Stories
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One worked set-up and tear-down two to four days a week on average and made a lot of money. An artist who doesn't sell and needs to work, wants to work as few hours as possible for maximum money of course.
But it was union gig. So with encouragement I tried to join the union. By phone-call I needed to get a few tools which I did. I needed to call at a certain time and they would tell me when, where, who and what time to start work. However when we got to that last call, they garbled the information so you couldn't understand it. It was a recording so I called again and again. Hopeless - thus I could not go to work and could not join the union. It was a closed shop, so it became obvious and that was illegal. It was good money but long hours and late into the night so the hell with it.
We were a gregarious bunch. However there were regulars who came everyday, sat by themselves and never talked to anyone. They mostly read a paper. There were others who were talkative but wouldn't join our group. Let us say they were stuck-up. One was a college teacher who usually wore black, a trench coat, suits, white shirt and tie and who carried what my Professor called props, such as a brief case and a pipe between his teeth which he never smoked.
Elevated thirties I would guess, medium height and weight with dark combed straight back hair very thickish. The Professor got to know him because they were both teachers and said his father was a tough guy, and so traumatized Namely, is why he always felt insignificant inferior and thus the props to
elevate his ascertainment.
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