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The fifteenth job I was fired from.

The Museum Company. (fall c. 1998)

I generally fucked with all of the mean old ladies who couldn’t understand me, and fueled the fire to their silly quarrels by telling them all what the others were saying behind their backs without choosing any sides.

I also fucked with the merchandise displays so it looked funny and rendered it un-sellable justifying it by saying that this is what all of the window displays in Beverly Hills and New York look like and that they just didn’t understand “installation art."

I consumed other people’s food, drinks, and candy.

I napped and studied in back when only working with one person because they were not allowed to come in back unless they called the back room to tell me first.

I made long distance calls.

I stole a bunch of stupid random shit and gave them away as presents.

I listened to excessively obnoxious-to-old-lady free jazz (from John Zorn to the Chicago underground Trio) on the sales floor and told them that they just didn’t understand what was good anymore.

I wasn't technically fired from this job and it made me feel horrible about myself because in the end, they were all really nice and caring towards me, while I was the piece of shit. This job symbolized a departure from being totally out of control for the sake of being out of control, to being more critical of what I was doing and how it affected others.

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