I looked at the twenty-something kid as we waited for the kitchen to prepare the happy hour canopies. It was the last meal rush in a twelve-hour day that started at 6:30 am. My alarm was set for 5:30. My anxiety woke me up at 4:30.
“Are you tired?” He asked. “You look tired.” There it was, again. Another week. Another inciting incident.
And I was tired, and I knew the bags under my eyes were at an eleven. I had spent the entire day before in hiding, trying all of the tricks. Ice, steam, patches. I took the catering gigs this week to well, make money, but also rid myself of the weekend toxins that caused the water retention and more visible skin creases. And it may have done the opposite.
After I got laid off last year, during my period of severance pay, I searched for any side hustle to make a few extra bucks. Something to pad the bank account when my safety net ran out and the job market was dry. In high school and college, I waited tables, which also included working for my aunt at a catering hall in Staten Island. I figured I could lean on that experience and pick up a shift back in the restaurant industry. I was wrong. I applied to several and had one callback… who canceled.
Perusing the market, I came across a listing for On The Border, a Mexican chain restaurant, that was looking for part-time servers. The ad said “great position for second job seekers. Little experience required.” Chris said, “If you apply, you’re going to get it. So you better really want to work there.” It didn’t matter. I didn’t get it. The rejection stated that my experience didn’t match their needs.
Seven months later, I finally landed an interview at a temp agency in the city. They placed servers, bartenders, event staff, brand ambassadors, etc. My hiring manager liked my resume and my corporate experience and said, “We need adults in the room.” Finally, ageism tipped in my favor.
But when I take these gigs, there’s a little piece of me that wonders how it all led to this. How am I going to feel when I’m busing tables at a media conference and run into an old colleague? Would the judgment or sympathy be visible on their face? Would I care? This week was a close call. It was a media conference, and I was familiar with the sponsors and companies the speakers represented, but there were no familiar faces.
Still, as I restocked the fridge with fancy sparkling and still water, I was in earshot of a conversation about live sports editing and replay technology. Only four days ago, I worked a live sports event. In my career, I’ve pulled together the technical needs, the mobile units, and the crew to produce hundreds of hours of live sports. Was I on the wrong side of this conference?
A few years ago, I ran into an old colleague and former executive in a retail store where he was working. I was just happy to see him and didn’t judge what he did/does to keep the wheels moving and the lights on. But I hoped he wasn’t embarrassed.
When catching up, he also offered the information that he was taking the time to write. A lot. Do we all use writing as an excuse, to soften the blow, that the job market in midlife is really difficult terrain? To influence people, we are still active members of society, and not to throw us away just yet? Because we are writing?
Chris and I lean on this too. When family or friends ask, “Are you working right now?” The habitual response is “No, but we’re writing. A lot.”
We’re not lying, we are writing, but what are the means to this end? I’ve been published a few times and only paid for it twice. $150 each. The first time my writing was accepted, they offered to pay me via check or automatic checking. I wanted the physical check for a keepsake. A motivational artifact to tack to my board next to my writing desk. The check never came, and I was too shy to follow up with the editor. So in six years, I’ve been paid $150 to write.
Will that stop me? No. And the potential embarrassment of running into a former contact shouldn’t either. When TV gigs are slow, I’m going to keep side hustling to bring in coin. Being active and out among the people is where I form ideas about the day-to-day that we all endure. I find interest in the mundane. There are characters in the wild. The smallest questions can bring great discussions.
We’re all just out here trying to make sense of life, with the dollars and cents that put food on the table. Bonus side effect: I walked 14 miles over the two days I was catering, and my biceps are sore. I may look tired, but I’m not slowing down.
I can absolutely relate - you’ve got this Jaimee ❤️