Real Job – one week of Monday
Right before Mercury started going backwards, I picked up the phone, and one of my friends asked if I wanted a job. “Look,” she was saying, and I recall joking with her about their inability to keep a good staff on hand, “it’s only part time. You know, we just need someone a couple of hours a day, a few days week. It’s really simple, you just sit in the office, it’s got net access, and there’s a just a little bit of paperwork, and you know, sometimes answer the phone. **Only** thing we ask is that you don’t surf for porn on company time.”
“Sure,” I replied. Can’t be too hard, right? Fly a desk for a friend, couple of hours in the afternoon, couple of days a week. Easy. Piece of cake, “what’s it pay?”
“How about $5 per hour? We’re thinking of giving you bonuses for any business you bring in. Plus tips, of course, you can keep most of the tips.”
The last time I worked for this friend, I was getting a far more princely sum, and I was doing either astrology or tarot readings, I don’t recall. I tendered an offer to build a web page, too. I don’t rightly recollect if I did it or not.
“Managing” a couple of apartment buildings, full of students, how hard can that be?
“Look, Tuesday’s the first of the month, we’re going to need you there, \\first thing\\ in the morning, all the rents come in.”
“Fine, how’s noon sound?” That \\is\\ first thing in the morning, by my standards.
“We were thinking more like 7:00 AM.”
Something’s wrong here. I should have figured it then.
There’s a Cap Metro bus that runs down Barton Springs, turns up First Street, slides through the eastern edge of the UT campus, then drops me right at the “office.” Couldn’t be easier. 20 minutes, door to door. Best 50 cent ride in town. Better, in fact, than most. So that part of the job is easy.
Getting there and back **is** the easiest part of the job. If this wasn’t for a friend, I don’t think I could do it.
“A couple of hours a day, a few days a week,” has become, like, in no time, 5 & 6 hours a day. It’s horrible. And that “light office work”? Wrong again, toner breath. Every minute of every day in that office is another problem. By Thursday, I was asking where they kept the cyanide capsules. It’s something like about bazillion units in something like a half dozen buildings, a little east of campus. East Austin. Then there are the tenants. I’ve been yelled at, cussed at, I’ve had to sign a contract wherein I’m responsible for something, I don’t even know what, plus I’ve had to negotiate everything. \\But wait! There’s MORE!!!\\
There’s one or two more positive aspects here. One, in this economic environment, this job hunted me down, held me hostage, and begged me to take it. We’re in the middle of a recession, with no light at the end of the tunnel, and here \\work\\ comes to me. Work hunts me down and begs. Besides, this is for a friend, right? And the food’s good, too. Right down the street, there’s Mi Madre’s for breakfast tacos, perhaps the best in the world, and Hoover’s, and BBQ, and East Side Cafe.
Oh yeah, my buddy? He called to check on how I was doing, “It’s snowing here,” he was saying, while I was standing in the middle of one the parking lots with a shovel in hand, scooping up something I’d rather not think about. Sweating. Profusely. It was in the 90’s that afternoon, and I was just trying to help a little.
Then there was that little problem with the deposit from the first of the month, too. “Give me your hand,” the book keeper said, “SLAP!” “Hey, that hurts!” I cried. “Oh that’s just a little slap this time, but if you make a mistake like that again, I’ll make you cut me a switch.” I didn’t know that corporal punishment was still in vogue. If I was after something like that, I’d turn to one of my friends. But that’s not \\my\\ idea of a good time.
After handling a few thousand incoming rent checks, it is a cash-free office [I openly admire that>, forgetting to post just one rent check in triplicate garnered that slap. Next time? I’m worried now. They need a Virgo in there to count the pennies, not me.
One of my other friends stopped by to see me. He paused, framed me in his fingers, “Yeah, I can see Danny de Vito playing you in this role.”
Don’t forget, I have a full-time astrology practice. “Oh, this won’t interfere at all.” But when a few hours a day, a few days a week is looking more and more like 50 & 60 hour weeks, I’m starting to wonder about this “job” stuff.
There’s a bus, passes in front of the office at 5:02 PM. Takes 20 minutes to get to Shady Acres. 20 minutes in rush hour traffic. I can’t drive it in that time. However, in that first week, I made that 5:02 bus exactly once. Never fails, right at 4:59, there will always be “one more thing.”
I asked my buddy if he thought I would ever catch on, it’s not a hard system, the place almost runs itself, it’s got a good crew, except for me, and I am the lowest rung in the ladder – “Oh, you’ll get it figured out in five or six years,” he replied.
Five or six years? Wait, this is part time, I mean, I’m out of here next week, right? **Years?** Where’s the golden parachute? Exit strategy? MBA? Perks? Keys to the Executive washroom?
“Kramer, you’re doing just fine. We’ll have you whipped into shape in no time. By next year, you can be making $6 an hour. Did you fix the AC in that one unit? Also, third floor, toilet is plugged up, grab the plunger.”
The last time I held down a regular job was during the Christmas buying season of 1991. I lasted three weeks in a bookstore in Dallas before I tendered a notice. Anyone want to start a pool on how long this lasts?