Jobs: ITV (Part 6) & Vampfangs (Part 7)

VI

I knew ITV was a scam right off the bat. I had some connections on the staff and they promised FREE money with very little effort. They were correct.

My job was customer service. The customers I was servicing were generally irate.

The business was under a mask of "Health Products" but really all they were selling was the opportunity to give away your credit card information.

The genius of the plan was the "Autoship". You could get a cheap deal, or even free products, if you signed up for the Autoship. The majority of their customer base was sly enough to get the discount, but not tenacious enough to actually follow through and cancel the damn thing. They'd get products for months at a time before they realized and cancelled their account, by which time hardly any of the products would be eligible for refund.

There was also a "Home Agent" program which I referred to as the Triple Inverted Scam. But my stomach can't even handle it this morning. ITV still makes my stomach turn.

I learned from ITV that if It seems too good to be true, it Is.

Donald Barrett is a leech and Kevin Trudeau is a snake. Kevin is a drug addict and Donald wears dentures. I never had any problems with either of them personally. I worked for them diligently and honestly for a few months, until even the weight of the raw money couldn't hold my Conscious in check any longer.

In the end, I think every consumer is ultimately as responsible as the scumbag CEOs. Neither Donald nor Kevin "forced" any of their consumers to believe their spewed lies. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't have. They didn't force their consumers to whip out credit cards, or to verbally agree to massive amounts of inventory.

But... they profited mainly off of lonely, elderly people watching television in the wee hours of the morning. I also heard they stole every door knob out of every door, before they left the building they had been evicted from.

*****

VII

Vampfangs.com is an online halloween and alternative-gothic superstore.

fangs, masks, blood, hair dye, clothes, shoes, full costumes, makeup... whatever you need. Quality products at fair prices. September and October are the real heavy cream - nonstop madness - tens of thousands of orders - weeks upon weeks of chaos...

but I was most impressed by the steady stream of orders throughout the year. Who are these people buying acrylic fangs in January? and why?

I learned the importance of the niche market at Vampfangs. I also got to work with top notch video & film equipment. It was a pleasant atmosphere whether we were balls-to-the-wall or on lunch break.

Vampfangs is one guy. It's the guy that started the company over a decade ago. He lives his dream and I was so impressed by this that I realized that Vampfangs was his dream and not mine, and that I had to establish my dream and follow that.

My dream is music. I've been gigging and teaching lessons for three months now and feel at this time that my plan might be crazy enough to just barely work. I hope to take what I learned from all of these jobs and put those pieces together to unlock the puzzle. To create my own business. If I fail, I'll get another job. If I succeed, I'll never have another boss again for the rest of my life. Talk about Motivation.

*one point that I gleaned from all these jobs but neglected to mention was the Importance of Apathy. That is, if you are totally indebted to the success of every little detail, there's no way to feel happy or successful, because nothing ever goes perfect. You have to expect bad things to happen and be O.K. with not "really" caring. That always helped me to focus on the Solution instead of the Problem. A healthy dose of apathy.

Jobs: Stavis (Part 4) & Berklee (Part 5)

IV

Stavis Seafoods would probably label themselves as Distributors. I like to think of them as Boxers.

They buy the big boxes from the Big Box companies. They take the product out of those boxes into smaller boxes. They sell the smaller boxes to the small box companies that can't afford to buy from the big box companies.

It's sly business and I love that. The monkey wrench is that the product is seafood, which is perishable. The idea that a percentage of this inventory expires every week or so still makes me queasy. The Stavis' have iron stomachs.

I worked in the fresh warehouse. Shoveling ice into the boxes. Putting fish in the boxes. Boxes on wooden palettes. Palettes put onto trucks. Trucks sent around the country and world. Probably another 2 or 3 steps away from your dinner plate, which is pretty amazing too.

The smell of fresh fish at 7a on a Sunday morning as a hungover 17 year old. I did one or two summers in the warehouse and maybe 6-8 months of Sundays thereafter. That smell doesn't come off after your shift. Changing your clothes won't help. Putting them in a plastic bag in the trunk won't help. The seagulls would follow my toyota home over 30 miles and I would scrub myself with real lemons in the shower and still smell like a fish all week. They are a wonderful family and it was a great place to work and I don't miss it one bit.

*****

V

I started in the Student Affairs Office at Berklee College of Music through the work program at the school. I didn't land the gig until my last semester. They don't usually do it that way. They usually get em young and fresh and keep em and watch em grow. I was realizing that was the case, throughout the school, and had assumed it wasn't going to fly. More than a day late, and thus about to be more than a dollar short.

I kept shooting and lucked out that this one particular office needed a 1 semester fill-in. I once read that "luck is where preparation meets opportunity" and actually that quote is from a book the Director of the S.A. office let me borrow.

(The book is "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch and you should read it if you haven't. It's not that long but it's Heavy and will change the way you think)

When my one semester was up I graduated and went on my way, landing at a Customer Service gig (see next post...) but was soon miserable. I called them back, literally within a day of an admin giving his notice. The season was changing, a massive tide of students on the horizon, and with my familiarity with the office, and a little faith on the part of my boss, I got to slide into the position. Administrative Assistant to the Assistant Vice President for Student Affairs at Berklee College of Music. It's the longest title I've ever had.

