i just want to conquer people and their souls

Note: If you're new to this particular feature (ie. my friend Big D and I's project to make a reverse bucket list of all of my past occupations so he can reverse-replicate my life) I suggest you catch up  here ,   here ,  and   here . Oh, and  here . Midtown Deli * This is the actual deli where I worked. Yikes! After my failed dalliance in the arts, I went back to my roots: food service. I saw an ad in the paper for someone who "speaks English and has flexible hours" or something to that effect. Since I could manage both of those things, I took a chance and went to the address on 46th Street. It turned out that it was an interview to work at a fast-paced deli. For those of you not in the know, no-one eats real lunches in New York City during the week. Most people just sprint into a cavernous deli where they either pick out some pre-made panninis with names very loosely linked to their fillings (like the Wild West Santa Fe Peyote Fiesta Chicken Salad or the Lad...

Note: If you're new to this particular feature (ie. my friend Big D and I's project to make a reverse bucket list of all of my past occupations so he can reverse-replicate my life) I suggest you catch up  here ,   here , and   here . I had begun the hunt for my first under the table job. Pre 9-11 , New York wasn't the judgey, "everything's above board, nothing to see here, move along" place it is now. Today, I feel bad for the up 'n coming illegals who have to battle with the Internet and databases which will bust them in an instant. I still had the ability to walk into various shady operations and try out my luck. Aside from being illegal, I had the added disadvantage of having approximately no skills (unless you count my fruit picking prowess or my mini donut frying talents). As you can imagine, this limited the job pool quite substantially. Artist's Model The first job I found involved nudity, pain and a Capuchin monkey. The Manimal has many hi...

Note: If you're new to this particular feature (ie. my friend Big D and I's project to make a reverse bucket list of all of my past occupations so he can reverse-replicate my life) I suggest you catch up  here  and  here  . So, I had absconded from Dunedin and its itinerant work and, after a brief sojourn in the Orient where my father was living, I decided to move on. But to where? I had had enough of 18 year-old solo travel and my gap year was coming to a quick end. Anyone who has read this blog more than one time will know the obvious and logical answer to this question. Has there ever been born anyone with a more hearty love of the U!S!A! than me, Veronica Montebellucci? No, no there is not. Who secretly, and creepily, had decided that Astoria, Oregon was their personal Arcadia at age 10 and then later made a pilgrimage there nigh on 20 years later to circle the Goonies house seven times? Whose number one best memory is eating Space Dogs at the whimsically nam...

For those of you not aware of my latest theme, see the previous post . I am currently bringing you on a tour of my life through my many varied and strange jobs. This very journey is being undertaken as part of a quasi "Bucket List" by my friend Big D who will attempt to get his mojo back by living my life in reverse. Let's kick it off with the one that started it all. 1. Itinerant Worker: When I was 17, my mother moved me and my brother from the most hoity-toity suburb of Melbourne to the boganiest suburb in the greater Melbourne area. I have mentioned before this municipality's notions on crime prevention and culture so i won't rehash all that here. All I will say is thank god for Melbourne's "Zone" system which tells you exactly how undesirable you are. We essentially moved from Zone 1 to "grey shaded area". * The white part is the ocean... I wasn't upset with losing the upscale neighborhood because I was in the midst of a ver...

Readers, While I may now be in a period of stable employ, it has not always been this way. Luckily for me, the large urban bureaucracy which hired me has more than enough psychos to keep them busy before they get to an insignificant curmudgeon like myself. However, before landing in this coven of uselessness (where even I look like I dwell in the upper echelons of effectiveness) I toiled in a mindblowing array of menial jobs. In fact, readers, I am a little like the Imelda Marcos of jobs: collecting positions and stashing the memory of them in my own mental walk-in closet of nightmares. My experience is so vast and varied that (to extend the previous metaphor) to retrieve the memory of a specific job I would require one of those Clueless -style wardrobe computers to sort through my past jobs based on categories like "hemisphere", "level of meniality", and "humiliation?" before it would hit a match and the electric motor would whirr, bringing the long...