen fucks, or the Lord will seek vengeance upon thee." Once I was walking into a room when one of our co-workers was saying, "The white devil has come to destroy us." So naturally I walked in and deadpanned "Hello, my name is Steve, and I've come to destroy you." Cool dude was behind me and said, "Don't fuck with my right hand man Steve. We was in 'Nam together. This Mother fucker took a bullet for my ass."
Cool Dude forced me ride the bus with him at midnight when we got off, "So my lily white, country ass wouldn't get shot." One time a Septa Bitch was giving me shit about not having the right transfer. He slammed a token on the window and said, "You need a dick in you worse than any ugly bitch I've ever met, bitch." He refused to let me reimburse him for it. Great fucking guy. I hope he's doing ok. God, I wish I could remember his name.
Stay tuned for part two
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