NYC misadventure saga continued ...
Early August 2000
I wasn't keen with staying in Susan's flat any longer, and Susan felt similarly about me being there. In truth, the consensus was that I would only be staying in her place for one month (and that wasn't something I was told right off the bat.)
The aunt then directed me to another apartment, a neighboring unit in her own building in Greenwich Village. The occupant, an off-Broadway writer, was going on a month-long vacation in Amsterdam, Netherlands (the "Old Amsterdam") and was willing to let me stay in his loft for free providing the electricity bill didn't pass a certain point and his two exotic cats were treated well. Neither was a problem. I've always been conservative with energy usage, and as far back as I can recall, I've always been a cat person.
During evenings, since the resident had cable, I was able to catch up on all "going ons" of the outside world at the time: The California wildfires, the Firestone tire recall, the Nick Markowitz gang murder in Beverly Hills, the West Nile outbreak in New York City (the severity of which turned out to be media panic). It was a big election year, too: Hillary Clinton was campaigning for New York Senate against Rick Lazio. (There had been lot of controversy over the Clintons becoming residents of New York not long before the campaign.) Then, most of all, the presidential campaigns of Gore/Lieberman and Bush/Cheney, the outcome of which was a total miscarriage of justice.
I also did some IFC watching. I didn't have cable back home, so this was quite a treat. I watched King of New York, The Sweet Hereafter and Small Faces. IFC also showed a lot of previews for films of that Summer like Girlfight, Saving Grace, Billy Elliot, Woman On Top, The Tao of Steve, Shadow of the Vampire and Steal This Movie!
During the day, I looked for work, mainly in Manhattan's Union Square neighborhood, not far from the NYFA headquarters, and 15-minute walking distance from the Greenwich Village apartment.
At the beginning I used newspaper ads and the phone book since the aunt's neighbor's computer was malware-stricken.
It was at this time that I discovered the "job contacts" that my aunt bragged about for months turned out to be just ONE thing: A temp agency one of her "interfaith church" friends used. There was no phone number, just a company name, "Tiger", and the first and last name of her friend, which was no use to me at all. The aunt thought I could use her friend's name as a "referral" and I'd have a better chance at getting jobs through the agency, but we all know that, too, is fantasy. It turned out the aunt goofed the company's name - it wasn't "Tiger" but "Tigbur". I probably looked like a complete idiot to the company when I verified.
Also, the aunt's friend hadn't used the agency for years.
When all was said and done, there was NO work available through "Tigbur". At least, not for an 18-year-old with no college degree and no work experience.
In many ways, the moment I made the NYC decision, I was pretty well screwed. Didn't really matter what I did, just how bad it could have gotten the longer I stayed. An 18-year-old man with no degree or job training "making it" in NYC is unheard of unless 1.) the 18-year-old man is a "fortune son", or 2.) Fate and chance are on the 18-year-old man's side. Neither advantage was in my favor.
I was advised by my aunt to ask other local family members about full time work. I asked my great uncle Markus, a millionaire investment banker who lived on the Upper East Side. His answer? "I can't think of anything right now, but I'll let you know if anything comes up." His son Steve from Jersey City: "Not off the top of my head, but if you want to see a familiar face, I'll always be in town." The distant Ukrainian cousins in Brighton Beach were semi-criminal, cut off from everyone and didn't know much English. I also had relatives in Queens and Long Island, but I didn't really see them much. The NE Bronx relatives with the "filmmaker connections" also didn't have any leads, besides a possible (but future) film project via their "connection".
Bottom line, my family there was no help in job networking, and the aunt basically lied. Just like the fabrications about the NYFA. As a matter of fact, she tried to convince me that the NYFA diploma was equatable to an "occupational degree" while I was job hunting.
Even the NYFA didn't make such an embellishment.
And that wouldn't be the last of idiosyncratic thinking from the aunt. Not even close.
My then-14-year old sister got her first cellphone that Summer and created a profanity-laced voicemail greeting meant to amuse her friends. Unbeknown to my sister, family members (including grandparents) were calling and leaving messages on that number.
So the aunt knocks on the door of the unit I was staying at, and for one reason or another, brings this issue up to me:
AUNT: You know, that greeting your sister put on her phone was very rude.
ME: That's something you'll need to bring up with her, not me. It's her phone, not mine.
AUNT: Yeah, well, it's still rude. Did you even hear what she says on it?
ME: I sort of have an idea, yes.
AUNT: Well, you could at least say you're sorry.
ME: Why? You're talking to the wrong person. Maybe you should speak to her, or our parents?
AUNT: Common courtesy.
ME: I'm sorry you had to hear what she said, but that's not my phone and I didn't leave that greeting.
AUNT: No. Not "sorry you had to hear that", just "I'm sorry."
ME: Again...why?
AUNT: Even if you feel you have no responsibility, it doesn't hurt to say "I'm sorry" once in a while. It's very mature, gentleman-like. I've always known you to act like a gentleman when you were young, and I'm sure you'll be a gentleman once you're grown up.
