I acknowledge that I'm quick to take a job with shitty pay. In fact, I'm often responsible for such low earnings because I undercut all the competition by offering my services at a very attractive rate. With that said, Iately I've felt compelled to up my prices. So, recently I received a text message from an unknown sender and decided to quote him a higher than normal price. When asked how much I'd charge to sand/paint some shit in Marina Del Rey (MDR), I replied by asking for $15/hour. I explained that MDR's distance from Pasadena (about thirty miles) was the main reason for quoting him higher than the price originally listed on Craigslist. Although I said that I'd be willing to negotiate the price, he said that $15/hour was "cool," as long as I worked for it. Without knowing his name, I agreed to show up at this mystery texter's house the next day.
The next day came and I woke up at around 11:30-- another late start. Aside from having arranged the job in MDR for that day, this was also payday for Gabrielle. Wiping the crumbs out of my eyes, I gave her a call. She informed me that my check was waiting for me in Koreatown.
Took a shit, ate breakfast, and changed my clothes before jumping on the freeway, K-Town bound. I arrived twenty minutes later and made my way up to the manager's office. Upon finally seeing my check I was sure that they had miscalculated my hours. I looked over the timesheet and found that they hadn't. $236 for thirty five hours, so much for delayed gratification.
At this point I had a decision to make. While I could have very happily retired to my house, napped, read, World Cupped, $236 richer, a trip to the beach (MDR) also sounded nice. Additionally, $15/hour seemed too good to pass up. Having the ability to blow off potential employers at the last minute is one of my favorite perks associated with this ODDcupation thing. Despite temptations to do so, I sent a text message to this still nameless correspondent, "On my way."
I GPSed my way to the given address and arrived at approximately 1:30. By chance, the address was a beachfront condo, just steps away from the sandy shore. I telephoned the condo's owner, informing him that I was outside. Two minutes later I was shaking hands with Joe, a shaved head, blue eyed, Texas native. He was in his early thirties and seemed to cuss more than I do.
Joe led me to the condo's garage, informing me that he needed help lowering a busted water heater from a ledge that was about ten feet above ground. We were then supposed to figure out a way to hoist up a replacement heater, which would be no easy task.
As I watched, Joe climbed a latter and spent about half an hour strapping, knotting, and attaching a variety of belts and chains to the heater. With some difficulty, and minimal help from me, Joe eventually dropped the heater from about five feet above ground, no explosion, just a loud bang.
Raising the new water heater to its elevated position required just as much prep work. This time I was able to assist my boss a bit more, climbing the latter and using all my strength to pull that piece of shit onto the ledge, as Joe pushed up from below. All that water heater business took about an hour, in which I earned $15 for no more than ten minutes of actual labor.
My next task would keep me busy for the rest of the day. For the next four hours I was put to work sanding rust stains off of a steel colored elevator door. Cool, eh? This took longer than one might expect because the 60 grit sandpaper left awful scratches and scuffs everywhere. To sand out these scuffs I gradually switched to finer and finer sandpaper grits. 100, 120, 1000. Boring stuff.
Anyways, by 6:30 I was beat and super dirtied. Throughout the sanding process extremely fine specks of metal had stuck to my hands, face, hair, and clothing. I was blackened all over and polishing the now smoothed door upon completing my fifth hour of work. I made my way to Joe's door and asked him to inspect my work before I closed up shop. He followed me down to the elevator and seemed pretty happy with the job that I had done.
Next, Joe and I returned to his condo, where he offered me a Coke, which I declined. He asked me what time I had arrived and I replied, "1:30, though I feel like I just stood around for the first half an hour." He said it wasn't a problem and then entered his room in search of his wallet. He returned and handed me a stack of clean, crisp bills, telling me to give him a call next week for more work.
As I walked out I counted the bills. Four twenties and a five. $85 for a little more than five hours of labor. As Max has pointed out, this isn't the first time that I received more than what was originally agreed upon. Maybe my blackened body and close attention to detail earned me that $10 tip. I'll never know for sure.
I forgot to mention that the beach was visible throughout those four hours of sanding. Leaving the condo, I tiredly walked toward the Pacific. I stripped off my grimy McCain/Palin 2008 t-shirt (worn inside out, a bad Halloween costume idea from a couple years ago), stuck my glasses, phone, keys, socks, and $85 into my shoes and dove in. I spent the next fifteen minutes lazily swimming around, scrubbing the black off my face, and slowly regaining my energy.
I drove home sandy and wet, but not blackened. Traffic as usual, but a pre-drive bowl and eight five extra bucks eased the pain.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
A New Doctor Friend?
My last day of employment for Gabrielle was this past Sunday. About halfway through that shift I got a call from a dude named Matt. He explained that he and his girlfriend were moving to Westwood, and that they needed help transporting some of their furniture from the moving truck into their new apartment. They didn't have much so it wouldn't take long. He said that he'd make it worth my time, offering me fifty bucks for what he guessed would take about ninety minutes. Despite being all the way in Westwood (I've found that most of my jobs are on the west side) I accepted his offer and arranged to meet him at 1:00 the next day.
Initially I felt pretty dissatisfied in accepting another moving job, but after finishing up my last mundane day of flyering, I realized that ANY job would be an improvement over this minimum wage 'marketing' gig (I had since come to the conclusion that 'marketing' sounded a bit more professional than 'flyer distribution').
Anyways, I left my parent's house the next day at around noon because west side traffic is always unpredictable and I really despise being late. Naturally, I was parked in Westwood with about half an hour to spare. I pulled out my library borrowed paperback and rolled my seat back, way back. "Finally I heaved myself onto my narrow margin of bed, stealthily pulled at the odds and ends of sheets piled up to the south of my stone-cold heels-- and Lolita lifted her head and gaped at me."
One O'Clock came and I gave Matt a call. He had just arrived so I bookmarked my current page and gathered a bunch of silver coins from my ashtray. Stuffed those quarters dollars and nickels into the parking meter and trotted over to the given address. I had two hours on the meter and was careful to take note of the current time.
