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The nineteenth job I was (kinda) fired from.

The UCLA Arts Library. (summer c. 2001)

This was my crowning achievement and my biggest failure.

I pushed it further at this job than at any other job. I never got to work under fifteen minuets late, some days I would come in an hour late.

I barely worked. My fucking around to work ration was 1:10… for every 1 work thing I did I would check my email, surf the web, talk to the cool librarian Alan, or my cool boss Dawn, get food, drink tea in the 8th floor gallery, go to the Wright gallery and just aimlessly walk around campus.

I also reprogrammed the computers so that if you search certain catch phrases that I think are funny you will get all of these unrelated serials and monographs. I also changed the search engine results so that if you search for something I think is lame you get unrelated links.

I figured out how to clock in and out from my home computer with admin. passwords.

I never did my job right on purpose, so that I could have more time to read books. If there was 10 steps to a job I would do whatever the bare minimum was, and then I could read books all day.

I spent a whole summer working like this on a big grant that was basically set for me to sit in the cage and catalogue artists books. for any competent person, this task could be broken up into a couple of serious hours of work in one 8 hour work day.

I would also go into the stacks and read for hours.

The reason why this was such a failure is that the boss knew all of this and she never fired me because I was still getting all my work done. This made me feel horrible because I was such a shitty employee and I just hid and read all of the time but I felt guilty because it was some sort of student job dichotomy where you could get away with murder as long as you got your work done.

There was a whole quarter where I wouldn’t talk to anyone and I took every Friday off even though I was scheduled to work.

I don’t know, I just feel that the people there put up with me being some eccentric asshole and that I owe something to them because the boss was so nice and I am such a piece of shit.

At almost all of the other 20 jobs they fired me, or told me I had to quit but every time they found a drawing on a wall or a defaced magazine, or graffiti in the bathroom… … … they would just tell me I was a weirdo and left it at that.

Shit, I should have fired myself. Instead I just feel really bad that they all thought I was a really good artist or something. I don’t think that. I think I am a huge fraud. They even threw me a huge going away party when I had to leave because I graduated. I actually started to cry becuse they were all really nice to me and I was just an asshole.

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