ME: I'm sorry.
AUNT: Beautiful! Be sure to let me know how your job search goes today!
And then the aunt walked back to her unit.
At least 2 more times on that same day, the aunt proceeded to tell me how "beautiful" my apology was, an apology over something that had absolutely nothing to do with me. However, after talking with my folks back home, there was no indication my younger sister's controversial phone greeting was ever addressed.
In fact, the greeting remained unchanged for at least another year!
In regards to additional "assistance" on my employment search, the aunt mentioned a friend with a fax machine and internet who was willing to let me use both ... at a rate of $4(!) per page, and $5/hour (for internet). However, I had already found nearby copymats with cheaper rates.
The aunt countered: "Well, those places aren't safe. They could look at what you send and steal your identity. Whereas your info will be secret safe with my friend. Don't look at $4-$5 as a loss. Look at it as an investment!" I refused, and then the aunt countered, "well why don't you do this as a favor to me? You've been living in other people's apartments for free, I think it's only fair that you pay it forward!"
Early September 2000
Still no job lined up or permanent place to stay.
Jim the off-Broadway playwright would return by the end of August, and the aunt would direct me to another place, this one on the Upper West Side Manhattan (near Central Park West) and rented by Jessica, a 65-year-old friend of my aunt. It was a 3-bedroom railroad layout apartment with a living room, the latter of which I got as "a room." Well, not quite. In addition, I would have to pay this friend $100/week to stay there.
But that's not the whole story.
This is the point where everything got chaotic, out of control and eventually a living nightmare.
During the rest of the year, Jessica ran a daycare center in her living room. She didn't use the room during the Summer, so one could actually make a profit by renting the extra space out. The only problem is that I didn't get the room to myself - her phone was in there, and when Jessica got home late at night, she would playback the voice messages at max volume while I was (obviously) asleep. It has always been my understanding that if you pay someone for a room in an apartment, you get that room. But not in this case. I brought the issue up to my aunt, who basically said, "tough, deal with it, it's my friend's apartment, not yours, so she could do as she chooses."
The living room itself was a mess, but nothing I could fix on my own: Crayon, peanut butter(?) and play-dough remnants were encrusted all over the carpet, and alongside the bed I slept on was mold and mildew on the decrepit walls. If that's what the room looked like when a nursery school was in progress, I can't see how any parent would allow a young child into a place like that.
From that point forward, everything started to come together as to why my aunt probably wanted me in NYC so badly. The lease on Jessica's apartment was $800/month. A similar apartment would normally run around $4,000/month, but the old lady lived there for so long and thus benefited from NYC's rent stability laws. The "guest room" next to Jessica's bedroom had been rented out by 2 different individuals, but whether both men were aware of that is anyone's guess: The first person was a Spanish rebbe who was in the process of buying his own apartment, so he was actually moving out. I only noticed him twice, if that. He paid Jessica $500/month for the guest room. The other "renter" was a London businessman - also in the city infrequently - and according to him, he was merely paying Jessica for storage, a place to shower, a place to store food, a place to occasionally sleep, a place to see his young mistress and an address to get mail. He, too, was paying Jessica $500/month, so all-in-all, Jessica was living there rent free.
Actually, not only rent free, but rent-free and a small profit: Charge your best friend's nephew $100/week to stay in the living room, and an even bigger profit is made.
I brought this up to the aunt, who was furious I found out about what was going on, but denied the allegation that this was just to help her friend line pockets. She basically put it this way: "Well, once the other guy has moved out, maybe you could move into the guestroom and you'll get your own room, and this is one of the best NYC neighborhoods to be in." I advised her that someone else was using that room, and she accused me of being "difficult" and "fresh". She also used the justification of me staying at two previous places "for free" and that I should be "grateful."
After the "Tigbur" mess, I inquired (again) with the aunt about the so-called "employment contacts" she promised for MONTHS before I arrived in NYC. I was consistently given the same runaround and excuses: "Oh, I'll ask my friends". "Oh, I don't know, some of my friends are between jobs, and they have priorities, too." "Keep looking at temp agencies, they work well with young people." Again, every agency paid no mind or consideration the moment I revealed my age and zero work history.
And I was losing money. My OWN money.
Money I had earned and saved for most of my life at that time.
Then one morning, on the way back from getting coffee and a lox bagel, I stumbled upon what looked like a small break. I notice several people leave the Upper West Side apartment carrying tripods, cables and lighting equipment. A movie is being made inside the building I was staying at by Israeli film director Amos Kollek. Victor Argo, Mark Margolis and Anna Levine were among the actors on the set. I inquire whether any production help is needed, either as an extra, gaffer or assistant, and I'm pointed to the direction of "Rob", the film's line producer, who was talking to a few other individuals in the lobby. I made myself known but had the humility not to interrupt. When I was noticed, I introduce myself, talk a bit about my background and ask if I could be of any assistance in the production (or future productions). Rob then gave me his cell # for follow-up.
A meme a short time ago revealed while I had been on many movie sets and met actors, I never got to be part of the actual process. Well, exactly like that. "Rob" never answered his phone or returned my calls.
