Yesterday was a good day for people yelling in public.
I don’t mean they were having a good day. Judging from the yelling, two out of three were not. But it was a good day for spotting them.
There was the lady, trim, groomed, late 50s, designer bag, skinny jeans — the picture of a middle-aged, upper middle class New Yorker except that she was wearing a black t-shirt that said “HOMIES” and walking through the East Village wailing to nobody at a hoarse-making volume, “THIS WAS THE MOST IMPORTANT NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE AND YOU RUINED IT! I DID SO MUCH PLANNING AND FOR WHAT! YOU RUUUUUUINED IT!”
And then there was the 30-ish goateed man barking, to a 60-ish woman with funky glasses, short, silver hair, and a giant silver tote bag lying in the middle of the sidewalk, “YOU’RE THE FUCKING PHOTOGRAPHER! PICK UP YOUR SHIT. FROM THIS MINUTE FORWARD, YOU CAN CARRY YOUR OWN FUCKING TRIPOD.”
Bad days for those two yellers.
But then there was the third yeller, the neighborhood God Monger whose “THE LORD IS YOUR SAVIOR” yelling I ritually ignore because 1) he’s there at Union Square yelling the same thing all day every day 2) it’s religious (zzzzz), and 3) it’s intentionally public, rather than something private conflict I get to snoop on. All of that equals uninteresting.
What caught my attention this particular morning was that I saw him arriving for his job (of yelling).
Showin’ up for work.
Unlike the other yellers, he was having a good day, because it was going he way he intended it to.
He strode purposefully down the street with a cup of coffee in hand, checked his watch, and quickened his pace a little. And then, he got to his spot, took out his bible, and began the yelling.
I admire that dedication.
Getting up, putting on the yelling-appropriate outfit, getting coffee, getting there, clocking in. Unless you count Jesus, this guy’s his own boss. But he hustles to get yelling on time and be a professional anyway.
Me, I try. But on days when nothing’s due immediately, instead of working, I might find myself at the uptown Zara (it’s huge) trying on jeans for hours. True story.
What about you?
If you run your own work life, do you show up for it like a real job?
Heard any good yelling lately?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS.
I’m not sure if I show up for work at 8am or 10am. I get up at 6:15 (no alarm), get teeth brushed, face washed, dressed for whatever weather is outside here in the Frozen North (or steamy North in summer), and get my pup Sugar out for our 1st walk of the day. Then it’s back in for breakfast, kibitzing on The Today Show, playing the required Fetch game with Sugar, and reading Twitter and Facebook .
To be fair – I really do read articles off (mostly) Twitter. I spend about 2hrs in the morning reading – like your blog posts. That seems like work, right? I learn a lot. So let’s say, I show up for work at 8am.
But I still feel guilty. I’ve been working for myself for 19 years and the guilt never ends. Thank god there’s your blog and the comments I read that let me know it’s normal to watch one more episode of Law & Order when there’s no imminent deadline. (We’re too far from shopping to go do that – but I’d love to.)
The guilt NEVER ends. It’s true. But yours can end, because you get up early to slack off. I start my slacking when most people are getting to their desks. Or maybe an hour in.
Do you really work for yourself, or do you work for Sugar? Not clear.
Damn. It is so true … I don’t show up for it like it is a real job.
It is more that I am a sucky-ass boss and WAY to easy going because I allow myself a lot of breaks and slow production times (read: unproductive).
What is that about?
I’m trying to decide whether I’m a sucky boss or sucky employee. I’m neither authoritative enough to get my employee (me) working nor devoted enough to work even when the boss (me) isn’t watching.
I’ve never fired several times as an employee, and never been made a boss — so it’s a toss-up.
I do show up for work every morning even though I own my own business. Alarm goes off at 4:30 or 5AM, I spend 30 minutes figuring out my day and then get to work till 7:30ish when I have to bring my daughter to school, work out and then start working again until I have to pick her up.
As for the yelling part, I don’t do a lot of that since I don’t have any imaginary friends and no one else is at home when I’m working!
4:30! 4:30! That’s an hour I’ll get up only if I have a flight to catch. And the flight better be to somewhere good.
My hat is off to you. I’m going to go yell about how driven you are.
I admire that you can publicly admit to going to Zara when you “should” (says who?) be working. I call my outings “errands” so they’d sound important and fool everyone (myself?) into thinking it IS important stuff.
If I say I’m going on “errands,” everyone knows it means walking around the neighborhood looking for free food samples. I’m too outed for any sort of cover.