Video Technician

I was working as a janitor and I was increasingly unhappy about it. My roommate Christian and I were walking to my Grandma's house and we decided on a whim to stick out our thumbs. I'd never succesfully hitched before and I didn't really expect to catch a ride this time. To my surprise a Toyota Four-Runner pulled over. I hopped in the front and Christian took the back. The driver was an every day looking kind of guy. He introduced himself as Mike and in a heavy New York accent he told us he used to hitch all the time. Then he told us we should never do it again. He said he picked us up because he was afraid some freak would pick us up if he didn't.
I asked him what part of New York he was from and when he answered Brooklyn, I told him my folks were born and raised there. Mike seemed like cool guy, though he drove like a madman, proving that he was indeed a true New Yorker.

Mike was heading to a video equipment shop right by my grandma's apartment. I was familliar with the place and gave him directions. Since I knew the store, Mike asked me if I was into video and I told him I'd been a volunteer producer at the local cable access station, as well as taking some classes in high school. "What do ya think of this set up?" He asked pointing his thumb at the boxes crowding Christian in the back. I saw the same switcher we used at school and told him it was great, able to do blue screen effects and everything.
"So, you know how to use this shit?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure."
"How'd ya like a job."
Being my mother's son I worried, wondering if he was into kiddie porn or what, but damn I needed a job. "What's the gig." I asked.
He handed me a card that said California Kids, Video ID. "We do short videos of kids, in case they get lost or abducted. Having a video on file, to play on the news is way more usefull than a photo." Made sense. We arrived at the video place and he told me to come by the address on the card the next day for an interview.

I visited with my grandma and my mom came by and gave me a ride home. Christian ran his big mouth and my mom was asking me about the job interview. Christian didn't mention the hitchhiking, yet. I cut him off before he could. We were looking at the video cameras and I met a guy who is looking for someone to run a switcher. My mom worried and said so. I told her to relax and I was dumb enough to think that telling her that Mike was from New York would reassure her. I promised I'd call her after the interview.

When I got home I quit my job as a janitor. I was sure Mike would hire me.
I got up at 8am. It felt great to sleep in and for once I was not hung over. My mom's fears had gotten to me, so I put a kitchen knife in my pocket and hopped on my bike. I rode for about twenty minutes and arrived at a track home where about six adults with developmenal disabbilities were milling around a van and trailer full of tree trimming equipment. It turned out to be Mike's brother Johnny's van. He ran a business that hired D.D. (Developmentally Disabled) adults.
Johnnies employees would stand in for the kids as Mike taught me how he got footage of each child. Two cameras sat on top of remote control units on top of tri-pods. I sat at the switcher. As Mike interviewed each subject I would fade up from black to camera one, long shot. I'd then fade to camera two, side view. While on camer two I'd use the remote unit to zoom in on camera one, and then I'd switch to the closing shot camera one, close up. I'd fade to black, back up camera one, and repeat the process.
The tapes would be filed, and hopefully never needed. Mike explained that some kids would be paying extra to have a copy of their tape. For these the interview would go longer and would include some hellos to grandparents and parents. I would put the childs name on these tapes with a clumsy character generator that reminded me of my old Atari 800.
Mike was suitably impressed with my skills. He offered to start me at $7 an hour and would get me to $8 once I got up to speed. The only issue was weather I was willing to wear a hat at all times. I had, a few months early gotten a rather interesting hair cut.

Christian and I had stumbled drunk into the local haircutting college. We handed over five bucks and asked the students to have their way with us. The first girl whose chair I'd settled into was unwilling to take advantage of this opportunity for experimentation. A cute punk type girl in plaid pants offered to take over. She divided my long hair into section and section by section began shaving until only the bangs were left. I suggested she stop there, and this is how I ened up with a shaved head save for my bangs, a style I would return to many times ove then next few years.

I told Mike the California Kids baseball cap would do fine. I went home, put the kitchen knife from my pocket back in the silverware drawer and after calling my mom to let her know I'd survived, I cut my bangs off.
I was stoked. I took my three roommates out to dinner at the local chinese food joint. This felt like a real job, a career even. It was definately a job I could be proud of.

I rode my bike to Mike's the next morning and we headed out to do a school. I took to the switcher like a fish to water. Mike was great with the kids and I was inspired to do my best. I began getting framing up my close up and then zooming back out, so I could zoom in as I faded from the side shot. This looked great and Mike was suitably impressed.

My new boss took me to lunch at Burger King after we finsihed the school. After crunching some numbers he told me I was faster than he or his brother. He paid me $8 bucks an hour for my first day. He also explained that I would get paid for four hours minimum, even if we finished in two. Better yet, if a gig took even a minute over four hours I would get paid for eight. My speed on the equipment meant I'd rarely work more than six hours. Mike continued to be impressed and rewarded me with profit sharing.
This guy loved what he was doing for a living and this was infectious. We quickly became friends and I was proud to work for him, proud to be doing something I was so good at, and proud to be helping protect kids.

