Page Two Hundred Thirty-Three.
I have a new job. Yeah! I'll be working part time in the Cleveland Museum of Art gift shop. In the words of one close friend, "this is a no-brainer". I'm looking forward to it. This job, in conjunction with managing the beauty salon, plus all the other things I do for kicks should bring my bank account off life support systems. I recently told a friend that I don't mind living at the Cleveland, Ohio poverty level, but I'm uncomfortable living at the Afghanistan poverty level.
After my job unexpectedly ended last June (2013) nannying and cooking for the large family in Shaker, I got a few nibbles here and there. There was the job cooking for the kid and lots of odd jobs like interior painting, selling soup at festivals and what have you. And of course there's my thriving dog/cat/house-sitting business. But really, I need a more regular paycheck. I'm hopeful.
Showing posts with label Odd Jobs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Odd Jobs. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
The Absentee Party Host
Page Eighty-One.
I was the kitchen help at an intimate dinner party in 1983. The job was next door with the neighbors while I was at my first live-in nanny position. These neighbors, the Windsors, had a particularly beautiful, and comfortably large home and hired me to do many projects over a two or three year period. I think I painted a few different bedrooms plus the first floor enclosed porch. I cleaned their basement, took care of the backyard while they were vacationing and was the party help on a couple occasions.
Each of their parties live in my memory for different reasons. This one in question was slightly bizarre because the husband, a hot shot surgeon at The Cleveland Clinic, spent most of the party with me, in the kitchen. He explained that he liked me more than he liked his guests. He went out front occasionally and talked to them during cocktails and, of course, had to sit with them during dinner. But mostly he was with me in the kitchen. His wife came in and admonished him regularly, but he didn't seem to care.
I think that the party was primarily her friends. Also, I suspect that he was introverted and had a hard time with crowds. He saw me as a compromise. He was technically attending his party by being on the same floor (as opposed to spending the entire evening in the bedroom) but socialized primarily with me. I didn't care. He kept me company. I bet lots of husbands do that sort of thing, too.
I was the kitchen help at an intimate dinner party in 1983. The job was next door with the neighbors while I was at my first live-in nanny position. These neighbors, the Windsors, had a particularly beautiful, and comfortably large home and hired me to do many projects over a two or three year period. I think I painted a few different bedrooms plus the first floor enclosed porch. I cleaned their basement, took care of the backyard while they were vacationing and was the party help on a couple occasions.
Each of their parties live in my memory for different reasons. This one in question was slightly bizarre because the husband, a hot shot surgeon at The Cleveland Clinic, spent most of the party with me, in the kitchen. He explained that he liked me more than he liked his guests. He went out front occasionally and talked to them during cocktails and, of course, had to sit with them during dinner. But mostly he was with me in the kitchen. His wife came in and admonished him regularly, but he didn't seem to care.
I think that the party was primarily her friends. Also, I suspect that he was introverted and had a hard time with crowds. He saw me as a compromise. He was technically attending his party by being on the same floor (as opposed to spending the entire evening in the bedroom) but socialized primarily with me. I didn't care. He kept me company. I bet lots of husbands do that sort of thing, too.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Flyers of 1982
Page Thirty.
On page twenty-nine, I referenced some flyers I put out in '82. Let's chat about those today.
I'd been living with the Van Myms for a few months. and was still quite new at Salon: Alpha-Omega, having just started there in July of '81. I had no money. Let's repeat that. I HAD NO MONEY. One more time with vigor... BROKE!!! And I was twenty years old.
What are all the things that a twenty year old can do to earn money? Just for fun, let's list, comprehensively:
1) prostitution
2) drug sales
3) steal
4) beg
5) become pope
6) become a major movie actor
7) become president
8) landscape
9) child-care
10) paint
11) clean
12) odd jobs
13) sell shoes
That's it. Nothing else. I researched thoroughly. There were no other things. Now, let's go down this list, shall we? Numbers 1-4, seemed unsavory, just not my style; 5-7, I was certainly qualified for these positions but upper management didn't think so, else I would've gotten the jobs; 8, well... I hate doing yard work; 9, I was a live-in nanny so I didn't think more kids would be kind to my soul; 10, 11 and 12, I could do; 13, not interested.
