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<br>One of the best ways to investigate a career and to find a job is to participate in an internship program.
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<b>Part 1-of-3:<p>
<font size="+1">
<font size="+2">B</font>RIGHT
<font size="+2">L</font>IGHTS,
<font size="+2">B</font>IG
<font size="+2">C</font>ITY,
<font size="+2">E</font>MPTY
<font size="+2">W</font>ALLET
<p>
by Gabrielle Mullem</b>
</font>
<br>
<p>
<p>Published January 9, 1997<br><p>
<blockquote>"If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere...<br>
It's up to you New York, New York."<p>
— Ol' Blue Eyes</blockquote><p>
<font size="+1">
<p>
<font size="+2">T</font>his series will deal with my various adventures as an intern
working for several different companies in New York City — and what I have learned
at each job. But before anyone starts seeing stars and having dreams of moving to The
City That Never Sleeps, you should be aware that moving to NYC means constantly dealing
with The Rent Factor. Decent and affordable housing in the city is a rare commodity,
so I'd like to share my experiences to give Tripod readers some idea of what newcomers
may face.
<p>
<font size="+2">T</font>he seed of my decision to move to New York was planted one night
in New Orleans, several months after finishing college. I was working in a small
pizza/sandwich place trying to soothe my "career goal" anxiety with mindless work and
a dress code I could live with. There I was, wearing my apron and appropriate hair
restriction accessory, doing a firm sweep, — when a wino began to lurch from table
to table, offering unsolicited drool and expletives to all our evening patrons. My 6'3"
boss nodded in my 5'3" direction and said, "Go take care of it." He then turned his back
towards me and became engrossed in arranging pepperoni. I sucked in my breath and moved
out to meet my fate. I used my best stern voice: "Excuse me sir, you' re going to have
to leave." And for some reason he did. I returned behind the counter with some very
dangerous looking spittle on my shoe and a standing ovation from table three. My boss
beamed at me, "Nice job there, buddy." Uh-huh. Time for a change.
</font>
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<font size="-1">
<b>HOSTELS:</b><p>
Chelsea International Hostel<br>
212-647-0010<br>
251 W. 20th Street<br>
Dorm style (communal bathrooms)<br>
Per night rate: $20/shared, $45/single<br>
Maximum Stay: 1 month<p>
Gershwin Partners<br>
212-545-8000<br>
3 E. 23rd St.<br>
$22+tax/shared, $65+tax/single<br>
Maximum Stay: 21 days<p>
Big Apple Hostel<br>
212-302-2603<br>
119 W.45th<br>
Dorm style<br>
$22/shared, $58/single<br>
Maximum Stay: 10 days<p>
NY International AYH-Hostel<br>
212-932-2300<br>
891 Amsterdam Ave.<br>
All dorm style<br>
$22/members, $25/non<br>
Reservations must be 24 hrs in advance by Visa/Mastercard<br>
Maximum Stay: 7 days
</font>
</td>
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<font size="+2">P</font>sychology had been my major, primarily because
I had made the mistake of enjoying an abnormal personalities seminar —
thereby convincing my parents that I was a natural psychologist. It's you.
Umm, well, maybe. Gotta have a major, something real. What I dreamed about was
something else: writer, actress, artist, filmmaker. Part of me knew I wanted to
be — even could be — one of those things, but I doubted I had the discipline.
Still another part of me thought that my devastatingly average academic record
had sabotaged any hope of interesting options. Thinking too much tends to do this
to me; it divides me into parts and leaves me booting winos for seven bucks an hour.
<p>
<font size="+2">A</font> week or so after the big seed-planting, the film crew for
"Dead Man Walking" came into town. Maybe they needed energetic, wino-bouncing
sweepers with three months' administrative experience at a public video access
center? It took three cramped hours on a bus next to a very large man named Big
Easy (who sounded like a drugged, Southern Barry White), but I got out to the
suburban school the filmmakers were using as a courtroom set. Once there, I moved
around the set and talked to whoever wasn't too busy. I met a PA (production
assistant) named Scott who promised me a good word with the people making the next
big movie in New Orleans. "When will that be?" I inquired. He promised it would be
soon and sent me off with his number and a "call me anytime for help." As it turned out,
soon wasn't so soon. But I had been bitten by an idea bug. It occurred to me that I
could get in some film experience elsewhere and come back to New Orleans with some
skills deserving of decent pay. Maybe I could even work my way up to being a director.
At the very least I would be able to tell if I was actually cut out for filmwork.
<p>
<font size="+2">I</font> decided to sell my things and temporarily move back in with
my mother in California so that I would have a base camp with a word processor and
fax. Scott hipped me to the trade papers (Variety and The Hollywood Reporter) and I
started sending my plea to every production office in every city where I had relatives
or friends. One month after returning home, a job came through in New York — an
unpaid internship with a female director's first picture. I was so grateful, so
dreamy. "I'll be out next week," I promised. The hiring guy on the phone laughed
at me, "You're crazy." It didn't feel crazy, it just seemed like the chance of a
lifetime, a reprieve from my heretofore uninviting destiny as a mediocre analyst.