Mike did some wedding filming on the side and I began joinging him on these excursions, and then sooting weddings on my own. Mike taught me a sure fire trick for shooting a wedding. Step one, arrange a ride to the gig. I had no license so this was the only option for me anyway. Step two, be sober durring the service. Made sense. Step three, drink with the crowd at the reception? This turned out to be some brilliant advice. As the bride and groom, and their family and friends loosened up, so would I. My camea work would get a little more creative, I'd get friendly and start shooting interviews with the wedding party. The wilder they got, the wilder my taping got. Mike was brilliant. I'd drop the raw footage off with him for editing. He edited without a proper editing bay. This was before the days of non linear editing and so even with the proper equipment editing was a laborious endeavor. I loved spending hours editing video footage at the cable access station, but I had no interest in taking over for Mike, editing from camera to deck. I'll admit though, Mike did a great job and the final product, starting with a montage of the couples photos, looked fantastic. We were quite a team.

Between the weddings and the schools I still only worked about two to three days a week, which was great by me. My roommates resented me having so much time at home and they started bitching at me for not washing their dishes, or cooking them dinner. They couldn't grasp the concept that I had no obligation to them except to pay my rent and bills, and of course do MY share of the cleaning. I couldn't seem to convince them that how much I had work to earn my living was really none of their business. My roommate's were idiots and I was becoming increasingly less patient with them as my own self esteem sored.

My increased self esteem did not mean a decrease in my drinking. Christian and I were getting tanked almost every night. My boss moved to down-town Sacramento, meaning I now had an hour and a half bus ride to work. Early hours and late nights of drinking was not an easy combination but I made it work. I often woke up on the bathroom floor. Luckily my internal clock was powerfull and I was rarely late.
One night, Christian and I stayed up drinking with a Katie, a neighbor girl who convinced us we needed make overs. She coated me with lipstick and rouge like she was painting a house. Next came the temporary red hair dye, made to come out after two washings. As I sat colored various shades of red Katie described to us her most unhappy life. When she told she'd never been kissed I decided to help. I drunkenly fell forward towards her, and I climbed her considerable bulk. I didn't so much kiss her, as clean my face on hers. I stumbled backwards and saw that Katie, now looking like Ronald McDonald after a street fight, was not happy. She threw me out and I stumbled across the parking lot to my own pad. I threw up in the downstairs bathroom and then passed out beside the toilet. I woke up four or five hours later and used the sink to help myself up. as my face came into view in the bathroom mirror I was gripped with terror. I'd forgotten the events of the previous night and naturally assumed it was my own blood that was dripping down my face. In a panic tried to recall how I had injured myslef and then I remembered the temporary hair dye and make up. I looked at the clock in the kitchen and saw that I had about fifteen minutes to wash up and head for the bus. I was out the door in five, leaving me time to get a bottle of champagne from the two Iranian brothers at the local liquor store. They asked me for my ID every time and every time they accepted that I would bring it the next time. I downed the champagne on the bus and I felt almost normal by the time I reached Mike's place.

On another hung over occasion I didn't fair as well. Mike picked up a couple of large schools and suggested that we bring Christian along to help keep the kids moving. Christian and I had used the champagne hang over cure again, but we'd overdone it and we were a bit giggly. We had three classrooms worth of children in the room when someone in the general vicinity of Christian let loose with a monstrous fart.
The children were in histerics and I barely restrained myself from joining them. I lost it myself when Christian, showing his maturity, pointed at the poor, fat, ten year old next to him yelling "He did. He's the little farter. I didn't cut the fart. It was this stinky kid here." The little boy denied it and Christian jumped to his feet. "Don't lie, you little farter." I had tears streaming down my face from laughing as I grabbed Christian and pushed him out the door. He stayed out there until we'd finished this batch of kids, and then we resumed working through the reamainder of the student body. Every 10 minutes or so one of us would start giggling and Mike grew increasingly pissed.
Christian did not work with us again. Mike's younger brother Tony however did.

Tony came out from New York and Mike asked me to show him around. We were in Mike's van when Tony asked me for my take on the woman in the car next to us.
"She's wearing a bit too much make up." I assessed.
"Yeah, well, when I come on her face I can write my name in it." he answered. I was repulsed but also intrigued. I've always loved a character. Tony continued with his charm offensive. "You ever fuck a fat chick?"
"No" I answered, truthfully. At this point I'd not, in fact, "fucked" anyone.
"You should fuck a fat chick. They appreciate it so goddamned much. And they let you put it whereever the hell you want." This went with his Brooklyn accent beautifully. I couldn't wait to introduce Tony to my artsy fartsy crowd of friends.

Life with Christian, Wayne and the tenant of the month in the third bedroom had become unbearable. Wayne was on my ass all the time, determined to teach me no to be so "faggy."
My parents had moved into a big house and they welcomed me back. I was a few months yet from my 18th birthday. I figured I'd live with them and save up some money until I could move downtown. Things were slowing down with Mike and California Kids. The schools were facing ever tighter budgets and Mike's program was considered one of the more disposable. I still worked for him when I had work, but mostly I hung out and painted in my parents garage.

I recieve reports of Christian's drinking spiraling out control. Apparently he had a fight with a party guest and the two of them went crashing through an upstairs window, landing hard but unbroken on the cement of the patio below. He decided that he was Picasso and I was Mattise, and so we should imitate their relationship and not see each other too often. He was clearly nuts.
I was barely employed and pretty lonely. I spent my time painting and lusting after the house wife across the street.
On my 18th birthday I would move out on my own for a second time, and start the job hunt ritual yet again. I would work for Mike off and on for years to come, but I knew I needed a more stable form of employment.

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