So what do you do?
How many times have you been asked this by a complete stranger? My father's standard response was âI herd sheep.â
Itâs assumed everyone goes to school to manifest their life. Not so. Education opens up your brain so you can think for yourself. Then youâre ready to start the real project. You, not what you do.
I held some crazy ass jobs. Many were in higher ed where I saw the story behind the scenery. The ability to benefit is a guideline for students to see if the cost of a degree correlates to a viable salary. It also measures the candidateâs access to resources needed to complete the program.
Long story short. That ainât happening. Higher education is big business. The cost of a Bachelorâs Degree from Columbia University is $278,754.
Occupational Studies navigates pathways that lead us somewhere we never imagined. The twists and turns of my career did in fact shape me, but theyâre not who I am. Most of the time I spent in higher education exposed me to some shenanigans. The ability to benefit didnât necessarily pertain to a studentâs success as much as the schoolâs wallet.
So what do you do?
How many times have you been asked this by a complete stranger? My father's standard response was âI herd sheep.â
Itâs assumed everyone goes to school to manifest their life. Not so. Education opens up your brain so you can think for yourself. Then youâre ready to start the real project. You, not what you do.
I held some crazy ass jobs. Many were in higher ed where I saw the story behind the scenery. The ability to benefit is a guideline for students to see if the cost of a degree correlates to a viable salary. It also measures the candidateâs access to resources needed to complete the program.
Long story short. That ainât happening. Higher education is big business. The cost of a Bachelorâs Degree from Columbia University is $278,754.
Occupational Studies navigates pathways that lead us somewhere we never imagined. The twists and turns of my career did in fact shape me, but theyâre not who I am. Most of the time I spent in higher education exposed me to some shenanigans. The ability to benefit didnât necessarily pertain to a studentâs success as much as the schoolâs wallet.
`.
I started working when I was ten up until about two hours
ago, as long as pulling weeds counts.
Delivering newspapers. My poor customers. Some days
Iâd be so late I delivered Tuesdayâs news on a Wednesday.
I learned to clean suede by carefully scraping it with a
knife at a dry cleaner. I got to clean Ellen Burstynâs suede
jacket just a year after The Exorcist, so she was at the top
of her game. I sold womenâs shoes in a department store
during the holidays. Talk about vain and needy.
âIâve always been a seven,â insisted Miss Calculated as I
shoved her meaty hoof into a golf hole.
I babysat two completely outta control kids whose parents
were bartenders. I did this in between semesters when I
was home in Connecticut. I often slept overnight when
their 2:00 AM curfew turned into a heavily fueled dusk
arrival. Lots of apologies and hush money tips stuffed my
Christmas stocking.
Neither of their kids were toilet trained even though they
were eight and five. Theyâd start squirming in their chairs,
and Iâd scream RUN TO THE BATHROOM NOW, then
watch âem slush through a pile of their own making
trapped in a deep white shag rug. Clean up on Aisle
Shitsville. Bring a clothespin (for your nose).Once the kids were in bed, Iâd sneak around their parentsâ
bedroom and find lots of fun stuff: pot, poppers, pills,
blow, hand cuffs and what I now know to be a dildo but at
the time assumed to be a beating stick. I experimented
with most of the goods, minus the beating stick. I usually
had a lot of time to kill. Then Iâd boogie on down to the
basement and dance the night away to the Bee Geeâs.
*****
Back on campus, I found a job posted on the job board in
the student union. Her name was Evelyn and she had a
spacious apartment on Central Park West. She was about
eighty. Very well kept and smart. Iâd take the train down
after my last class then walk her dog, eat dinner with her
and maybe screw in a lightbulb or line a cupboard shelf.She loved hearing what I learned that day, which would
lead to conversations that helped me to digest the material
more clearly. Weâd watch Merv Griffin at 8:00. Sheâd wind
down around 9:00 and I would study. It was understood
that if for any reason I didnât want to take the subway back
to the Bronx, there was always a spare bedroom for me. I
think she preferred when I stayed. Great job. Very cool
woman who was instrumental in helping me mature into a
personable young man.
