I rarely, if ever, ask someone what they do for a living. I simply don't get a feel for someone as a person by knowing that they work in a mall shop or a coffeehouse or an office, as that could merely be the job they hold while they're working on their next artistic masterpiece, their new/next novel, or simultaneously cramming their way through medical school.

Likewise, I resent, somewhat, being asked what I do. I've been a part of the working world for almost 23 of my 38 years, and hardly any of the 20+ jobs I've held had anything to do with whatever my truest calling is, be it as a singer, writer, or actor, talents I posess and could very well begin using to create a career. The closest I've come to using my natural talents in my work-life has been when I worked at Barnes & Noble, in 2001, as a bookseller, casually ordering a few copies of the book I Internet-published (earlier that same year), signing them, and slapping them on the shelf. But even that wasn't really anything close to a career, let alone satisfying. It was simply a weekly paycheck that came without benefits, while allowing me access to a myriad ways to spend said paycheck before I even got it to the bank to cash it...

I began at age 15 working in a grocery store as a courtesy clerk, which means I stocked shelves, wrangled shopping carts, bagged groceries, and helped customers out with their purchases; I should have known to run like hell from that industry when, during my first week on the job, I was assisting a lady out to her car with the groceries I'd bagged, and she turned,  looked at me, and said "Looking at you, I suddenly remember that I need toilet paper" and proceeded to re-enter the store to buy some. Being 15 and not nearly as jaded as I am today, I simply let it slide as I made sure the bag with the eggs was under the potatoes before I shut the back door of her car and went back inside the store to get back to my next three years working there...

When I graduated high school, in 1989, and went to college, I took some time away from the work force. My first semester as a college student was fun: not working, having 3 ill-advised credit cards, with no working knowledge of how credit worked. I quickly ran through one card buying books for the four classes I was taking. Well, those books, cute shirts, liters and liters (and liters) of Mello -Yello soft drinks, posters, magazines, and pizzas. But, once the reality set in that I had to pay that money back, I realized that I was going to have to get a job again while I was in college. Bubbles burst as daydreams shattered...

After transferring to another school, for reasons non-academic and non-financial, I soon found a job in a Mexican restaurant, working as a dishwasher. My roommate got a job there as well, which made getting there a non-issue, since we worked the same shift. Apparently, I was one of the best dishwashers they'd ever seen because within about 5 weeks, I was Employee of the Month and got a raise. But, when my roommate suddenly had to quit, I no longer had a way to get back and forth to work [it was too far to walk and the buses stopped running long before my closing shifts were over.], so I had to quit, without notice...

Another friend got me a job working with him in a pizza parlor not long after this, and seeing as how it was only a couple miles to work, I often would walk to work, which was nice, providing much exercise. And after a few weeks of answering phones, taking delivery and pick-up orders, and making pies, I saw how easy it was to work the system in my favour: when my shift was ending, I'd simply scope out which, if any, orders were heading in my direction, slip the driver of said order a couple extra bucks, and s/he had another quick stop all of a sudden. Or, if nothing was going near where I lived, and I didn't feel like walking, I'd simply make my free pizza a delivery order, and ride with it as it was being delivered. Luckily, almost all of my co-workers loved me, so it was never a problem...

I kept that pizza gig for about 4 years, right up until I had a falling out with a co-worker and quit in a huff. After a while, I wound up moving back in with my family, and the only job I could find was working for a big, heartless department store, which I held for 5 years before being able to move back out on my own. After I moved, I worked in a different location of the same heartless department store, until I grew tired of sweating and toiling for an evil entity, and managed to get hired at one of the stores in which I'd shop in the mall. For a few months I worked as a sales associate, until I was offered a new promotion, and then I was stock supervisor for about a year and a half. When I was overlooked, however, for another promotion, I decided to leave, and wound up working for a deli franchise with a hard to pronounce name, where I stayed for about 3 years, working in two seperate locations within the owner's umbrella, taking a brief pause to work for a brand new natural foods market that was starting up in the area, expanding their brand. I began working there as a cashier, and was quickly promoted to Front End Supervisor, only to quit soon after when accosted by my immediate supervisor. So, from there I went back to the deli franchise, and worked there until one I of the owner's friends verbally and almost physically assaulted me; my reaction to his tirade got me fired for the very first time, which was kinda rough. but shortly afterward, I was on my way, with my partner, to relocate to Michigan.

The move to Michigan came in January of 2000. I'd been working, pretty much solidly, since  August of 1986, the better part of 14 years spent mostly working, doing jobs that required me to be on my feet for at least 6 hours per shift. I'd dropped out of college almost a decade prior to then, so there was no chance of getting any other type of job than I'd been getting - especially considering I was working alongside people who held Master's Degrees in Pyschology and Bachelor's Degrees in Computer Science, doing roughly the same things I was doing. I'd never missed a single day of work, on purpose, at this point, but after 14 years of working my ass off, I still had nothing to show for the energy and effort I'd expended, aside from the used car that I owned which stopped working 2 months after I paid it off.

But, even with all that experience, of all the work that I'd done, of all the jobs that I'd held, not a single one of them defined me as a person, nor did they speak to the career that I wanted to have. They were simply a means to a paycheck, and sometimes, but certainly not always, they brought along some benefits. They were all simply a way to make a parallel step from A to B to C  to D and so forth...

I'd been in school studying to become an opera singer, but I grew tired of the academic BS that comes with paying to be educated. I'd long known that I could sing, but I was surrounded by people who wanted me to do something with my voice that they could attach their pockets to, so I grew less and less desirous of singing. I'd uncovered a knack for acting, but due to a lack of interest from people who 'looked like' me, I was rarely cast in plays, even though the directors thought I'd be great in certain roles. And I'd been nourishing my budding writing talent, but at that point I wasn't ready to do anything 'public' with it, thinking that the words which flowed from me belonged only to me, and not (yet) wishing to share them...

I knew that one day, at least one of these skills would put bread in my box and drink in my cup, but it was not just yet that I'd allow them to do so. But these are the things that, still today, speak to who and what I am -- I just haven't really yet begun to get paychecks for them or refer to them as being my career.

They're merely on the verge of being what I do for a living.