I worked with students, professors (who just so happen to be world class musicians), assisted on photo shoots, took notes at meetings, and witnessed a high school jazz festival take shape over a year's worth of meetings and planning behind the scenes. Fancy music magazines were delivered to the office every day. I read them. I was there for about 18 months but had also gone to school there, so I was ready to move on.

The same core of hard working people remain in the office. They are also activists, singers, actresses and organizers, in their "spare" time, when they are not moving the wheels of the College with their own brute strength. I could never complain about being tired from a gig, because Everyone had gigs the night before. Everyone is crazy gonzo and love being crazy gonzo and they inspire me to work hard and play harder and sleep when I'm dead.

Jobs: Crosby's (Part 3)

There's not much to say about being a grocery store cashier.

It's pretty miserable stuff. You're young and can only work so many hours. Plus you're young and making dirt for money.

*Mildly Related Tangent* One winter at college in Boston I was wheeling my enormous and delicate instrument down the slushy streets towards my lessons, and found myself waiting in the Mass Ave. crosswalk next to heavy hitting jazz guitar monster Bruce Bartlett. I smiled and nodded in recognition and he said, "You gotta pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues" and instantly my feet got warmer and the bass got lighter and I felt like a million bucks for the remainder of the winter.

Where were we? Ah yes, paying your dues. I've determined the "Young Man's Work Formula" to be:

Limited hours (multiplied by) Dirt Pay = Misery

It wasn't all bad. Every once and again the line of customers would offer an enjoyably crazy stranger. Someone venting about their day, gushing about their kids, ranting about the news, making small talk about sports, or even discussing the meals they were about to prepare. These people made moments of misery morph to memorable. Time travels faster when ideas are being exchanged. The slow, solemn, steady processing of payment is nearly unbearable in silence.

And thus a new Rule was created that I have followed to this day. I try to learn the names of the clerks in my life. If I meet them more than twice. For example, I were getting gas in Pennsylvania on my way to Baltimore I would not feel bad making a quick, silent transaction. I don't need to know that guy's name.

However, if I purchase fresh eggs every Tuesday at the farm stand on Route 1A and every Tuesday see the same woman processing my order, by the second or third time I will introduce myself and ask her name. And that usually leads to good things.

Jobs: Buddy's (Part 2)

When I started at Buddy's I was a busboy. Gross.

Washing dishes is gross. Darren was a cook. He was a gross troll of a man. I remember a gnarly straggling black beard and a perpetual rum & coke. He spent most of his time on the wrong side of the bar instead of behind the grill.

The first cigarettes I smoked were his. Im sorry Mom, but everyone else in that place took regular cigarette breaks and I didn't get any breaks. Until I started stealing Darren's cigarettes.

I don't remember anything except slurry yet sharply barked orders coming out of his mouth. Although I feel somewhat guilty in sharing that truth, considering...

Years later (not too many though, because I couldn't yet drive myself) I was hitching a ride somewhere from my Dad on the condition that we first swing thru a wake and I allow him to pay his respects. It was a co-worker's father. My dad is a fast jiving seafood salesmen in the city and could probably sell you a case of salmon if you talk to him long enough.

I accompanied him to the wake, young and uncomfortable by the sad strangers. Walking in the door, Dad made his way towards his friend, but I froze at the poster welcoming the mournful. My dad's co-worker's dead father was Darren the cook from Buddys.

Sometimes the world is too damn small and that can be a bummer. I suppose a depressing and tragic coincidence is a fitting end for mine and Darren's story. Thanks for the smokes, pal.

Jobs: A Mini-Series (Part 1)

I'm still a young buck, so I haven't had too many different jobs. This is more an exercise in Memory. When we're done with this initial list, each successive post will be a short anecdote from each job, chronologically.

-Busboy / Prep Cook @ Buddy's - Byfield, MA

-Grocery Store Cashier @ Crosby's - Georgetown, MA

-Warehouse / Accounting Office @ Stavis Seafoods - Boston, MA

-Student Affairs Office @ Berklee College of Music - Boston, MA

-Customer Service Representative @ ITV - Beverly, MA

-Office Manager @ Vampfangs.com - Gloucester, MA

I'm proud of my resume. It begins on a hot day in early summer. School is out. Mom says "You need to get a job" but I'm cheeky and too smart for my britches and reply "Well unfortunately Mom the state of Massachusetts says that you have to be 15 to acquire a worker's permit and I'm only 13..."

To which she swiftly challenged, "I don't think they care very much about that at Buddy's..."

And they didn't.

Party Lines

I can't imagine a situation in which I would want a gun in my home. However, I support every American's right to get certified, acquire a legal firearm, and do just that. I wouldn't be a very good Democrat.

I can't imagine a situation in which I would be comfortable supporting an abortion. However, I support every woman's right to do just that. I wouldn't be a very good Republican.

What I'm trying to say, is that with such a wide scope of issues in today's world, I find it hard to imagine that people still vote solely on party lines. That fact alone usually subdues the political junkie in me, whenever he gets rowdy.