On Work

Written on August 30, 2007 (on paper without lines)

I haven't thought much about getting a job yet. Jobs have always come to me. I have always been willing to work. At whatever cost. I have always been desperate enough. Come to think of it, I have always been fortunate enough.

I went to work at 6am in college. I worked 40+ hours while in community college. I traveled to Pittsfield to work at the Dakota on weekends, holidays and school breaks.

It has always just worked. And I assume it will again. I'll cook, prep, clean, whatever.

I wouldn't mind a job as an organizer. But I don't know if I will like it. But, then again, I might.

More than anything, I hate to work with upper middle class professionals. It is why I prefer to work as a line cook over some fancy pants job. But I can not be a line cook forever. It is killing me.

As a union organizer I am afforded the opportunity to work with working class individuals almost exclusively. Every day. In a setting and profession that will not kill me. But I fear that I do not have what it takes. You have to relate to folk. You have to knock on doors. You have to interrupt dinners and suppers. Maybe I can. May I can't.