In order to finance my exploration of the Twin Cities music scene, I've taken up more or less gainful employment with a temp agency. While I was originally looking and hoping for a job in advertising, I tried to stay positive about the situation. I decided that I would be like Ryan the Temp on The Office. I would be sent to a slightly bizarre and dysfunctional office, meet some interesting people, and create a stock of writing material that would last for years.
After exhausting me with math, spelling, filing, typing and computer software exams, the temp agency called back the same afternoon to offer me an assignment. I arrived at the Minnesota Green Expo at half 6 the next morning, bleary-eyed and dressed in my former Olive Garden uniform. My duties involved typing information into a Word document, printing name tags, affixing star or dot stickers to them when necessary, stuffing them into a plastic clip-on protector, and finally handing them to the registrants. Far from being the long, excruciating day I'd anticipated, the time flew by. The queues were huge, and we were kept quite busy.
Fortunately, my stint at the Green Expo was only three days. The work was perfectly acceptable, but I am desperately trying not to re-acquire the elongated vowels of my former Minnesota accent. The Green Expo, attended by a large number of outstate landscapers and nurserers, was definitely not the place for my mimic's ear if I wanted to continue to stave it off successfully. The proliferation of general ohhhhhh's and aaaaaaae's, and especially someone's comment about a "bohhh-t," demonstrated to me that there is at least a little truth in the stereotypical accent portrayed in Fargo.
The assignment I began the following week seemed to be an immediate improvement, if only because I would be starting at 8 instead of 6.30. I successfully navigated the buses and arrived at the building early. When I walked inside, eager to escape the cold, I found a slightly less frigid entryway that smelled of of canned fruit that had just gone off. After finding the doors to the main office locked, I happened upon a different office under the stairs. The receptionist buzzed me in, and we chatted for a bit. She informed me that the company was a potato processing plant. While that was interesting, the sentence from the conversation that really stands out in my mind is, "Did you know you'll be working out in a trailer?"
So I spent the last two weeks working in a trailer at a potato factory.
As you might imagine, it turned out to be rather entertaining. The job itself required fairly low brain-wattage: alphabetising, hole-punching, filing, filling out forms, stapling, entering data. But I liked my fellow HR trailer occupants. At regular intervals I would take a break from my clerical tasks and cover the receptionist while she went on breaks. The route to her office under the stairs took me through the maintenance area of the plant, where I was always greeted by the smell of potatoes. But not just normal potatoes. Potatoes that had been trodden upon and left on the ground to soak up some indeterminate liquid and spoil. I'm not sure what brought this image to my mind (perhaps the constantly wet door handle), but it seems to be the only sufficient way to describe the smell.
Generally not much was required of me when I was covering reception. Between phone calls, I usually had plenty of time to read or examine the numerous paper cuts I'd acquired. But that's not to say that strange things never happened. On one occasion, a man appeared outside the glass windows of the office and shouted that he needed a favour. Probably against my better judgment, I buzzed him in. He pointed out a dump truck near a line of semis and asked me if he could park it there overnight. Apparently the brakes had gone out and a mechanic wouldn't be available to service it until the next morning. His dump truck was not affiliated with the company in any way, so I called the plant manager to see if that was OK. He flatly refused, I relayed the information to the suddenly belligerent driver, and he stalked out.
During my second week on the assignment, I went on a tour of the plant. I felt a little guilty for going with the plant manager instead of the safety guy who had repeatedly offered me a private tour, but it was fascinating nonetheless. I was outfitted in a white coat, boots, a hairnet, a hard hat and earplugs. It was as though I was participating in one of the segments on Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood where they toured factories and taught the audience how things were made. Recalling it now, I can remember Mr. Rogers' exploration of a crayon factory down to a disconcerting level of detail. I'm not exactly sure if this is because I was really interested in crayons (I was) or had a previously unrevealed affinity for factories (apparently). Regardless, I was happy to discover that the odor coming from the plant itself was far more pleasing than that I regularly encountered in the maintenance room.
Despite my initial incredulity, I grew a little fond of the potato plant over the weeks. It was my last day there on Friday. And while leaving has not made me sad to the degree that I'm going to visit the grocery store and press my face against the freezers where they store our hash browns, I have to admit I enjoyed my time there. Maybe I already found my Dunder Mifflin.