I followed Matt's directions to the alley behind his new apartment and quickly spotted the moving truck. As I approached the vehicle Matt exited the driver's side and welcomed me with a handshake and a smile. He wore a yellow Flight of the Conchords t-shirt, cargo shorts, and a University of Hawaii baseball cap. He looked about six or seven years older than me, and because the new apartment was only two blocks away from the UCLA campus, I assumed that he was a grad student. He explained that his girlfriend would be arriving in LA the next day, so it'd be him and I carrying out the move.
Upon opening the truck I found myself looking at a pretty standard assortment of shit to be moved: mattress, couch, cardboard boxes, nightstand, guitar case (presumably with a guitar inside), snowboard, mountain bike, DVD rack, etc.
We began by gathering as many small items as we could possibly hold, walking from the alley, through a garage, into a lobby, onto an elevator, up five floors, and down an extended hallway into his new apartment. We repeated this back and forth process about five times, making introductory small talk throughout each trip.
With each elevator ride I learned more and more about this presumed grad student. It turns out that he and his girlfriend were in fact both doctors, both pursuing careers in radiology. Specifically, she'd be specializing in mammography, so, as he put it, "She'll be dealing with a lot of breasts." At the age of 32 he had just finished up his residency in San Deigo, while she'd completed her's somewhere in Virginia. Or, was it West Virginia? Anyways, they'd be moving in together after a whole year apart. She'd gotten a job at the UCLA Medical Center, located just blocks away from the new apartment, and he'd gotten one at LA Children's Hospital.
He asked me about myself and I felt pretty unaccomplished while explaining my plans for the summer and my uncertainty about my post-graduation years. "I'll probably take some time off after graduating," was the most that I could come up with. We kept on moving.
After a while I had nearly run out of questions to ask the doctor, so I suggested switching to an assembly line type of moving model. He thought this to be a good idea so I became the first leg of the assembly line, transporting the contents of the truck to the bottom of the elevator, while he proceeded to elevate up and down from the lobby to the apartment. This effectively prevented any awkward elevator silences and seemed to speed up the whole thang. Yes, thang.
Similar to the last moving job I accidentally dropped a night stand and was left watching the contents of its drawers land across the alley floor. I quickly scooped up all of the doctor's shit and slammed the drawer close. I think it jammed and might be permanently broken, though he probably won't realize for another day or two.
With about fifteen minutes left on the parking meter we quickly moved the mattress and the couch into the apartment, doing so as a team! With the last piece of furniture moved in we made our way back down to the alley, riding the elevator while enduring a tired silence. He thanked me for all the help and handed me $60 as he shook my hand. As I thanked him in return he concluded our time together by saying, "If you're ever in the Westwood area give me a call and we can go out for a drink."
Driving home I wondered how sincere that last comment was. Although I'd probably be too nervous to ever do so, maybe it'd be a good idea to take him up on that offer. While having a doctor as a friend sounds like a good idea, what would I talk about with a 32 year old radiologist? Is it worth a shot? especially considering the fact that I'm one of two people that he currently knows in Los Angeles. I'm still not sure, what do you guys think?
Initially I felt pretty dissatisfied in accepting another moving job, but after finishing up my last mundane day of flyering, I realized that ANY job would be an improvement over this minimum wage 'marketing' gig (I had since come to the conclusion that 'marketing' sounded a bit more professional than 'flyer distribution').
Anyways, I left my parent's house the next day at around noon because west side traffic is always unpredictable and I really despise being late. Naturally, I was parked in Westwood with about half an hour to spare. I pulled out my library borrowed paperback and rolled my seat back, way back. "Finally I heaved myself onto my narrow margin of bed, stealthily pulled at the odds and ends of sheets piled up to the south of my stone-cold heels-- and Lolita lifted her head and gaped at me."
One O'Clock came and I gave Matt a call. He had just arrived so I bookmarked my current page and gathered a bunch of silver coins from my ashtray. Stuffed those quarters dollars and nickels into the parking meter and trotted over to the given address. I had two hours on the meter and was careful to take note of the current time.
I followed Matt's directions to the alley behind his new apartment and quickly spotted the moving truck. As I approached the vehicle Matt exited the driver's side and welcomed me with a handshake and a smile. He wore a yellow Flight of the Conchords t-shirt, cargo shorts, and a University of Hawaii baseball cap. He looked about six or seven years older than me, and because the new apartment was only two blocks away from the UCLA campus, I assumed that he was a grad student. He explained that his girlfriend would be arriving in LA the next day, so it'd be him and I carrying out the move.
Upon opening the truck I found myself looking at a pretty standard assortment of shit to be moved: mattress, couch, cardboard boxes, nightstand, guitar case (presumably with a guitar inside), snowboard, mountain bike, DVD rack, etc.
We began by gathering as many small items as we could possibly hold, walking from the alley, through a garage, into a lobby, onto an elevator, up five floors, and down an extended hallway into his new apartment. We repeated this back and forth process about five times, making introductory small talk throughout each trip.
With each elevator ride I learned more and more about this presumed grad student. It turns out that he and his girlfriend were in fact both doctors, both pursuing careers in radiology. Specifically, she'd be specializing in mammography, so, as he put it, "She'll be dealing with a lot of breasts." At the age of 32 he had just finished up his residency in San Deigo, while she'd completed her's somewhere in Virginia. Or, was it West Virginia? Anyways, they'd be moving in together after a whole year apart. She'd gotten a job at the UCLA Medical Center, located just blocks away from the new apartment, and he'd gotten one at LA Children's Hospital.
He asked me about myself and I felt pretty unaccomplished while explaining my plans for the summer and my uncertainty about my post-graduation years. "I'll probably take some time off after graduating," was the most that I could come up with. We kept on moving.
After a while I had nearly run out of questions to ask the doctor, so I suggested switching to an assembly line type of moving model. He thought this to be a good idea so I became the first leg of the assembly line, transporting the contents of the truck to the bottom of the elevator, while he proceeded to elevate up and down from the lobby to the apartment. This effectively prevented any awkward elevator silences and seemed to speed up the whole thang. Yes, thang.
Similar to the last moving job I accidentally dropped a night stand and was left watching the contents of its drawers land across the alley floor. I quickly scooped up all of the doctor's shit and slammed the drawer close. I think it jammed and might be permanently broken, though he probably won't realize for another day or two.
