Will Work for Art

I answer the phone, on average, once every 20 mintues. For a total, so far, of 9 times in the past 3 hours. Do the math, that's three per hour. It is the Friday before Labor Day, the Real World's last hurrah before the onset of returning to Normal Times, school, and the harder grind. People are reminded that it's time to labor, once again, as the onslaught of cold weather brings us back to more productive lives. Produce more, vacate less.

That's no excuse for what I do. I get paid $20 per hour, to answer a phone with a quick and clever whip, "Freddy Banker's office... Sorry, he's unavailable at the moment, may I take a message, or would you like voice mail?"

After the caller's needs aren't met, she settles for voice mail, and I transfer her away while I face 20 more peaceful minutes of solitude. Before isolation, however, I am endowed with the difficult task of creating an email, and typing in the subject line "Pls call She Banker; x1234", then sending a blank message to the vacated banker. Yep, that's it. And it's back to reading the New York Times online, Google News, and scanning for Yahoo! Most Popular photos of the day, which usually consist of the previous night's skin, a Lebanese city destroyed, or a baby panda that fits on one finger.

This is what I do, and I feel no shame. I'm a grown, married man who makes choices of his own volition, although heavily-influenced by aforementioned wife, and I choose freely to be here in this haven of phone etiquette and billion dollar investment funds. I haven't ventured into the billion dollar fund, as of late, but I've decided to focus on the telephonic side of things. Some people can multi-task, but I choose to hone in on the most relevent first. Triage, baby, triage.

Hey, I need the money. I'm an artist, and bankers have subsidized artists for centuries, although, they haven't handed me my commision yet. But that is why I write freely today, and yesterday. They're money gives me this pre-paid computer, with a great deal on internet access, which is free-to-me access. And off I go into the wild, net-yonder.

Granted, there are a great many who don't make what I make, and do much more work, meaning physical labor, constant mundane tasks, watching the streets, putting out fires, or teaching children. Fulfilling, I'm sure these occupations are, and at some point in life, I've questioned whether or not I wanted to participate in that side of life. The choice is obvious: to enlighten the world of the plight of the Bartleby's of the 21st century.

No, things haven't changed much since businesses consisted of the boss, a sole worker, and a coal oven to heat the two in one room. Well they have, with electricity, phones, the internet, minimum wage, 401k's, Dental plans, Social Security, Income tax, among other small accomplishments in the last two centuries. But other than that, you still have the basic priciple of boss and worker. Worker earns much smaller amount than boss, in exchange for handling the tedious, repetitive, unchallenging business demands, on a daily basis. Ah, yes, things haven't changed.

So, am I complaining about my position in business-life, despite the many less-paid, overworked souls out there, relative to me? Hell no. I appreciate the time I have to write and read. I am thankful for the laisse-faire attitudes of the bankers I work for, with only a few who are particular with their needs.

If I didn't have a monolith of debt from 3 school loans, now consolidated, 3 credit cards, and a generous gift from a our former subletter, whom we owe the final month's rent, not to mention the regular bills of rent, food, utilities, clothes, travel, etc., etc., then I would be in a great-paying job that would lead me to a life of savings in fianancial baby steps toward owning a house and starting a family. But like I said, I am in debt, at 31 years old, upwards of $65 thousand. It happens, and you get used to it, but that monolith can't be knocked down in one giant swoop with a $20/hour job.

That's where the art comes in. That's where the I-better-land-a-national-commercial-soon comes in. If I land one, that runs for six months, extended from the average three months, I could topple $50k of the mountain, and almost begin to save for things to come.

Debt is personal, so is money, but truth is the only way to liberate myself of this dillema that I placed myself in over the last 13 years. From undergraduate school, to acting school, a trip to Europe in between, and a few months of rent on the credit card when I didn't have a job, I have created this monolith, and I can't seem to see the top of it. Maybe if I step far back.

But still, it's all relative. The poverty line grows, and people earn $10 thousand per year. I don't know how, but they do. Living in NYC is slightly different, but...