OK, hold your horses there, you bunch of sex perverts. Despite the seamy suggestion of this entry's title, I am not becoming a hooker. Well, not yet, anyway. But nothing's off the table. I do need money pretty badly.
Here's the deal: my cushy day schedule at work has finally turned into a pumpkin as I'd sadly predicted it would some day. Unfortunately for me, there was a distinct disconnect between my having this knowledge and my actually preparing for it.
So when I got my schedule last week and saw that I was booked this week for the night shift (5:30 PM-2 AM), instead of taking on some other well-planned, backup freelance project that would enable me to maintain a normal schedule, I freaked the fuck out and called my agent, crying foul and demanding that this horrid, horrid mistake be rectified.
No mistake. They won't be requiring me on the day shift any longer. Now they want me on nights.
So, I sucked it up and did my first night shift last night.
Sigh. It wasn't terrible. But I couldn't shake the feeling, as I strolled through Union Square at 5 PM on my way to work, passing all the people going home from work, that I was about to enter an underground alternate reality, like the 3rd dimension or the world of the Mole People who live in the subway tunnels.
It was a gorgeous spring day in New York yesterday, and the streets were bustling with happy New Yorkers basking in the warm, late afternoon sun. People spilled out into tables at sidewalk cafes, music drifted from street musicians, incense spiced the warm evening air from the guys selling hippie shit at makeshift tables, girls flounced by in flowy skirts and tank tops (Punch Nipple!)*
I said Hi to an elderly man in a business suit on a scooter. The dirty druggie squatter kids held court in front of the Barnes and Noble, asking for change with their dusty little pit bull puppies (is there a place you can rent puppies for just this reason? The grimy, dirt-caked homeless kid accessory store, perhaps? They also must sell bongo drums, I think). I felt really weird about going indoors for the next 8 hours while everyone else was coming out to enjoy the evening.
But, ah well. I got a prime seat by the panoramic window on the 23rd floor of my building, and watched the city darken until glittering night was all around me. The ever-faithful J-Man came by with a thoughtful and delicious surprise of Indian from my favorite Gramercy takeout spot, Banana Leaf (they don't fucking understand what "mild" means though. Made the rest of my night rather...um...uncomfortable).
I drank my Starbucks and hummed along busily and e-mailed some of my favorite people. I even got to talk on the phone and have some very interesting and inspiring conversations. The night actually went by rather quickly.
I guess I could see myself doing this a couple nights a week. The money is much better at night so I think I could actually work less and make the same amount. It will be an interesting transition. And I have to make sure I catch up on sleep during the day when Lil is at school. Ah, transition, transition. Change, change, growth, change.
But hey, isn't that what life's all about?
*When Shawn and I used to live in the East Village of Manhattan (when we were ubercool, eating only organic health food and drinking cheap beer every night, and during the time of Lily's conception--eeks! Thanks, cheap beer and health food--- and before we moved to the sleepy neighborhood of Asssstoria and then split up), we used to love to sit in Thompkins Square Park in the summer and people-watch. When the weather got warm, the hot little hipster chicks came out in full sumer regalia, clad in tank tops and short shorts and sundresses and many times braless. One of our favorite games was "Punch Nipple", a deviation of "Punch Buggy", only there weren't Volkswagons involved; a person got to punch the other when he or she was the first to spot a girl passing by with prominent, visible nipples beneath her shirt. Needless to say, we got punched a lot.
The Blizzard of '17
3 days ago