The ink was still wet on my diploma, and I couldn’t find a job. The vision given us by experience and wisdom tells me now that I wasn’t looking in the right places. But in the moment, I was growing desperate. I wanted a job in my field, though I didn’t understand the scope of my field.
So I went looking for a j.o.b. A paycheck. My first choice was tending bar, or even a bar back job. I was having no luck. One afternoon, I walked into a bar to inquire about a job, and found myself talking to a manager who interviewed me on the spot. It was a weird conversation.
“How tall are you?” he asked.
“Six feet,” I replied.
“What do you weigh?”
“About 200.” This was really odd.
“Have you ever been in a bar fight? Can you handle yourself?”
Then I understood. They were looking for bouncers. The need for a paycheck compelled me to admit that yes, I had been in a couple bar fights.
I got the job, as a bouncer. It was not a good job. I saw some crazy things. I got spit on, punched, and had a knife pulled on me (that was my last shift). In an effort to get some guy to stop hitting his girlfriend, I broke one of his thumbs. He still didn’t stop. A terrible job.
But it was temporary, a patch. A way to get from Point-Not-A to Point A. The first step to my career happened a few months later, when I took a job at the very, very bottom of a production company. I took a 30% pay cut from my job as a bouncer in taking that job. I liked that job well enough, and had no idea it was my first Big Boy Job.
I now watch my sons, the ink on their diplomas not yet dry, try to find jobs during The Covid. I can’t help them. I don’t know what to do. Our younger son is now looking for a j.o.b. A paycheck. A way to avoid moving home. A job that will buy him time to put his finance degree to use. A Point-Not-A. I tell him it’ll work out, because eventually it will. But that doesn’t help him. It’s vapor, just this side of pointless.
Our older son is now working two jobs, and neither one has much to do with Economics or Sustainability. One paycheck comes from serving coffee. The other from serving beer. Alone, each ensures poverty. Together, they represent options. And little time off. I tell him we’ve all had to do that, that we all eat shit in the beginning, and he should be patient. Vapor, just this side of pointless. He laments not being able to find his first Big Boy Job.
OS is a young man with deep and persistent interests. He’s passionate about food, coffee, cocktails and beer. These two jobs should be perfect for him, though I see his anxiety. He seems dissatisfied, like he doesn’t feel he’s where he should be. I think to him success looks like one thing, one narrow and prescribed thing. I realized the other day that at 24, I did too. At that age, I had no idea what was to come, where my chances, my possibilities, would come from. I realized how universal that is. When we’re in neck deep, we can only see a few feet. For all he knows, Older Son may already have his first Big Boy Job.
So in the Age of Covid, the best we can do is the best we can do. After that, give yourself a break. These are weird, unpredictable times, and we’ll find solutions in weird, unpredictable places. Could even be in a coffee shop or a brewery for all I know.
Whatever. I’m going to go buy a beer from my kid.
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