I had stayed in contact with two of the actors I found through the NYFA, Jeremy and Oleg. After all, I needed their addresses to send the VHS transfers of the final NYFA film. Jeremy lived on the lower East Side Manhattan and was quite busy (not sure how a non-famous actor could afford to live in a neighborhood like that.) Oleg got me in contact with Craig, who claimed to be part of the film business but was rather vague and contradictory as to what role he had. The phone conversations were creepy and didn't last long.
Then, Oleg got me in contact with a young short film director he once worked with who was also an alum of the NYFA, and he held the same views I had about the NYFA. Although he was still in the "film scene", he explained how it was a struggle to make a living at the same time. He worked 2 Starbucks shifts that left him with almost no sleep, and while we think of cafes as being a "hipster hangout", he described it as food service to "the public. You're serving the general population." He also said that it took him close to a year before he even got those jobs, yet it still didn't cover everything, and he still owes his family (who loaned him money) thousands of dollars. When I inquired about work, he laughed, and said, "Good luck. I really wish I could help you on that one without saying wait in line if I do."
Bleak.
The lies and poor planning would eventually come back and haunt the aunt, but the negligence would only hurt me ...
Middle September 2000
By around the second week of September, Jessica informs me her daycare classes (which were run out of the living room) would begin the following week and needed me out of the apartment by the next day (!) I let the aunt know this, ask her what she's going to do about it and I immediately get an "I don't know" answer. I ask if I'm going to stay at her place until a new arrangement is made, and she said, "nope, under no circumstance can you stay in my apartment, I already told you that. Remember? You're breaking a rule again."
The aunt then blamed me for the debacle, saying, "you should have found another place on your own during this whole time." Ironically, that's what I had been doing in tandem with the unsuccessful job search - all of the places were out of my league either in price, age or gender. Most NYC roommate ads preferred someone female and 25/older . And in most ads, "employment" was required. I had no employment. Most of the time, those searching for roommates want someone with a steady income.
I was living off VERY minimal, self-earned savings at that time.
The night before I had to leave, I would get a call from the aunt about a "temporary place" to stay until "new arrangements" were made, but no indication, when, where or what these new "arrangements" would be.
I still can't believe it was a family member who would suggest something like this:
AUNT: I tracked down a youth hostel in Manhattan that charges $50/night for a room, you will be sharing it with 3 other people, but you will get your own locker.
ME: That's the best you could do to make up for your mistake?
AUNT: Would you like the hostel phone number or not?
ME: Where am I going to keep my bags and personal effects?
AUNT: Again, they have lockers. You could always pay extra for more storage-
ME: No.
AUNT: Would you like the number? You owe me a big "thank you" for finding this at least. I postponed my yoga class just to look for you.
ME: I don't owe you jackshit! You flat out lied to me this entire time! Where's all those "job contacts" you promised?!!?!?
AUNT: Lower your voice, please.
ME: GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!!
And I quickly hung up the phone and took long, deep breaths to relieve the tension. The aunt calls again about an hour later...
AUNT: Look, I'm doing my best to help you, but you're making this very difficult.
ME: Uh huh, right.
AUNT: Now you owe me another apology.
ME: Nah.
AUNT: You're not going to apologize for being disrespectful?
ME: No, in fact, I made a plan for tomorrow. Jessica will have to call the NYPD to get me out of here. And when I'm dragged out to the nearest precinct, I'll be allowed one phone call. That phone call will be to Jessica's landlord, and I'll let him know she's been letting 3 people stay there who aren't on the lease. No more rent profiteering. No more filthy daycare classes.
AUNT: No, you better not do that!
ME: Oh, I'll do that. You want blood on your hands? I have lots of it.
And then the aunt screamed at me and we both hung up the phone on each other.
I probably got about an hour of sleep that night.
Very early the next morning - around 3am - I get a call from Michael, the cousin from the Northeast Bronx. The aunt had called him to advise what was going on, and although he didn't take either "side" of the dispute, he played down any criticism about the aunt's responsibility. While not blaming her for the lack of accountability, he agreed that it would be in her best interest to find "the new place, and it shouldn't be a youth hostel". My patience and morale was starting to wane at that point. However, since it was Michael's soon-to-be son-in-law who was an acclaimed film director, he said he would talk to him not only about film jobs but also related office jobs, since the director worked as a ghostwriter for HBO movies/TV shows and had "direct access" within the industry.
Nevertheless, Michael (unlike the aunt) made no promises in regards to this "connection". He and his then-wife Diana insisted that I should still keep looking for work on my own (despite my zero work or college experience) and that the aunt would "keep looking" as well, eventhough she really wasn't. With all considered, there was still a "glimmer of hope" at the time, eventhough my cash supply was starting to dry up.
Until a new place was arranged, Michael let me stay in his family's living room in the Bronx (Morris Park).
The aunt talked to her friend Susan in Park Slope, whose high school friend, Eliot, had an extra space available in Brooklyn...
TO BE CONTINUED