With about fifteen minutes left on the parking meter we quickly moved the mattress and the couch into the apartment, doing so as a team! With the last piece of furniture moved in we made our way back down to the alley, riding the elevator while enduring a tired silence. He thanked me for all the help and handed me $60 as he shook my hand. As I thanked him in return he concluded our time together by saying, "If you're ever in the Westwood area give me a call and we can go out for a drink."
Driving home I wondered how sincere that last comment was. Although I'd probably be too nervous to ever do so, maybe it'd be a good idea to take him up on that offer. While having a doctor as a friend sounds like a good idea, what would I talk about with a 32 year old radiologist? Is it worth a shot? especially considering the fact that I'm one of two people that he currently knows in Los Angeles. I'm still not sure, what do you guys think?
Friday, June 25, 2010
A Cheap TV Stand Is Right
Antwanette graduated from Blair High School in Pasadena in 2005. From there she went on to Le Cordon Bleu, which Wikipedia describes as "the world's largest hospitality education institution, with 29 schools in five continents serving 20,000 students annually." After completing her training at Le Cordon Bleu Pasadena, Antwanette found a job as a line cook at a fancy restaurant in Universal Studios Hollywood. Today she resides in north Pasadena with her mother and grandmother. She enjoys singing along to the latest popular hip-hop tracks (brought to you by 102.7 KIIS FM), and taking short walks to the liquor store across the street. Unfortunately, neither Antwanette, mama, nor granny has a man in their lives, which is exactly why I got yesterday's job.
After posting another of countless Craigslist ads offering my services I received an email from our favorite young chef:
"hello my name is Antwanette I saw your post on craigslist and I was wondering how much would you charge I have a tv stand that needs to be put together..its not big at all..it was 20 bucks..just a small stand with wheels..I kind of need it together by tomorrow just got a new tv"
Further correspondence would reveal her location as just five miles away from my parent's house, a short twelve minute drive. After careful consideration I decided that it would be unethical to charge her more for assemblage than the stand originally cost. I quoted her $20, and she happily accepted. If I could just assemble the damn thing in a timely manner, I'd have made a good deal.
I got to Antwanette's house the next day at 6:00-- always on time. While approaching her residence I noticed a wheelchair ramp up to her porch.
"Another crippled," I thought to myself. As usual, I was wrong.
I knocked on the door and a big black gal (BBG) swung it open within seconds.
"Antwanette?"
"Yeah," she replied as she led me into the living room.
Awaiting me in the living room was another BBG, probably about twenty years older than Antwanette. This was the chef's mama. She was in a wheelchair, which explained the ramp. I introduced myself to mama and followed her daughter to a nearby bedroom.
Antwanette's description of the TV stand was accurate. It was in a small box and definitely worth no more than $20. I set down my tools and began unpacking the contents of the box. Soon I had everything laid out: five pieces of cheap plywood, painted black and cut in various sizes, and a handful of screws and nails.
I found the instructions and followed them step by step: align sides along bottom plank, insert screws, tighten screws, insert shelf, insert more screws, tighten screws, yada yada yada. The whole thing took about thirty-five minutes. In those thirty-five minutes everything I learned about Antwanette is perfectly represented in this post's opening paragraph.
At one point the chef stopped singing in the middle of an Usher song to offer me a drink. She was going to the liquor store across the street and the drinks were on her. I asked for a cup of tap water, but she returned ten minutes later with a bottle of Arrowhead. More wasted plastic, next time I'll bring my canteen.
Anyways, I was heading out by 6:45. As I got up Antwanette handed me a crumbled up $20 bill and informed me that they'd be calling me again for similar work. Apparently mama had wanted to buy some new IKEA furniture for some time, but they never had anyone to assemble it. Now they have me.
$20 for less than an hour of labor works for me. Gimme a call, mama.
After posting another of countless Craigslist ads offering my services I received an email from our favorite young chef:
"hello my name is Antwanette I saw your post on craigslist and I was wondering how much would you charge I have a tv stand that needs to be put together..its not big at all..it was 20 bucks..just a small stand with wheels..I kind of need it together by tomorrow just got a new tv"
Further correspondence would reveal her location as just five miles away from my parent's house, a short twelve minute drive. After careful consideration I decided that it would be unethical to charge her more for assemblage than the stand originally cost. I quoted her $20, and she happily accepted. If I could just assemble the damn thing in a timely manner, I'd have made a good deal.
I got to Antwanette's house the next day at 6:00-- always on time. While approaching her residence I noticed a wheelchair ramp up to her porch.
"Another crippled," I thought to myself. As usual, I was wrong.
I knocked on the door and a big black gal (BBG) swung it open within seconds.
"Antwanette?"
"Yeah," she replied as she led me into the living room.
Awaiting me in the living room was another BBG, probably about twenty years older than Antwanette. This was the chef's mama. She was in a wheelchair, which explained the ramp. I introduced myself to mama and followed her daughter to a nearby bedroom.
Antwanette's description of the TV stand was accurate. It was in a small box and definitely worth no more than $20. I set down my tools and began unpacking the contents of the box. Soon I had everything laid out: five pieces of cheap plywood, painted black and cut in various sizes, and a handful of screws and nails.
I found the instructions and followed them step by step: align sides along bottom plank, insert screws, tighten screws, insert shelf, insert more screws, tighten screws, yada yada yada. The whole thing took about thirty-five minutes. In those thirty-five minutes everything I learned about Antwanette is perfectly represented in this post's opening paragraph.
At one point the chef stopped singing in the middle of an Usher song to offer me a drink. She was going to the liquor store across the street and the drinks were on her. I asked for a cup of tap water, but she returned ten minutes later with a bottle of Arrowhead. More wasted plastic, next time I'll bring my canteen.
Anyways, I was heading out by 6:45. As I got up Antwanette handed me a crumbled up $20 bill and informed me that they'd be calling me again for similar work. Apparently mama had wanted to buy some new IKEA furniture for some time, but they never had anyone to assemble it. Now they have me.
