Wage Slavery 11: Weed Picker

When last we left the WildeRix, he ushered us in. Let’s see what happens next…

After working for the Ford Center for a few months, my wife and I started to realize that we still didn’t make enough money to make the ends meet.  Even with both of us working the full 8 shows per week and getting the overtime bonus for working both shows on Sunday.  So we set out to find second jobs.  We scoured the classifieds in the Village Voice, cursing ourselves for not having experience as a hairdresser or line cook (which seemed to offer the most opportunities.)  Then all of the sudden, I saw a new ad that seemed to scream out my name:

FLOWER HARVESTING — Energetic outdoor person Mon & Tues, to cut flowers. Long hours out of city. Trans provided. Drive lic req.

Wage Slavery 10: The Avenue I’m Taking You To

When last we left the WildeRix, he did a lot of things for not very long. Let’s see what happens next…

In April of 2002, I landed my first “real” job in New York City as an usher in a Broadway theatre.  I can’t quite remember how we heard about it.  Possibly, my wife (who had worked a few different jobs in the field of theatre management) heard about it from one of her contacts in the industry.  So we stopped by the stage door of the Ford Center for the Performing Arts (now the Hilton Theatre) on 43rd Street — just opposite the New York Times building — to pick up a pair of applications and sit down at a little diner to fill them out.

Wage Slavery 9: Sadly temporary

When last we left the WildeRix, he discovered a telepathic gorilla who explained the problem of civilization while waiting tables in NYC. Let’s see what happens next…

After the “Season” had ended, and TGI Fridays didn’t need their surplus of employees anymore, I had to get back to what would become a regular routine for me: scouring the Village Voice and tweaking my resume in order to sell myself to the flavor-of-the-moment job I thought I might have the tiniest chance of getting.  A few really desirable jobs passed by, but they never panned out for me.  I had high hopes of working at Columbia’s library, but while waiting for them to never acknowledge my presence, I had to hoof it (literally) in order to pay the rent as a foot messenger.