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.
So I got a call to work at the Turf Club in Upper Darby. I had no idea what a Turf Club was, but I decided I'd rather be horribly surprised than have an entire day of dreading. So I jumped on the blue line to the 69th Street Terminal. I was told to look for a JC Penny and then walk up the parking ramp to meet my contact guy, Curt. I was thinking, "Man this place is really hidden, what is it? A porn store?" (Actually the porn store was a block the other direction). I walked in and was greeted by a skinny lady at a cash register. She was 60ish and had jerry curl hair. Later I founded out that her name was Grace. "Oh you must be Curt's new guy. Just knock on that door, Baby, he'll take care of you." I saw a door marked Security and knocked. No one answered and I heard someone from behind me grunt "Hey!" A thin black dude limped over and introduced himself as Curt. I never did find out what happened to his leg. I think he's ex-military or law enforcement or something.
The Turf Club is an off-track horse-racing betting establishment. In other words, instead of going to an actual horse race, there are multiple television monitors that show different races from around the world. Then there are ticket agents that accept the bets and give receipt tickets. Gathered around the TVs is a bunch of old Italian guys with curious bulges around their breast pockets, lower backs, or ankles. They just stand around until a race is over and then the winners make a bee line to the ticket counter to cash in. The losers started cussing and throwing their tickets to the floor in disgust. The Turf Club actually employs people to walk around with dustpans and brooms just to clean up the tickets. The joint also boasts two bars, a restaurant, and the oldest, most haggard looking hooker this side of West Philly who helps the big winners test out the shocks on their station wagons.
My duties included making hourly patrols around the parking lot, kicking dudes out for stealing other dudes tickets (those geezers are shit heads and just leave tickets sitting around), turning the channels on the TVs to different races, fetching ginger ale for the cashiers who asked me nicely, and watching Grace's station while she got her pee on. Since I didn't have much going on, I got to bullshit with some of the weirdest people. You'll get to meet them next month.
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