$20 for less than an hour of labor works for me. Gimme a call, mama.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Pool Hopping, Facebooking, and Sandwiching on the Clock
Today was officially the first day of summer and I skipped the Laker parade for work (apparently it ended up being "hands down, the worst lakers parade ever," so I'm not that bummed). On this summer solstice (I recently learned how a solstice differs from a equinox) I was back at it again-- flyering for Gabrielle in Hollywood. I admit that I've had trouble blogging about this job because it has truly been one of the most boring and repetitive jobs that I've ever had, that is, expect for a short stint at Juice it Up a couple winters ago. Thankfully I can see the light at the end of the tunnel; my time with Gabrielle is quickly coming to a end (more on that later), and I couldn't be happier.
Anyways, today I got to Las Palmas at noon thanks to freeways that were remarkably and surprisingly functional. When I got to her office Gabrielle was on the phone with Erick the Maintenance Guy. Upon seeing me walk in she hung up, informing him that "the other Erick" had just arrived-- damn right. She handed me a map of today's pre-selected neighborhood and continued with instructions on how to get there and where to park. After loading about 1,500 flyers into by bag I decided to ask her how much longer she would be needing my services. She informed me that all together she had ordered ten thousand flyers, and that once they were gone I would be free. After finishing with today's flyers I would have posted 6,500 flyers, only 3,500 to go, which should take about three days. I really can't wait to get back to more sporadic and original oddjobs, good bye flyering.
Today's neighborhood was Thai Town, which required me to walk up and down the residential streets between Hollywood and Sunset Boulevards. Since my last time blogging about this job I have significantly improved my methods, perfecting the art of flyer distribution in just under a week. I've figured out the best way to zig-zag from street to street, and even improved my flyer insertion technique. It's all very technical stuff that I can't get into right now, I hope you understand.
Same old shit in Hollywood. After forgetting mama's homemade sandwiches and my canteen in the car I was stuck without food or water for the whole shift. My randomly timed breaks mostly consisted of me laying on shady lawns and checking my facebook via my cell phone every other hour: no new notifications.
My most refreshing breather came about four hours into the shift with about 50 flyers to go. After peaking over a wall for the Hollywood Premiere Motel, a shitty motel right on Hollywood Boulevard, I was left gazing upon a beautifully clean pool, completely empty and waiting for a happy swimmer; I decided to become that happy swimmer. I proceeded to remove my shoes, socks, and glasses, stuffed these things (along with my cellphone and wallet) into my backpack, stripped off my shirt and hopped the short wall. In order to avoid being seen by the motel's manager I made the jump and was underwater within seconds. Awww, the water felt amazing after four hours of constant walking/flyering, a great way to start off the first official day of summer. I swam a couple of laps, splashed around for about five minutes, and then got out of the pool. Next I threw on my white tee, slipped on my shoes (no socks), and hopped back over to Hollywood Blvd.
I continued flyering with dripping shorts and wet hair, posting the last flyer with about thirty minutes to spare. I made my way back to the Volvo, removed my wet shorts and chomped down the forgotten sandwiches before calling Gabrielle to clock out. The ride home was more pleasant than usual thanks to moist underwear and an avoidance of all freeways. Three more days to go.
Anyways, today I got to Las Palmas at noon thanks to freeways that were remarkably and surprisingly functional. When I got to her office Gabrielle was on the phone with Erick the Maintenance Guy. Upon seeing me walk in she hung up, informing him that "the other Erick" had just arrived-- damn right. She handed me a map of today's pre-selected neighborhood and continued with instructions on how to get there and where to park. After loading about 1,500 flyers into by bag I decided to ask her how much longer she would be needing my services. She informed me that all together she had ordered ten thousand flyers, and that once they were gone I would be free. After finishing with today's flyers I would have posted 6,500 flyers, only 3,500 to go, which should take about three days. I really can't wait to get back to more sporadic and original oddjobs, good bye flyering.
Today's neighborhood was Thai Town, which required me to walk up and down the residential streets between Hollywood and Sunset Boulevards. Since my last time blogging about this job I have significantly improved my methods, perfecting the art of flyer distribution in just under a week. I've figured out the best way to zig-zag from street to street, and even improved my flyer insertion technique. It's all very technical stuff that I can't get into right now, I hope you understand.
Same old shit in Hollywood. After forgetting mama's homemade sandwiches and my canteen in the car I was stuck without food or water for the whole shift. My randomly timed breaks mostly consisted of me laying on shady lawns and checking my facebook via my cell phone every other hour: no new notifications.
My most refreshing breather came about four hours into the shift with about 50 flyers to go. After peaking over a wall for the Hollywood Premiere Motel, a shitty motel right on Hollywood Boulevard, I was left gazing upon a beautifully clean pool, completely empty and waiting for a happy swimmer; I decided to become that happy swimmer. I proceeded to remove my shoes, socks, and glasses, stuffed these things (along with my cellphone and wallet) into my backpack, stripped off my shirt and hopped the short wall. In order to avoid being seen by the motel's manager I made the jump and was underwater within seconds. Awww, the water felt amazing after four hours of constant walking/flyering, a great way to start off the first official day of summer. I swam a couple of laps, splashed around for about five minutes, and then got out of the pool. Next I threw on my white tee, slipped on my shoes (no socks), and hopped back over to Hollywood Blvd.
I continued flyering with dripping shorts and wet hair, posting the last flyer with about thirty minutes to spare. I made my way back to the Volvo, removed my wet shorts and chomped down the forgotten sandwiches before calling Gabrielle to clock out. The ride home was more pleasant than usual thanks to moist underwear and an avoidance of all freeways. Three more days to go.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Tired of Flyering
Gabrielle’s been putting me to work over the last two days. In the process I think that I may have accidentally found a part-time job, and I’m not sure how to feel about this. To start, Las Palmas Villa now has me on their payroll, which means that I don’t get paid in cash as preferred, rather, I’m set to receive a pre-taxed check in two weeks-- lame. Secondly, although most would prefer such stability, I feel that such reoccurring work defeats the purpose of the ODDcupation, and I’m sure that it would make for a pretty boring blog. With that said, when Gabrielle told me that her and her boss were thinking of other tasks that they might have me do for them (aside from distributing flyers), I responded with an unenthusiastic, “Sounds good to me.” It really didn’t sound good at all. I’m thinking that I’m going to have to dump this job before it gets too attached; I’m just not ready for this level of commitment. Unfortunately I’m pretty bad at going through with such breakups because I can’t ever bring myself to hurt the other. If all goes well I’ll have enough courage to go through with it eventually, and hopefully she’ll take it okay.
