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.
Despite a stern lecture by some guy named Brian about how I am a lazy do-nothing, I’ve decided to press onward. I want to prove to myself and everyone that I am not a spoiled American, I’m THE spoiled American. And I like to bitch a lot too. So Brian, I’m going to have to ask you to suck the shit out of my ass with a bendy-straw, you slack-jawed inbred motherfucker.
That said, this month is about a transitional phase with a headhunting agency. A headhunter, besides being a great title for a gay porno, is a service where you hire an agency to look for a job for you. They send out resumes, call places to check the status of your application, and try to find the highest paid, best position for your talents. I, of course, found the ghetto equivalent of this type of agency.
I’m going to withhold the name of the joint, because, number one, I don’t wish to speak ill of such a reputable establishment, and number two, I’m 99% sure the owner and operator of the place works close enough to where I live now to be able to stop by my place and shoot me in the leg on his lunch break, and still have time to swing over to the Chinese place for a pizza roll on the rebound. I forget how I found out about the place, but it was really scary. The walls were decked out with really cheap fake wood paneling with different job postings splattered all over them. Most of the jobs said things like “Janitor position, some lifting, $8 an hour, third shift, must have car.” I was not psyched. In the middle of the place was a cut-out window where a long-haired, greasy white dude stood, with a computer. It looked like a front for a dime bag salesman. Anyway, I got in line and spoke to the guy. He said, “Gimme $75 and I’ll send you out to three places that called me and told me they are hiring. You then fill out an application. You can use this service for up to six months.”
Sounded like a deal. So I forked over the cash. Everyday for about a week, I’d stop by the headhunter’s HQ, and he’s give me a computer printout of three places that were offering shit jobs. Then one day he made a phone call. “Hey, I got this clean cut kid over here. Want me to send him over? Alright (click).” And that’s how I heard about Pinkerton Security.
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