easy but slooooooooooooooow

I take a one-day gig at the new Whitney.

I arrive in time at 10; the small retail store where I'll be working opens at 10:30.  No one is there when I arrive. The only people there are people like me, there to help.

I'm a little nervous. How can I be trained when the doors open at 10:30 and it's already 10:30?

I don't know how to use the register.

I don't know anything about back inventory.

I don't know anything.

But not to worry. 

When someone arrives they simply say, "You can just refer all questions to me. And you won't be handling the register. Only full time employees do that."

"Oh, okay. So what do I do?" I ask.

Just be around to talk to any customers.

Needless to say, it is an excruciatingly long eight hours. 

Doing nothing is so much harder than doing something.

Dino

So maybe you remember the fiasco with selling my antique armoire last March.

While my armoire had to be destroyed, the inner piece that was custom-built inside the armoire survived. 

So I decide to try and sell it for $60.

It's a great piece for storage. There must be someone who wants it. I post it on Craig's list. 

It takes a while to find the right buyer, but today he is found. His name is Dino.

Within a couple of texts, we negotiate a price of $50, and today Dino comes to pick it up.

Immediately upon meeting him I just know, here is a very nice man.

And a loquacious one.

It doesn't take long to learn that Dino —

• lives in Queens, in the same house where he grew up.
• is Greek and a good cook.
• has a wife in her early 30's while he's 62. 
• asked his daughter if she were okay with his dating such a young woman; the daughter approved. (I like that he cared enough to ask his daughter's permission).
• has two little kids, younger than his grandkids.

I even meet his wife on Facetime. She seems great, and his two babies are adorable.

DIno arrives totally prepared — Blue tape to seal the doors of the storage piece.  And a pully cart to transport the piece out of my apartment and outside to his waiting SUV.

Here's a guy that gets things done. I can tell. 

And he's meticulous. I see it in the way he tapes the doors and smooths down the tape with his hands, making it obvious that not only does he get things done, but he gets them done perfectly.

There are no pretenses about Dino. He says, "I'm in love with life." And I can tell that he is.

After he leaves, I notice the bolt of blue tape still sitting on my table.  I text him to let him know. 

And then he sends me his address, telling me if I'm ever in his neighborhood to stop by.

Such a nice, nice man.

My little storage piece has found its way to an excellent new home. 

coulda, woulda, shoulda

It could have been a lot of fun.

It would have been a lot of fun if whoever was scheduling knew what they were doing.

It should have been a great experience, if only.  

A couple of Fridays ago my good friend Robin calls. "Hey, I'm working the Tribeca Festival (formally known as the Tribeca Film Festival). You should apply. I've done it before. It's easy and a lot of fun."

She gives me the contact info. I write. And I'm hired the same day. 

I'll be a ranger, whatever that means. It's 14 straight days of work, but hey, I don't have anything else scheduled. And besides, it's supposed to be fun.

Two days after being hired training begins. It's two and a half days, that easily could be condensed to one, if that.

Two of the days are in a movie theater where I won't be working. There is only one presenter for most of the two days. He presents without any audio or visual aids.  Most of the information is not relevant to what I'll be doing. And what is relevant, is poorly presented.

A guy stands in front of the theater and holds up his iPhone to explain how the app the rangers will be using works. I mean really. As if I — or anyone else in attendance — can possibly understand what to do watching some guy click through an app on his small phone that we don't even have yet.

I'm originally told I'll be working seven to eight hours a day, but I don't receive my schedule (despite asking numerous times) until the day before the festival opens. It's then I see the hours for all the rangers at my venue. Of the eleven days we are required to work, six of those days are for 10 3/4 hours, and two are for 9 3/4 hours. Sure, we get long breaks between movies, but there's nowhere to really go.

Tribeca Festival is spread out among several theaters. The venue I am assigned is the only one that has all its workers on one shift; all the others have two. 

That means that all rangers don't work the same number of hours.  Here's a comparison of the required number of hours worked, for the exact same job, and the exact same pay, during the 11 days of the festival:

My venue: 109.2 hours (ave 10 hrs day)

Other Venues AM shift: 88 hours (ave 8 hours day)

Other venues PM shift: 71.50 hours (ave 6.5 hours day)

So at our venue, we are working for under minimum wage, with no overtime. Week two is over 69 hours alone. Is this even legal?

14 days straight. Averaging 10 hours per day. It's grueling and very much not fun.

The people I work with are all great. Hard-working. Responsible. Easy-going. And fun. So is the venue manager and her assistant. 

Most everyone is in their 20's or early 30's. (I was mortified when one of my young co-workers casually asked, "What decade are you from?" I think she said decade, but maybe it was century.

And I do get to watch a few movies; all excellent.

But still. Robin,  who works at one of the other venues, has a great time.

Too bad I can't say the same.