Enough of that, let me tell you what this job has consisted of over the past two days. On day one I got to Las Palmas at 11:00, and because Gabrielle was busy showing apartment units I was stuck sitting in the courtyard until 11:30. ZZZ. Once she had finished with her potential tenants she called me into the office and had me divide a box full of flyers into stacks of five hundred. Meanwhile she was busy printing maps and highlighting streets that she wanted me to hit that afternoon. I finished partitioning the box about a half an hour later, tucked two stacks of five hundred into my Chrome backpack, got a few final instructions from bosslady, and was finally on my way. I followed her map to a CVS about ten blocks away and once again took parking advice from a boss (thankfully the good people at CVS found it in their hearts not to call a tow-truck for my car).
I began by slapping the flyers onto cars in nearby shopping centers, but soon found myself walking up and down the residential streets of Hollywood. To liven things up a bit I brought a joint for the walk, making use of it about twenty minutes into my journey. Initially I began by trying to be as efficient as possible, thinking about every move and trying my best to not take any unnecessary steps along the way: walk straight line to nearest car windshield, locate windshield wiper, lift windshield wiper, insert flyer, release wiper, repeat. Although it was pretty repetitive, it started off as a well thought out process. However, about an hour into it all my actions had become pretty robotic. My legs were moving and my hands continued to stick the flyers onto the windshields, but I became less interested with efficiency. I started to think about other things, different aspects of what I was doing, and soon realized that too much efficiency was definitely a bad thing. Day one would set the bar for what would be expected on proceeding days, and if I tried my hardest then, I would be forced to work equally as hard on day two. I slowed my pace and kept zigzagging from car to car.
Little happened over the next four hours. The most excitement came when the fuzz rolled up and told me that what I was doing was illegal. They said that both my employer and I could be cited if I continued. I told them that I had been hired by “some lady,” and that I would call her to deliver their warning. I pulled out my cell phone and they drove off just as Gabrielle answered. She asked me if they were still around and I informed her that they had just left. I had only been working for two hours and I figured that I’d be out of a job if I stopped then. Like the thug that I am I told her that I was willing to continue, she gave her approval and I hung up the phone. For the next two hours I was on the lookout for cops, thankfully those bastards never came back.
Overall, I had a good first day in the flyer distribution business. Trekking through Hollywood on a breezy summer day was surprisingly enjoyable. It was kinda refreshing to be walking around previously only scantly known neighborhoods, even more so with the Hollywood sign and Capital Records building always within eyesight. I felt like a true LA native when compared to the busloads of tourists that I saw pass by every few minutes on various nerdy touring vehicles. Most looked genuinely excited to be passing by the houses of the rich and famous, and I guess I can’t blame them. However, while they were only passive visitors in this land of infinite celebrities, I would be a recurring and active participant. Thanks to this job I’m going to mingling with the world’s most famous celebrities. Well, maybe not. At the very least I’ll be able to give a nod to their gardeners and nannies, I suppose it's better than nothing.
Day two was even less interesting. While Hollywood provided a host of beautiful babes to gaze upon, Koreatown was comprised of old Mexican ladies and hip Korean teens fashioned in the latest popular styles. Their bright track jackets and colorful Nikes were cool, just not my style. Although they weren’t much fun to look at, I empathized with them: I guess deep down we all want to be Korean pop-stars. Whereas the streets of Hollywood were lined with beautiful castle like mansions and warm Spanish-style villas, K-town was heavy saturated with acupuncturists and daycare providers (all operating from their homes).
One benefit to being in K-town as opposed to Hollywoodland was that there were way more unguarded parking lots. Most lots in Hollywood were paid lots that were secured by some Mexican dude who was quick to kick me off. The unguarded lots of K-town were like goldmines, providing a vast concentration of easily flyerable cars. Unfortunately, that was probably the only good thing about day two.
Half way through my four-hour shift the smell of kimchi was becoming nauseating and my legs were starting to feel the pain from walking around endlessly for the second straight day. I kept on keeping on and tried to think optimistically. At least this job allows me to burn off all those beer calories. It kinda kills two birds with one stone, I thought, providing money for beer AND a way to minimize the worst effects of all that alcohol. That was the most optimism that I could find, it’ll do for now.
I had to report back to the K-town apartment complex when I was done, but I also wanted to make sure that I would be paid for the full four hours. I finished posting the last flyer with about twenty-five minutes to spare and decided to sit on a curb until 4:00, exhausted. I stumbled up to the manager’s office, clocked out, and was in my Volvo within a few minutes. Driving home I felt like a rookie mail carrier: dead from way too much walking. Thankfully I got this job, for a while I actually thought that working for the USPS as a mailman might be cool-- fuck that. I hit the typical 5:00pm LA traffic and was too tired to be frustrated. Got home close to 6:00, pigged out on mama’s cooking, and sat down to write about the day. I still haven’t bathed, I smell, and I’m way tired. Were the conditions different I probably would have included more details regarding today’s job, instead I’d rather hit the showers.
Enough of that, let me tell you what this job has consisted of over the past two days. On day one I got to Las Palmas at 11:00, and because Gabrielle was busy showing apartment units I was stuck sitting in the courtyard until 11:30. ZZZ. Once she had finished with her potential tenants she called me into the office and had me divide a box full of flyers into stacks of five hundred. Meanwhile she was busy printing maps and highlighting streets that she wanted me to hit that afternoon. I finished partitioning the box about a half an hour later, tucked two stacks of five hundred into my Chrome backpack, got a few final instructions from bosslady, and was finally on my way. I followed her map to a CVS about ten blocks away and once again took parking advice from a boss (thankfully the good people at CVS found it in their hearts not to call a tow-truck for my car).