So... how does one go about getting jobs painting, cleaning and doing odd jobs? The Van Myms told me I should make up a flyer advertising myself, then she would make copies at work. I could then put them in neighbors' front doors and wait for the phone to ring. So I did, then she did, then I did, then it did. She printed up four hundred flyers, of which I put out about three hundred seventy five. I still have the remainders. It's really a lousy flyer - very amateurish - but not too many neighbors seemed to care, apparently. Honestly, I didn't get that many responses, but the ones I did get really made a difference in my life.
As previously mentioned, Dr. Hanson's wife responded and inquired about elder-care. I also got a few responses for cleaning and painting, (I've been told that I'm a good cleaner and painter). I received a few unexpected phone calls for party help!?!? Gee, where would that lead? As these things went out in July, there were the phone calls for yard work. I didn't want them but accepted them. I also got a number of calls for child care. The child care I absolutely said no to. After I explained why, most people understood; that is, all did except for one lady named Lena. That's a separate story. Brother, is that a story!
I'd employ the flyer concept again, later in life. Sometimes you just have to let people know you exist.
On page twenty-nine, I referenced some flyers I put out in '82. Let's chat about those today.
I'd been living with the Van Myms for a few months. and was still quite new at Salon: Alpha-Omega, having just started there in July of '81. I had no money. Let's repeat that. I HAD NO MONEY. One more time with vigor... BROKE!!! And I was twenty years old.
What are all the things that a twenty year old can do to earn money? Just for fun, let's list, comprehensively:
1) prostitution
2) drug sales
3) steal
4) beg
5) become pope
6) become a major movie actor
7) become president
8) landscape
9) child-care
10) paint
11) clean
12) odd jobs
13) sell shoes
That's it. Nothing else. I researched thoroughly. There were no other things. Now, let's go down this list, shall we? Numbers 1-4, seemed unsavory, just not my style; 5-7, I was certainly qualified for these positions but upper management didn't think so, else I would've gotten the jobs; 8, well... I hate doing yard work; 9, I was a live-in nanny so I didn't think more kids would be kind to my soul; 10, 11 and 12, I could do; 13, not interested.
So... how does one go about getting jobs painting, cleaning and doing odd jobs? The Van Myms told me I should make up a flyer advertising myself, then she would make copies at work. I could then put them in neighbors' front doors and wait for the phone to ring. So I did, then she did, then I did, then it did. She printed up four hundred flyers, of which I put out about three hundred seventy five. I still have the remainders. It's really a lousy flyer - very amateurish - but not too many neighbors seemed to care, apparently. Honestly, I didn't get that many responses, but the ones I did get really made a difference in my life.
As previously mentioned, Dr. Hanson's wife responded and inquired about elder-care. I also got a few responses for cleaning and painting, (I've been told that I'm a good cleaner and painter). I received a few unexpected phone calls for party help!?!? Gee, where would that lead? As these things went out in July, there were the phone calls for yard work. I didn't want them but accepted them. I also got a number of calls for child care. The child care I absolutely said no to. After I explained why, most people understood; that is, all did except for one lady named Lena. That's a separate story. Brother, is that a story!
I'd employ the flyer concept again, later in life. Sometimes you just have to let people know you exist.
Monday, December 17, 2012
My First Caviar
Page Eleven.
I've been doing odd jobs since before I was born. I'm sure in one of my last lives I was a general contractor. In another past life I was a fix-it man like Emmett from the Andy Griffith Show. I also had to have been a bartender, a caterer, Doctor Doolittle, Florence Nightingale and Mary Poppins.
The name Jeremy Gutow began floating around Cleveland Heights and Shaker Heights by the early-mid 80's as a soul who'd do anything for money. One day in November of 1987, I think, I received a phone call from a couple who lived a few blocks away. I don't remember from whom they got my name, it could have been a bathroom wall for all I know. They were having a Christmas party in a few weeks and wanted to hire me to be the party help. I'd keep the place tidy, help with the bar, stock the chips, keep the fireplace going - all the usual things. Ho hum... what a challenge. "Sure," I said.
The husband picked me up in his BMW at the scheduled time and we drove the 5-6 blocks to the very gracious home which was slightly modest by Cleveland Heights standards. I met his wife, both were youngish and attractive. I don't remember now what they did professionally. No children.
Let me back up slightly, I over-scheduled myself that day. I didn't have time to eat dinner and went to the party starving to death. That's a no-no, especially when talking about my appetite. My appetite is a book unto itself, a simple blog could not do it justice. And my appetite during the '80's was just over the top. I've since learned to manage it to a certain degree, though it's still rough. I've never been heavy though. Only since about 2005 have I begun filling out. I was positively skinny for my first four and a half decades. But brother did I eat. So I go to this party, where I'm the "help," starving to death.
