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.
Out of sheer desperation, I decided to become a bike messenger. I figured that I ride my bike all the time and I don't mind smelling bad. Plus, I always wanted to rationalize buying one of those neat-o shoulder bags. (Mine would have been camouflage). I would be like a modern day Pony Express rider, whizzing through the mean streets of Philly. I only stop to cut a butt in Rittenhouse Park. All the young hot college girls would sit Indian style around me, waiting for me to show off another battle scar of the car that almost killed me. Then we would all make sweet love in the Border's bathroom, if there weren't any homeless dudes in there cramping my style.
So I went to heaven sent, filled out an application, and got a call back. I met the person in charge (lets call him Mack), and we went to the employees room. (In my head I called it the barracks. I was really into war themes at the time. I used to watch M.A.S.H. a lot). Mack gave me some paper work to fill out, and sat me down at a little desk. Then Mack sad he'd be back in about ten minutes, he had to do whatever guys who work at Heaven Sent need to do.
So I'm filling out this paper work, see? (No, you don't see) and I start to eavesdrop on two biker messengers.
Bike Messenger Number one: "Yo man. Where has Tim been lately?"
Bike Messenger Number two: "You didn't hear? A Mercedes hit him. He's suing and won't have to work for a long time. He's kinda fucked up though."
Bike Messenger Number One: "Oh awesome, he hit the jackpot!"
I wasn't there to witness it, but I like to envision a little dust cloud on the chair with the application papers slowly floating above the desk, landing at the precise moment Mack entered the room.
Here are the past issues, in case you missed them or need to review:
June 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
September 2003
June 2003
March 2003
February 2003
December 2002
October 2002
August 2002
July 2002
June 2002
May 2002
April 2002
March 2002
February 2002
January 2002
November 2001
August 2001
Don't miss Steve's other regular column: Steve's Not Having It