She also introduced me to a higher societal level I never
would have experienced. She attended openings at
museums and galleries, charity events, auctions and the
like. To pass as a proper escort, she brought me to a
tailor, who measured me and tailored a custom suit anddress shirts. I was eighteen or nineteen so it was a lot to
absorb. What I wouldnât give to fit in that suit today. The
finest tweed, silk-lined pants, single vent and notch lapels.
White linen French cuff-linked shirts. Cufflinks from Van
Cleef & Arpels. Kensington Oxford semi-brogue shoes
crafted from French calfskin. Again, eighteen or nineteen!
We spent many nights talking about old Manhattan, her
glory days. She had two husbands. She truly loved the
first but he died just three years after they married. She
remarried partly to remain in the upper echelon she was
accustomed to. Back in her day, most women didnât work.
They provided their husbands with a home to entertain in
and of course children to complete the family photo.But she wasnât in love the second time around. She was
lonely, especially once her kids left for college.
We talked about my aspirations (quick subject as I had
less than zero at the time) and familiarized me with the
finer spots in Manhattan I would never have been able to
get in on my own. So this wasnât really a job, not like most
of my other classmates had.
They smelled like French fries.
I did this gig for a couple of years. Toward the start of a
new fall semester, I checked in with her only to find out
that sheâd passed over the summer. Her sons sold herapartment and all its contents, including the suit with my
initials embroidered inside the silk lining.
So that cushy job was over and done with.
During my previous networking as a non-sexual escort, I
made a few connections. Malcolm was a party planner
with an exotic flair. He was regularly written up in the New
York Times. For a while, if it wasnât a party designed by
Malcolm, it wasnât a party at all.
He was ingenious and a completely eccentric character.
The first party I did for Malcolm was a Bar Mitzvah in some
mansion on Park Avenue. He had these enormously long
tables decorated as football fields, with goal posts andmotorized players the kids controlled with a transistor. The
parents were directed toward a locker room setup where
beer and champagne flowed out of Gatorade coolers. I
was outfitted as a bartender clad in shoulder pads, a
Giants uniform, helmet and charcoal under my eyes. I
prayed the drink orders would be manageable and of
course they werenât.
âThree dirty martinis, very dry.â
Do you know how difficult it is to make a perfect martini?
After two failed attempts, the man graciously taught me
the secrets. He wasnât an asshole at all. Thank God.Halftime was dinner time. Malcolm kept the theme flowing
with fried chicken, fancy hot dogs, and an enormous carrot
cake in the shape of a football. During dessert, a dozen
cheerleaders made a human pyramid and did backflips.
Another of his parties was in the Greenwich, Connecticut
home of Calvin Klein. It started with cocktails on the front
porch, decorated to resemble the deck of a ship. Once
the boat landed, guests were directed to one of four rooms
(countries). Spain. China. Turkey. Italy. Each room was
decorated to represent the country and the servers wore
authentic costuming. I got stuck in Turkey (begrudgingly
as Iâm Armenian) and had to go bare-chested with a purple
and gold braided turban. The entrees were in keepingwith the country being served. Every detail was tended to,
including our stage names. I was Mehmet.
On top of it, I got to see Calvin Kleinâs house.
Scale of one to ten? A rock solid ten.
All this was happening while I was enrolled in a Jesuit
school, which doesnât necessarily prepare you for a skill or
specific discipline. It opens your brain so widely that you
start to think for yourself. Thatâs an intimidating discovery
in your teens. You study the great philosophers, the Bible
(which Iâd never really been exposed to) and its relevance
in the modern world. For instance, David didnât just take
down Goliath. He made him fall to his knees and thenforward toward him. Why is that relevant? Goliath gives
into the spiritual power of something larger than himself.
This was one of several matter-of-fact presentations made
by the Jesuits. They didnât insist you believed them, rather
that you employed alternatives in critical thinking. They
were prepping students to draw their own conclusions.