I began by slapping the flyers onto cars in nearby shopping centers, but soon found myself walking up and down the residential streets of Hollywood. To liven things up a bit I brought a joint for the walk, making use of it about twenty minutes into my journey. Initially I began by trying to be as efficient as possible, thinking about every move and trying my best to not take any unnecessary steps along the way: walk straight line to nearest car windshield, locate windshield wiper, lift windshield wiper, insert flyer, release wiper, repeat. Although it was pretty repetitive, it started off as a well thought out process. However, about an hour into it all my actions had become pretty robotic. My legs were moving and my hands continued to stick the flyers onto the windshields, but I became less interested with efficiency. I started to think about other things, different aspects of what I was doing, and soon realized that too much efficiency was definitely a bad thing. Day one would set the bar for what would be expected on proceeding days, and if I tried my hardest then, I would be forced to work equally as hard on day two. I slowed my pace and kept zigzagging from car to car.
Little happened over the next four hours. The most excitement came when the fuzz rolled up and told me that what I was doing was illegal. They said that both my employer and I could be cited if I continued. I told them that I had been hired by “some lady,” and that I would call her to deliver their warning. I pulled out my cell phone and they drove off just as Gabrielle answered. She asked me if they were still around and I informed her that they had just left. I had only been working for two hours and I figured that I’d be out of a job if I stopped then. Like the thug that I am I told her that I was willing to continue, she gave her approval and I hung up the phone. For the next two hours I was on the lookout for cops, thankfully those bastards never came back.
Overall, I had a good first day in the flyer distribution business. Trekking through Hollywood on a breezy summer day was surprisingly enjoyable. It was kinda refreshing to be walking around previously only scantly known neighborhoods, even more so with the Hollywood sign and Capital Records building always within eyesight. I felt like a true LA native when compared to the busloads of tourists that I saw pass by every few minutes on various nerdy touring vehicles. Most looked genuinely excited to be passing by the houses of the rich and famous, and I guess I can’t blame them. However, while they were only passive visitors in this land of infinite celebrities, I would be a recurring and active participant. Thanks to this job I’m going to mingling with the world’s most famous celebrities. Well, maybe not. At the very least I’ll be able to give a nod to their gardeners and nannies, I suppose it's better than nothing.
Day two was even less interesting. While Hollywood provided a host of beautiful babes to gaze upon, Koreatown was comprised of old Mexican ladies and hip Korean teens fashioned in the latest popular styles. Their bright track jackets and colorful Nikes were cool, just not my style. Although they weren’t much fun to look at, I empathized with them: I guess deep down we all want to be Korean pop-stars. Whereas the streets of Hollywood were lined with beautiful castle like mansions and warm Spanish-style villas, K-town was heavy saturated with acupuncturists and daycare providers (all operating from their homes).
One benefit to being in K-town as opposed to Hollywoodland was that there were way more unguarded parking lots. Most lots in Hollywood were paid lots that were secured by some Mexican dude who was quick to kick me off. The unguarded lots of K-town were like goldmines, providing a vast concentration of easily flyerable cars. Unfortunately, that was probably the only good thing about day two.
Half way through my four-hour shift the smell of kimchi was becoming nauseating and my legs were starting to feel the pain from walking around endlessly for the second straight day. I kept on keeping on and tried to think optimistically. At least this job allows me to burn off all those beer calories. It kinda kills two birds with one stone, I thought, providing money for beer AND a way to minimize the worst effects of all that alcohol. That was the most optimism that I could find, it’ll do for now.
I had to report back to the K-town apartment complex when I was done, but I also wanted to make sure that I would be paid for the full four hours. I finished posting the last flyer with about twenty-five minutes to spare and decided to sit on a curb until 4:00, exhausted. I stumbled up to the manager’s office, clocked out, and was in my Volvo within a few minutes. Driving home I felt like a rookie mail carrier: dead from way too much walking. Thankfully I got this job, for a while I actually thought that working for the USPS as a mailman might be cool-- fuck that. I hit the typical 5:00pm LA traffic and was too tired to be frustrated. Got home close to 6:00, pigged out on mama’s cooking, and sat down to write about the day. I still haven’t bathed, I smell, and I’m way tired. Were the conditions different I probably would have included more details regarding today’s job, instead I’d rather hit the showers.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Erick the Flyer Guy
Earlier this week I responded to a Craigslist ad that was looking for someone to distribute flyers throughout Hollywood and Koreatown. I replied to the ad, writing that I would be around all summer, and explaining that my "youthful energy" would make me perfect for the job. About two hours later while napping I got a call from a a woman, Gabrielle, the originator of the ad. She informed me that she needed someone to walk around preselected city blocks, placing flyers on car windshields in the process. Although most everyone despises such advertisements I figured that if I didn't take the job, someone else would. Not even the dismal pay rate of $8/hour (minimum wage) could keep from from this job. Why? It sounded like it might provide good blogging material. Additionally, walking around an unfamiliar neighborhood, enjoying the beautiful summer weather of Southern California sounded enjoyable enough.
Gabrielle asked me what my experience was in the flyer distribution field, I explained that I had none, and she told me to come in on Friday to start working.
Friday morning rolls around and I wake up with a headache after a long night of drinking cheap whiskey-- off to a good start. I had to be in Hollywood by noon so I left my house at approximately 11:30. I jumped on the 10 West, transitioned to the Hollywood freeway, and then got off at Highland. I found the address and was a bit surprised to find myself in front of an apartment complex: Las Palmas Villa. Next, I called Gabrielle and she told me that she would open up the gate for the parking garage. I parked my car, found the elevator, and followed her directions to the manager's office. Upon entering the office I saw two desks, Gabrielle was sitting at one, and the other was vacant. She was on the phone but she signaled for me to sit down at the chair in front of her desk, I complied. As I was waiting I examined the office and didn't see anything worth taking note of: a flat screen TV, a few old movie posters (none of which I had heard of), and the usual office necessities.
Gabrielle hung up the phone and asked, "Are you a student?"
I replied, "Yeah. I go to UC Berkeley."
She explained that her boss was normally pretty wary about hiring people off of Craiglist, some shit about them not being very reliable. "But you go to Berkeley, so that's different," she concluded. Finally my Berkeley education was seeming to pay off, haha.