29 January, 2008
27 January, 2008
The Twin Cities Music/Crazy Scene
My initial endeavors in re-exploring the Twin Cities have centred around the local music scene. I've already been to several concerts, which I've quite enjoyed. But while most of the bands have been entertaining, their performances pale in comparison with those given by some of the audience members.
Big V's in St. Paul had its share of interesting characters lurking among the stuffed gorilla decor. I went with Jackie to see her friend's band, Guerrilla Blue, play. We were leaning against a sort of counter and chatting when we noticed a short older woman who kept nodding knowingly at us. Occasionally she'd gesture or laugh as if she were trying to work her way into our conversation. When that failed, she took to waving at the captive audio tech manning a tiny sound board next to us.
Another unusual concert-goer made an appearance toward the end of Guerrilla Blue's set. With beer bottle in hand, he strode purposefully up to the edge of the stage. He then leaned over and put his ear directly up to the monitor sitting on the stage in front of the lead singer. This could hardly escape the attention of the singer, and he quipped, "Loud enough for you?" before the group launched into their last song.
As we were leaving, Jackie and I encountered one last member of the strange contingent. A man at the bar made the OK symbol at something when he saw us. I assumed he was making it at me, but he wasn't actually looking at me. He appeared to be focusing on something over my shoulder, so I turned around to see what was capturing his attention. Nothing. When I turned back he made the sign again, keeping his eyes trained on the same imaginary object in the distance. "What?" I asked. Then I noticed the woman who'd tried to cultivate us earlier standing nearby. I took that as an indication that he was her partner in crazy.
The Varsity has also proven to be a venue rich with in-audience entertainment. The first show I attended there after coming home was Mel Gibson and the Pants/Dance Band. Before that show even began, a person standing in front of us began to strip off his clothing. At first it seemed as though he was removing a layer because he was too warm. Then he started pulling off his pants. The outfit revealed when he'd finished peeling away layer after outer layer was a white wife-beater tank paired with orange, floral patterned swim trunks. Granted, the outfit seemed less strange when Dance Band appeared on stage in costume. But none of the Dance Band members stripped, so that bit still lacks justification in my mind.
The most interesting audience member I've had the pleasure to observe attended the Varsity show of a different costumed performer. Inara George, the lead singer of the Bird and the Bee, took the stage dressed in a polka dot dress seemingly sewn out of a pair of bedsheets I used to own. She'd accessorised with frilly bloomers, white tights, white Mary Janes, a white headband, and white gloves with the fingers cut off. The audience member had (knowingly?) borrowed an element from George's stage dress and was sporting red gloves with the fingers cut off. He completed the colour scheme with a red Harry Potter t-shirt and hair dyed a matching shade. He first attracted my attention with the video of the band he was capturing on his digital camera. To increase the artistic merit of his impromptu production, he had taken to rotating his arms and the camera in slow, circular pan/tilt combinations.
When he took a break from his filming, I discovered that he would likely use the recording as a reference for choreographing dance routines later. In addition to accomplishing some slightly spastic upper body swaying, he would occasionally break into highly polished moves that had clearly been painstakingly rehearsed before a mirror. The most stunning example of this was the step he executed each time he heard the lyric "Don't take my picture." He created an imaginary viewfinder with his fingers and jerkily rotated his elbows around as if composing the shot. This culminated with him creating a shutter click by rapidly closing his finger square.
His dance moves weren't the only thing he'd prepared in advance for the concert. The chorus of a song the group performed goes "Again and again and again and again/Do it again, do it again/Again and again." After the song was over, he waited for an acceptable level of silence to emerge as the applause died down. Finally a moment arrived that he felt would sufficiently showcase his cleverness. He seized it and yelled, "Do it again!" clearly chuffed at his wit (prefabricated though it was).
One woman near us seemed oblivious to this extraordinary personage. She was kept busy with a completely different occupation. The person I'd gone to the concert with was was standing over his jacket, which he'd laid on the ground. Inexplicably, the woman came over to us, reached down and felt Joe's jacket. Then she reached up and felt Joe's leg. He looked a little shocked at this minor molestation, and I burst out laughing. She heard me and looked over. Then she turned her palms up and shrugged her shoulders in a classic "Oh well, what can you do?" gesture, which I returned.
