PATRICK WALSH: January-August 2003

Throughout college I lived with my parents to save money. I went to a great film school 40 minutes from my home and commuted three or four days a week to class. I never had the dorm experience, I didn't drink until I was 22, and I still managed to have a great time avoiding any sort of responsibility. I spent a lot of time writing songs and playing shows with my band, which was incredibly fun. I spent just about every free moment with my friends and though we never really did anything, I always had a great time. I had friends with the exact same interests and sense of humor as me, and though I'm pretty sure all of us were clinically depressed, we enjoyed each other's company and misery.

I had several jobs through college, none that would even come close to helping me in a future career. I didn't pursue any internships or anything like that, because I wanted to spend my time having fun while I was young.

Jobs I held during this time:

1) Manager at Blockbuster Video--a future post will deal solely with stories from my tenure here.

2) Substitute teacher--for grades K-12 in all subjects, a future post will deal with stories from this as well.

3) Cashier at Dierberg's Supermarket--I wore an apron and a tie and I was a dick to everyone who came through my line, somehow I did this for two years in the prime of my life!

I took these jobs because they paid me enough money to pay my rent, go to concerts, and eat at Denny's five or six times a week. They were completely mindless and I certainly got nothing out of them. This was all fine and good until I graduated from college. This is when "having fun" becomes "irresponsible."

Once I graduated from college, I realized that I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had graduated with a degree in Film Production, and I lived in Missouri...where there is not much film production. Not enough to make a living out of anyway. They have really cool film festivals and Saint Louis has much more to offer arts-wise than most people would think, but as far as having the kind of career I wanted to have, I felt like I had to look elsewhere.

I almost couldn't believe I was having those thoughts because I always assumed I would live my life in Missouri. I love it, all of my friends and family live there, why would I leave? But more and more I started feeling like I wanted to take a chance and do something crazy before I was too old or married to do so.

So...what? For several months I thought I would move to Chicago, one of my favorite places. Only a five hour drive from home, Chicago is like Saint Louis, but just different enough to make me feel I was doing something crazy. My intention was to move there and try out for the Second City. Just about every one of my comedy heroes had passed through Second City and I wanted to give it a shot. I looked into it very seriously, but in the end I guess I doubted myself too much, I don't know. You had to pay money and take all the classes and my snobby attitude was that I had just finished college and I wasn't going to sit in more classes and if you're funny you're funny and no class is going to help that.

I wanted to go full throttle toward pursuing a career in entertainment. No idea what specifically, but it was a good start. That left me with New York or Los Angeles. I sunburn easily, I am not beautiful, and I love cold weather. It was a no-brainer. I still don't really recall what made this go from daydream to reality, but I think it came with a general emotional deadness that I think a lot of people go through once they graduate. I wanted to wake myself up, I suppose. I started looking in the "Rooms to Rent" section of craigslist for apartments. *(Craigslist is a website where people post ads for apartments, jobs, and other things they are selling).

Now, in Missouri I lived with two friends in a huge two story house decked out with all kinds of wondrous video equipment and gadgets, and I paid $300 a month. You can imagine my shock when I started looking for a New York apartment. If you want to live in the crappiest of apartments in Manhattan, you're probably going to spend around $1000 a month. I started looking outside of the city.

There is a section at the top of the webpage where you are supposed to enter the highest amount of money you will pay per month. I entered $500, and maybe 9 or 10 ads showed up for all of New York. The first ad was from a married couple who was willing to let a college age male live with them for free if he would have three-way sex with them once a week. I would have considered this, but the couple had made the mistake of posting their picture.

Another ad was for a "houseboy" situation, where I would have had to cook, clean, and presumably go down on some middle-aged gay guy, and again I could live there for free. That was out. Another was a woman who needed extra cash and was going to let someone sleep on her kitchen floor in the city for $500 a month. And then I saw it.

ROOM FOR RENT $400 A MONTH! NICE SIZE ROOM IN AN APARTMENT IN NICE AREA IN JERSEY CITY, NJ! 15 MINUTE BUS RIDE TO MANHATTAN!

It seemed too good to be true. (And we will learn in future posts that indeed it was). I started making calls on that one and a more expensive one I don't remember details on. Finally, the owner of the Jersey City place called me up one night, and we started talking. Her name was Laine, and we hit it off pretty well. She asked if she could talk to me for a while to make sure I wasn't crazy. I could understand, she was letting a guy she had never met move into her apartment without meeting him. I was as polite and charming and funny as I could possibly be, and I even flirted quite a bit. Laine told me it would be her and another girl and me, and that we were all around the same age. It sounded perfect. Finally, she caved. The place was mine starting September 1st, 2003. All she wanted for a deposit was a $100 check. This was an incredible deal in a place where people generally need first and last month's rent and a security deposit.

I told her I would be there, and then it all began to sink in. In two weeks I would be moving to New York City, leaving my friends and family behind. I had never visited New York. I knew very little about it. And I didn't know a single person there.

Those last two weeks went by in a blur. I remember I gave my two weeks notice at Dierberg's and I remember my boss telling me to try and not get fired in that time. I laughed and then she pointed out to me that I was dangerously close to it! Since it was a union job, the only way you could be fired was stealing (which she wasn't aware I had done every single day of employment), or being more than 7 minutes late 12 times in a month. With two weeks left to go in the month, I had been late 9 times. Seeing that most of my shifts started around 5PM, this was particularly embarassing.

I remember my band played our last show at a favorite place of ours called Sally Ts, and afterwards we had a HUGE party at my house, packed with all of my friends and several people who I think just walked in off the street. It was awesome.

I remember my dad forced me to play in an all-day father/son golf tournament despite the fact that I had played golf maybe three times in my life, sucked at it, and told him repeatedly that I did not want to play. It was a miserable day where I completely embarassed myself. The picture of us that my dad hung in my parents' foyer became a source of constant amusement for my friends, as it was my dad with a huge smile on his face and his arm around me, and me looking miserable and pulling away from his embrace. I don't find it quite as funny.

The night before my last day at Dierberg's, my boss came over with a smirk and told me that I had now been late 11 times that month, and if I was late the next day, I would have to be fired on my last day, after two years of employment. I laughed it off and said, "Look, my shift is at 12:30, I think I'll make it on time."

I did not make it on time.

I hung out with my friends all night and OVERSLEPT for a 12:30 shift. When the phone rang, I picked it up and it was my boss. "Patrick..." she started and I yelled "FUCK!" into the phone. I came in unshaven, unshowered, and tried to sneak by the manager, but he pulled me into his office and told me he would have to write it in the books as a "Termination." Unbelievable. Fired on my last day.

My dad had volunteered to drive me to New Jersey, and despite me trying desperately to find an alternate means of transportation, that is what eventually worked out. We were going to leave on a 15 HOUR car ride together the next morning, and I was dreading it. I went to dinner with my mom that night, and afterwards, my mother began crying and hugged me in my room and since I was facing a clock, I can tell you that this hug lasted 14 unbroken minutes. I am being serious. She sobbed the entire time, and when she finally pulled away, my entire shirt was drenched. I felt guilty and awful and scared. I went out that night with my friends, said goodbye, managed to get through the whole mess without crying, (thank you emotional deadness), and went to bed where I laid awake until my father came to pick me up.

It was too late to turn back. I was moving to New York, and I felt like vomiting.

tags: story of my life  new york  work  

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