Maybe thatâs the biggest skill you could possibly ever
learn: the ability to think for yourself. (Take note, Ron DeSantis)
My first post-college gigs didnât allow me to think for
myself whatsoever. I was a copywriter in pharmaceutical
advertising. What a racket. Salesmen made huge
commissions if they closed a deal and the copywriters
were berated when they didnât. It was never their peopleskills that failed. It was either the stats or the presentation
boards or the copy. Truth be told, we were berated daily
regardless of the outcome.
The environment was tense and brutal. People were short
on clarity, patience and intent. What they knew were tons
of buzz words to pitch Vagistat. The scratching. The
itching. The dryness. Excruciatingly painful vaginal
intercourse. Try glamorizing that in a campaign. Itâs a
tough sell. Back then decisions about marketing womenâs
products were left entirely up to men. Would they send a
woman to Pfizer to pitch drugs for erectile disorder? Well
maybe they should. A shift in perspective might move
more product.I had another copywriting job that I loved. I wrote thirty
second radio commercials as well as on-hold messages to
promote businesses. One day Iâd write about trips to the
GalĂĄpagos Islands, the next Iâd be plugging carburetors
and caskets. The job was commission-based so the more
scripts you wrote, the more you made. If a salesman blew
the pitch, you still got paid for the script. And you could
smoke pot on the way to the office, which was small beans
compared to how hammered on vodka and cocaine the
salesmen were.
I road to work with a friend in her convertible, sharing a fat
doobie. Her boyfriend grew marijuana and exotic orchids.
Weâd puff all the way down I-95 from Boca Raton to FortLauderdale. Yes, the job was in Florida. I spent a decade
there one year when my partner took a transfer.
While I hated every single facet of living in Florida, the
commute to the job and hours spent being goofy and
creative were a ball. I did a bang-up job on a commercial
for a local strip club featuring Fluffy Pillows, straight from
LA. Six nights only. I was invited there one night and I
actually got to met Fluffy. Now being a gay man, I couldnât
possibly distinguish fake from real, but I could measure
the difference between a B cup and an F.
Fluffy was an F!If it werenât for that job, I would not have survived Florida.
I hate heat, humidity and exposing my body. I once
strolled the beach in something just shy of a burka, while
everyone else was all greased up donning dental floss.
Not my scene.
In Occupational Studies, Jeff Namian takes us on a tour of various types of higher educational institutions. Based upon his personal and professional experiences, Occupational Studies is an insightful and entertaining narrative that seeks to answer the question of whether the tuition that students pay for education in these institutions of higher learning is worth the ability to benefit derived from the same. Namian, in a matter-of[fact and lighthearted manner, fills us in on some of the behind-the-scenes workings of these institutions that illustrate the surprising differences between the cultures and attitudes that govern them.
But does it answer the question?
Namian begins his narrative by giving a brief run through some of the odd jobs that he worked while attending Jesuit school. These odd jobs don't seem to have any bearing on the theme of the story, and it is unclear as to whether the Jesuit school was a high school or a college.
Namian goes on to tell several anecdotes related to the positions he held with different types of schools: A school of interior design, two different nursing schools, a conservatory, a graduate school of social work, and an inner-city community college. Though he does detail mismanagement issues and the disparate focus and attitudes of those in charge of running the schools and those who taught in the m at the time of his employ and the degree of success of certain specific students, Namian does not cite statistical facts that corroborate his conclusions and opinions regarding the students' abilities to benefit from having paid for educations at these schools. There are no citations of facts regarding percentages of students attending classes at the time of his employ that went on to procure gainful employment in their specific fields of study vs. how many were unable to do so. There does not appear to be any follow-up with a sample of students, themselves, to determine their satisfaction with the ability to benefit provided by the institution they attended.
So, while Namian does paint a sometimes witty and always colorful picture of his subject matter, it cannot be determined that he has adequately answered the question posed toward the beginning of the book. It is worth reading for the purpose of entertainment, but if one wants a firm representation of the answer to the question, they will have to research elsewhere.