What can you do, really, besides attempt to enjoy the crazy as well as the concert.
Big V's in St. Paul had its share of interesting characters lurking among the stuffed gorilla decor. I went with Jackie to see her friend's band, Guerrilla Blue, play. We were leaning against a sort of counter and chatting when we noticed a short older woman who kept nodding knowingly at us. Occasionally she'd gesture or laugh as if she were trying to work her way into our conversation. When that failed, she took to waving at the captive audio tech manning a tiny sound board next to us.
Another unusual concert-goer made an appearance toward the end of Guerrilla Blue's set. With beer bottle in hand, he strode purposefully up to the edge of the stage. He then leaned over and put his ear directly up to the monitor sitting on the stage in front of the lead singer. This could hardly escape the attention of the singer, and he quipped, "Loud enough for you?" before the group launched into their last song.
As we were leaving, Jackie and I encountered one last member of the strange contingent. A man at the bar made the OK symbol at something when he saw us. I assumed he was making it at me, but he wasn't actually looking at me. He appeared to be focusing on something over my shoulder, so I turned around to see what was capturing his attention. Nothing. When I turned back he made the sign again, keeping his eyes trained on the same imaginary object in the distance. "What?" I asked. Then I noticed the woman who'd tried to cultivate us earlier standing nearby. I took that as an indication that he was her partner in crazy.
The Varsity has also proven to be a venue rich with in-audience entertainment. The first show I attended there after coming home was Mel Gibson and the Pants/Dance Band. Before that show even began, a person standing in front of us began to strip off his clothing. At first it seemed as though he was removing a layer because he was too warm. Then he started pulling off his pants. The outfit revealed when he'd finished peeling away layer after outer layer was a white wife-beater tank paired with orange, floral patterned swim trunks. Granted, the outfit seemed less strange when Dance Band appeared on stage in costume. But none of the Dance Band members stripped, so that bit still lacks justification in my mind.
The most interesting audience member I've had the pleasure to observe attended the Varsity show of a different costumed performer. Inara George, the lead singer of the Bird and the Bee, took the stage dressed in a polka dot dress seemingly sewn out of a pair of bedsheets I used to own. She'd accessorised with frilly bloomers, white tights, white Mary Janes, a white headband, and white gloves with the fingers cut off. The audience member had (knowingly?) borrowed an element from George's stage dress and was sporting red gloves with the fingers cut off. He completed the colour scheme with a red Harry Potter t-shirt and hair dyed a matching shade. He first attracted my attention with the video of the band he was capturing on his digital camera. To increase the artistic merit of his impromptu production, he had taken to rotating his arms and the camera in slow, circular pan/tilt combinations.
When he took a break from his filming, I discovered that he would likely use the recording as a reference for choreographing dance routines later. In addition to accomplishing some slightly spastic upper body swaying, he would occasionally break into highly polished moves that had clearly been painstakingly rehearsed before a mirror. The most stunning example of this was the step he executed each time he heard the lyric "Don't take my picture." He created an imaginary viewfinder with his fingers and jerkily rotated his elbows around as if composing the shot. This culminated with him creating a shutter click by rapidly closing his finger square.
His dance moves weren't the only thing he'd prepared in advance for the concert. The chorus of a song the group performed goes "Again and again and again and again/Do it again, do it again/Again and again." After the song was over, he waited for an acceptable level of silence to emerge as the applause died down. Finally a moment arrived that he felt would sufficiently showcase his cleverness. He seized it and yelled, "Do it again!" clearly chuffed at his wit (prefabricated though it was).
One woman near us seemed oblivious to this extraordinary personage. She was kept busy with a completely different occupation. The person I'd gone to the concert with was was standing over his jacket, which he'd laid on the ground. Inexplicably, the woman came over to us, reached down and felt Joe's jacket. Then she reached up and felt Joe's leg. He looked a little shocked at this minor molestation, and I burst out laughing. She heard me and looked over. Then she turned her palms up and shrugged her shoulders in a classic "Oh well, what can you do?" gesture, which I returned.
What can you do, really, besides attempt to enjoy the crazy as well as the concert.
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