Wooden It Be Loverly

Wood? Steel? Same neighborhood.

The job interviews this afternoon went well. At the SPCA, I had a nice chat with the woman who interviewed me. Alas, the job only pays $7.50 an hour, and I wouldn't be able to meet my expenses on that. As my father pointed out, surely they could hire some nice Mexican to pick up dogshit for $7.50 an hour. But not me. Not that they wouldn't be a great organization to work for, doing wonderful work, but could I really face putting 'Dog Shit Picker Upper' down on my tax forms? Perhaps not.

Contrariwise, the interview with the cabintry shop went really really really well. I got a tour of the shop, and was asked the magic question: "When would you be able to start."

It looks like a good place to work. They have a decent benefits package. A lot of the people who work there have been there for the past twenty years. No experience is necessary, and they encourage everyone to be generalists to some degree or another, so I'd really learn the ins and outs of cabinetry. I had a nice talk with the guy who interviewed me about the romance of wood (pretty impressive, huh?). And the stuff they make is really beautiful. On the down side, the standard hours are 7 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. There were weeks over the past summer where I wasn't getting out of bed until 3:30 p.m. Just in time to get myself together and make it over to the Christopher Street Piers to watch the sun set. Although it will be quite an adjustment, I think the change would do me good. And after work, I can go to Starbucks in Doylestown and smoke cigars on the porch and watch the juvenile delinquents congregate. Then go home, fix some dinner for my father and I, and spend a few hours each day writing. They give a week off between Christmas and New Years (Hello, Belgium!) and a week off in July when the whole shop closes down (Hello, San Diego!). And, I would get one weeks vacation my first year (Hello, Inferno!).

And I'd be doing something with my hands. Good honest work. The guy didn't bat an eye when we were going over my resume (Chief-of-Staff, Executive Director, Network Coordinator, Legislative Aide, Development Associate) and I told him that I didn't want to work behind a desk any more. "Yeah," he said, "We have several guys for whom this is a second career."

I feel like one of those Communists in the '30s who dropped out of NYU and Brooklyn College to go down to work in the coal mines of West Virginia or the factories of Gary, Indiana. I'll have to get 'Fanfare for the Common Man' on CD so I can play it on my way to work every morning. When I leave the house at 6:30 a.m.

I wonder how the guys (I saw one woman there) will deal when it becomes known that I'm a homo? I'll admit to being a little nervous about that. I mean, 'you do your job and I'll do mine' is probably the worse case scenario, but there could be a 'phobe in the shop. Then again, this is the age of Queer Eye and Will and Grace and Boy Meets Boy. It probably won't be a lot different than if I was Black or Jewish or whatever. Different, but how am I with the band saw?

By and large, the employees seemed to be men. As in, grown men. Family men. Adult grown up men. Blue collar men. Working men. Joe Lunchbucket men. It almost seems anachronistic. Didn't all those jobs go overseas? Haven't all of you been replaced by computers? I guess not.

Well, they're gonna call my references, and then let me know. Either way I guess I'm okay. But I really truly honestly would not mind working there a bit.

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