She went on to ask me what I was up to this summer, what I was studying at school, what I thought about Obama, and what my thoughts were on the oil spill. I replied to these probing questions with pretty general answers and wondered why any of this shit was relevant for the job that I would be performing. Anyways, my answers must have been good enough because she then proceeded to explain what neighborhoods I would be flyering, using a printed map to highlight specific streets.
After seeing that I was capable of carrying on a conversation she asked me to step into the courtyard so that she could call her boss, the owner of Las Palmas. I stepped out and she called me back in a few minutes later. She told me that I would be starting on Monday, but first I would have to fill out an application for their records and payroll, boss's orders. Apparently she had wanted to pay me cash under the table, untaxed, but her superior disagreed.
So, I sat there for the next fifteen minutes filling out all the bullshit paperwork, continued with the useless small talk, and clarified some questions that I had regarding the length of employment. They have two apartment buildings, one in Hollywood and one in K-Town, each with 2-3 available units. I'll be flyering in both neighborhoods until these units are filled, probably for about two weeks. She also explained that hours were pretty flexible because there are always cars waiting to be flyered, a definite plus, thank you cars. I'm officially "Erick the flyer guy," not to be confused with "Erick the maintenance guy," another Las Palmas employee. I left soon after filling out the last required document and pulled out of the garage, pleased that I'd have a nice cash flow for the next two weeks, bummed that I couldn't start today.
Monday will be here soon enough, stay tuned.
Gabrielle asked me what my experience was in the flyer distribution field, I explained that I had none, and she told me to come in on Friday to start working.
Friday morning rolls around and I wake up with a headache after a long night of drinking cheap whiskey-- off to a good start. I had to be in Hollywood by noon so I left my house at approximately 11:30. I jumped on the 10 West, transitioned to the Hollywood freeway, and then got off at Highland. I found the address and was a bit surprised to find myself in front of an apartment complex: Las Palmas Villa. Next, I called Gabrielle and she told me that she would open up the gate for the parking garage. I parked my car, found the elevator, and followed her directions to the manager's office. Upon entering the office I saw two desks, Gabrielle was sitting at one, and the other was vacant. She was on the phone but she signaled for me to sit down at the chair in front of her desk, I complied. As I was waiting I examined the office and didn't see anything worth taking note of: a flat screen TV, a few old movie posters (none of which I had heard of), and the usual office necessities.
Gabrielle hung up the phone and asked, "Are you a student?"
I replied, "Yeah. I go to UC Berkeley."
She explained that her boss was normally pretty wary about hiring people off of Craiglist, some shit about them not being very reliable. "But you go to Berkeley, so that's different," she concluded. Finally my Berkeley education was seeming to pay off, haha.
She went on to ask me what I was up to this summer, what I was studying at school, what I thought about Obama, and what my thoughts were on the oil spill. I replied to these probing questions with pretty general answers and wondered why any of this shit was relevant for the job that I would be performing. Anyways, my answers must have been good enough because she then proceeded to explain what neighborhoods I would be flyering, using a printed map to highlight specific streets.
After seeing that I was capable of carrying on a conversation she asked me to step into the courtyard so that she could call her boss, the owner of Las Palmas. I stepped out and she called me back in a few minutes later. She told me that I would be starting on Monday, but first I would have to fill out an application for their records and payroll, boss's orders. Apparently she had wanted to pay me cash under the table, untaxed, but her superior disagreed.
So, I sat there for the next fifteen minutes filling out all the bullshit paperwork, continued with the useless small talk, and clarified some questions that I had regarding the length of employment. They have two apartment buildings, one in Hollywood and one in K-Town, each with 2-3 available units. I'll be flyering in both neighborhoods until these units are filled, probably for about two weeks. She also explained that hours were pretty flexible because there are always cars waiting to be flyered, a definite plus, thank you cars. I'm officially "Erick the flyer guy," not to be confused with "Erick the maintenance guy," another Las Palmas employee. I left soon after filling out the last required document and pulled out of the garage, pleased that I'd have a nice cash flow for the next two weeks, bummed that I couldn't start today.
Monday will be here soon enough, stay tuned.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
A Cheap Tutor
I figured that since one of the few things that I'm good at is school, I might as well try to make some money by helping others with their own education. In order to do so I've been putting up Craigslist posts advertising myself as an "Experienced and Reliable Tutor," neither of which is true. Although tutoring isn't the most exciting or memorable job, I decided that it would be a good way to get some cash in my pocket for the summer essentials: beer, food, liquor, pot, and maybe even a new pair of new? We'll see.
Recently I had a kid Derek call me while I was out with Harrison. We were killing time before a Wednesday night Highland Park/Eagle Rock party and we were under the influence early. Harrison hadn't eaten so the two of us walked to a McDonald's on north Figueroa. The kid called as Harrison was ordering so I stepped out in order to better hear him, trying my best to sound sober. Derek said that he needed help with his Algebra I studying, finals were coming and he was apparently way behind. He told me that he lives in Huntington Park, but that he goes to high school in downtown LA. In the background I could hear his mom speaking to him in Spanish, instructing the nervous kid about which questions to ask. Thankfully my inability to speak the language prevented me from speaking to his mom directly; good news while intoxicated, and probably the only time that I've been glad that my parents never taught me Spanish. Anyways, I'm not sure if it was because of my mental state at the time, or my desire to help unprivileged youth, but when asked about how much I would charge him I said $10/hour. I think it was this incredibly low price that got them most excited-- most tutors charge anywhere between $20-$35/hour. Like I said, all I aim to do is make enough money to have spending cash this summer, I'm not trying to make a fortune and if sitting down with a kid for a couple hours helps me achieve this, then fuck it.
The next morning Derek called me again and we arranged to meet at a park by his house Friday after school. This time I told him that I would charge $10/hour if he got a ride to Alhambra, or $13/hour if I had to drive to Huntington Park/HP/the hood, his mother opted for the latter.
I got to the park at 2:00, right on time. Found a table under a tree and called the kid's cellphone, no answer. Next, I called his house and he answered. In mumbled English he explained that he was running late and that he would be there soon. I hung up the phone, pulled out a book of short stories by Bukowski and proceeded to read under the tree for the next half an hour.
