American Idle

I had just, barely, graduated college and was thrust upon this big, scary world to make my own living.1 I had a real paying job, my former college internship with a music manager, and was making good money, but I was unhappy there. Although I had enjoyed that job while it was an internship, my favorite co-workers had left and the new co-workers became not-so-favorite. Not to mention, I actually had to be there all day! Ugh! Life is a learning process, and here I learned that I didn't like jobs where I had to be there all day.

I told my boss, Staci, that I needed to "find myself" in the world and I was quitting. When she asked me what I was going to do, I told her I would sign up with a temp agency. (That was my plan. I had heard that you only got called in sometimes….and not working all the time sounded like my favorite job.) Staci tried to talk me out of it, but I was already gone.

So, I signed up with the temp agency and, just as I had hoped, they hardly called me into work…in fact, they never called me with any jobs.2 But I am such a worrier, that I would get up early, get ready for the day, and then panic every time the phone rang. I didn't want them to call me in, but I also needed money. Staci was right, this temp thing was a bad idea.

Subconsciously, Staci must have felt my daily panic because she called me one day out of nowhere about a job she had heard about on the "music circuit." A British music manager, Simon Fuller3, who was temporarily living here in Los Angeles to work on an album, needed a "lunch time cook." The girl who had been the cook had to quit.

I called the number Staci gave me, and talked to a nice young girl who turned out to be Mr. Fuller's assistant. She asked me to come up to the temporary house he was staying in to discuss the position. So the next day (I didn't bother to shower early in preparation for a temp gig), I headed up to Mulholland Drive. I arrived at an iron gate with a call box. I pressed the button, and was buzzed in. I really only started panicking when I couldn't figure out where to park. I have always been a good driver, but since I have lived in Los Angeles, I have had several accidents…and I know people always say that their accidents were not their fault (similarly to prisoners who say they're innocent), but mine really weren't my fault. But I'll save that series of rationales for another time.

I decided to just park and worry about getting out of it later. I went up to the front door, and was greeted by "the assistant." As I entered, I could see the house was huge and gorgeous…just as you'd imagine a "Hollywood Hills For The Stars" home to be. She showed me into the kitchen which was beyond words….but I'll try: The refrigerator was like its own room, the granite island had a special sink just for vegetables and the stove had 10 burners! What the hell do people do with 10 burners? That's right, they hire cooks….like "me."

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