As they were showing me around, I noticed a large bowl that had a black mountain in it. I kid you not, they shipped Mt. Everest into their dining room and placed it in a bowl. I inquired, (I couldn't help myself.) "That's our caviar for the party. Please try some."
I PROMISE YOU, THEY TOLD ME I COULD HAVE SOME!!! really, they did. So I had some, and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more. But then, I stopped. By the time the party was over, I probably ate half the mountain. They otherwise seemed please with my job, paid me and drove me back home. But they never called me back to help them again. Don't know why, just can't imagine.
That was my first time eating caviar. Boy does that stuff go down easy. Whew, it's good.
I've only made that mistake once. Never again did I go to a party starving, even a party where I was a guest. I'll go hungry, but I avoid arriving ravenous. I'm too rude when I'm hungry. Oy!
Nowadays, when I'm offered the occasional help job, I'm considered extremely good at being the help. (I better be good, it's about sixteen notches beneath my current professional level.) I will munch while working too. I know that's considered somewhat unprofessional, but I figure anybody who hires me has already heard about my work habits and appetite so they know what to expect. It's almost like I'd be disappointing them if I didn't munch. Plus the fact, everybody knows I'm a private chef, so they all want me to sample their wares anyhow. It works out. But I'll NEVER forget that mountain of caviar, really, I won't. It was sooooooo good.
I've been doing odd jobs since before I was born. I'm sure in one of my last lives I was a general contractor. In another past life I was a fix-it man like Emmett from the Andy Griffith Show. I also had to have been a bartender, a caterer, Doctor Doolittle, Florence Nightingale and Mary Poppins.
The name Jeremy Gutow began floating around Cleveland Heights and Shaker Heights by the early-mid 80's as a soul who'd do anything for money. One day in November of 1987, I think, I received a phone call from a couple who lived a few blocks away. I don't remember from whom they got my name, it could have been a bathroom wall for all I know. They were having a Christmas party in a few weeks and wanted to hire me to be the party help. I'd keep the place tidy, help with the bar, stock the chips, keep the fireplace going - all the usual things. Ho hum... what a challenge. "Sure," I said.
The husband picked me up in his BMW at the scheduled time and we drove the 5-6 blocks to the very gracious home which was slightly modest by Cleveland Heights standards. I met his wife, both were youngish and attractive. I don't remember now what they did professionally. No children.
Let me back up slightly, I over-scheduled myself that day. I didn't have time to eat dinner and went to the party starving to death. That's a no-no, especially when talking about my appetite. My appetite is a book unto itself, a simple blog could not do it justice. And my appetite during the '80's was just over the top. I've since learned to manage it to a certain degree, though it's still rough. I've never been heavy though. Only since about 2005 have I begun filling out. I was positively skinny for my first four and a half decades. But brother did I eat. So I go to this party, where I'm the "help," starving to death.
As they were showing me around, I noticed a large bowl that had a black mountain in it. I kid you not, they shipped Mt. Everest into their dining room and placed it in a bowl. I inquired, (I couldn't help myself.) "That's our caviar for the party. Please try some."
I PROMISE YOU, THEY TOLD ME I COULD HAVE SOME!!! really, they did. So I had some, and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more. But then, I stopped. By the time the party was over, I probably ate half the mountain. They otherwise seemed please with my job, paid me and drove me back home. But they never called me back to help them again. Don't know why, just can't imagine.
That was my first time eating caviar. Boy does that stuff go down easy. Whew, it's good.
I've only made that mistake once. Never again did I go to a party starving, even a party where I was a guest. I'll go hungry, but I avoid arriving ravenous. I'm too rude when I'm hungry. Oy!
Nowadays, when I'm offered the occasional help job, I'm considered extremely good at being the help. (I better be good, it's about sixteen notches beneath my current professional level.) I will munch while working too. I know that's considered somewhat unprofessional, but I figure anybody who hires me has already heard about my work habits and appetite so they know what to expect. It's almost like I'd be disappointing them if I didn't munch. Plus the fact, everybody knows I'm a private chef, so they all want me to sample their wares anyhow. It works out. But I'll NEVER forget that mountain of caviar, really, I won't. It was sooooooo good.
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