Derek and his mother arrived at 2:30 and I guess that I must stand out in the hood because they automatically knew which table to come to. I shook the kid's hand (a weak shaker) and made the necessary introductory small talk. His mother sat at the table with us and I asked Derek to pull out his Algebra. He pulled out a yellow folder full of wrinkled math worksheets and found the one that he was having most trouble with: Chapter 8- The Quadratic Equation. In time the nervous kid that I first spoke to on the phone explained that this was his second time taking Algebra I. He attributed his previous failure to 'test anxiety' and I responded by telling him that he should probably just study harder, earlier, and longer. He also said some stuff about not having any friends and wanting to drive out to Alhambra next time solely for the purpose of getting out of the hood. Poor kid.
I tried my best to dig out my prior knowledge of Chapter 8, and despite not having done this shit since middle school, I felt that I did a good job of clarifying his questions. I might have bullshitted some of my advice, but he didn't seem to notice, neither did his mom. I walked him through some more worksheet review questions, made some sample questions, had him do those, and before I knew it ninety minutes had passed. It was 4:00 and since Derek's mother assumed that I would charge them for the half an hour that they were late, she started to pack up his things. I explained that I wouldn't charge them for those first thirty minutes, that my book had provided enough entertainment, and that we could go until 4:30 for a total of two hours of actual tutoring. His mom liked this and we kept on working.
The most interesting thing that happened over those two hours had nothing to do with tutoring. While explaining to Derek how to plot a line I felt something fall on my shoulder from the tree above. I looked up just in time to see a predator bird fly away, maybe an eagle or a hawk, I don't know birds. I looked down and saw another bird, except this one was bloodied and dead. For some reason the predator bird decided to drop its leftovers on me, I guess I must stand out to the birds as well.
We stopped working a little passed 4:35 and set up another time to meet as he packed up his crumpled papers. His mom seemed really pleased with everything, she sent me off with $30 (three fives and fifteen ones) and a yellow Powerade. She also told me that she would recommend me to other parents, maybe I'll charge them more. $30 for two and a half hours seemed good enough to me. I left the park, picked up my bike from the repair shop on Cesar Chavez, paid the guy $15 (in ones), and still had enough money for some cheap beer and food later that night. Moral of the story: tutoring pays, keep it coming.
Recently I had a kid Derek call me while I was out with Harrison. We were killing time before a Wednesday night Highland Park/Eagle Rock party and we were under the influence early. Harrison hadn't eaten so the two of us walked to a McDonald's on north Figueroa. The kid called as Harrison was ordering so I stepped out in order to better hear him, trying my best to sound sober. Derek said that he needed help with his Algebra I studying, finals were coming and he was apparently way behind. He told me that he lives in Huntington Park, but that he goes to high school in downtown LA. In the background I could hear his mom speaking to him in Spanish, instructing the nervous kid about which questions to ask. Thankfully my inability to speak the language prevented me from speaking to his mom directly; good news while intoxicated, and probably the only time that I've been glad that my parents never taught me Spanish. Anyways, I'm not sure if it was because of my mental state at the time, or my desire to help unprivileged youth, but when asked about how much I would charge him I said $10/hour. I think it was this incredibly low price that got them most excited-- most tutors charge anywhere between $20-$35/hour. Like I said, all I aim to do is make enough money to have spending cash this summer, I'm not trying to make a fortune and if sitting down with a kid for a couple hours helps me achieve this, then fuck it.
The next morning Derek called me again and we arranged to meet at a park by his house Friday after school. This time I told him that I would charge $10/hour if he got a ride to Alhambra, or $13/hour if I had to drive to Huntington Park/HP/the hood, his mother opted for the latter.
I got to the park at 2:00, right on time. Found a table under a tree and called the kid's cellphone, no answer. Next, I called his house and he answered. In mumbled English he explained that he was running late and that he would be there soon. I hung up the phone, pulled out a book of short stories by Bukowski and proceeded to read under the tree for the next half an hour.
Derek and his mother arrived at 2:30 and I guess that I must stand out in the hood because they automatically knew which table to come to. I shook the kid's hand (a weak shaker) and made the necessary introductory small talk. His mother sat at the table with us and I asked Derek to pull out his Algebra. He pulled out a yellow folder full of wrinkled math worksheets and found the one that he was having most trouble with: Chapter 8- The Quadratic Equation. In time the nervous kid that I first spoke to on the phone explained that this was his second time taking Algebra I. He attributed his previous failure to 'test anxiety' and I responded by telling him that he should probably just study harder, earlier, and longer. He also said some stuff about not having any friends and wanting to drive out to Alhambra next time solely for the purpose of getting out of the hood. Poor kid.
I tried my best to dig out my prior knowledge of Chapter 8, and despite not having done this shit since middle school, I felt that I did a good job of clarifying his questions. I might have bullshitted some of my advice, but he didn't seem to notice, neither did his mom. I walked him through some more worksheet review questions, made some sample questions, had him do those, and before I knew it ninety minutes had passed. It was 4:00 and since Derek's mother assumed that I would charge them for the half an hour that they were late, she started to pack up his things. I explained that I wouldn't charge them for those first thirty minutes, that my book had provided enough entertainment, and that we could go until 4:30 for a total of two hours of actual tutoring. His mom liked this and we kept on working.
The most interesting thing that happened over those two hours had nothing to do with tutoring. While explaining to Derek how to plot a line I felt something fall on my shoulder from the tree above. I looked up just in time to see a predator bird fly away, maybe an eagle or a hawk, I don't know birds. I looked down and saw another bird, except this one was bloodied and dead. For some reason the predator bird decided to drop its leftovers on me, I guess I must stand out to the birds as well.
We stopped working a little passed 4:35 and set up another time to meet as he packed up his crumpled papers. His mom seemed really pleased with everything, she sent me off with $30 (three fives and fifteen ones) and a yellow Powerade. She also told me that she would recommend me to other parents, maybe I'll charge them more. $30 for two and a half hours seemed good enough to me. I left the park, picked up my bike from the repair shop on Cesar Chavez, paid the guy $15 (in ones), and still had enough money for some cheap beer and food later that night. Moral of the story: tutoring pays, keep it coming.
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