I imagined myself looking cool with a battery pack slung around my waist, joking with
the director, maybe filling in for one of the actors. The production would help me with
food, I had enough cash for plane fare, and I would stay with my great uncle Rudy and
Aunt Clara. I saw things clearly: I would make a short, inexpensive learning trip,
then move back to New Orleans and truly begin my career in the film business.
<p>
<font size="+2">I</font> was packing for my trip — one bag clothes, one bag
sleeping gear/toiletries — when my mom approached me with the bad news:
Rudy and Clara's place was unavailable. I started desperately exploring the
possibilities of Ys and hostels, but they were too pricey — especially
after budgeting my room and board expenses at $0. These places also have
time limits on duration of stay, and I didn't figure I could work all day and
look for a place to live. Luck prevailed, and Chuck (the one friend I had in
New York) came through with a room the day before I was scheduled to leave.
The catch was, I'd have to stay at a hostel in Harlem for a few days. A little
inconvenience, but I was grateful — and it struck me as an experience with
possibilities (maybe even one I could write about one day).
</td>
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<td valign="TOP" width="85">
<font size="-1">
<b>STAYING AT THE Y:</b><p>
There are many in Manhattan and other burroughs, and they all have different
price ranges/durations of stay (for example, the 63rd St. Y, at 212-787-1301,
is $53/day for a 25 day maximum stay).<p>
THE FOLLOWING IS A BOOKING AGENCY THAT WILL FIND YOU THE CHEAPEST Y STAY<br>
212-308-2899<p>
They don't take reservations over the phone — they must be mailed or faxed
in, and you must allow up to two weeks for turnaround.<br>
FAX 212-308-3161<br>
Y'SWAY International<br>
224 E. 47th<br>
NY, NY 10017
</font>
</td>
<td valign="TOP">
<font size="+2">U</font>ncle Rudy had offered to pick me up at JFK airport and
take me for breakfast. As we drove through Harlem on our way to the hostel, he
squinted for an acceptable diner and decided to leave me with a $10 bill and a kiss
instead. I was sleepy from a questionable aisle-seat nap on the plane and wanted to
get a couple hours of rest before anxiety set in. I dunno what I was expecting,
certainly not a room with eight touring Finnish ladies in various states of undress
excitedly clicking their fanny packs. A dream for some maybe, but not this cowgirl.
<p>
<font size="+2">A</font>ctually my entry was the weirdest thing about the hostel; it
was, in fact, a nice set-up. The staff was friendly, the cafeteria decent, and an aura
of safety surrounded the building due to its 24-hour open desk and revolving door of
happy foreigners. Chuck came for me the following evening, and I began a five-week stay
on a hardwood floor in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn. Except for the occasional
loud and profane enthusiasms that would come from the group of Nintendo junkies in
Chuck's roommate's room, the place was quiet and private — and I began to feel attached.
<p>
<font size="+2">T</font>he neighborhood was cool too, halfway between seedy and snotty.
There was a nice mix of restaurant rice and bean odors, Jamaican incense, and laughing
children. My favorite place was the corner deli run by two Egyptian brothers who would
blast morning prayers from the store loud speakers. They were always smiling hopefully,
raised on a platform behind the counter, surrounded by display racks of animal crackers,
Pepto-Bismol, lighters, and condoms.<br>
"Just the banana?"<br>
"Yes, thank you."<br>
"It seems like it will rain, no?"<br>
"Yes."<br>
"You should be a Muslim."<br>
It felt fun to be friendly at first, but then offers for free Arabic lessons turned into
more aggressive smiles — and a marriage proposal that felt like a threat.
I was disappointed when Chuck mentioned someone was coming to take my spot on the floor,
but the deli situation was getting a little tense. It was time for me to leave.
</td>
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<tr>
<td valign="TOP" width="85">
<font size="-1">
<b>RESIDENCE HOUSES:</b><p>
De Hirsh Residence<br>
212-415-5650<br>
1395 Lexington Ave.<br>
Minimum Stay: 3 days<br>
Maximum Stay: 1 Year<br>
Fully furnished rooms<br>
Per Night: $49/shared, $70/single<br>
Per Month: $550/shared, $685/single<br>
Must show proof of full time student enrollment, employment, or
combination of two.<p>
The Webster<br>
212-967-9000<br>
212-268-8569 (Fax)<br>
419 West 34th St.<br>
FOR WOMEN ONLY<br>
Reserve at least a month in advance<br>
Minimum Stay: 1 month<br>
Fully furnished singles rooms, library, garden, TV and recreation rooms,
pianos, laundry rooms<br>
Room rates — including service and two meals daily — vary according to guests
weekly salaries<br>
Proof of employment, student enrollment, or internship must be provided.
</font>
</td>
<td valign="TOP">
<font size="+2">I</font> managed to find two weeks' worth of kind co-workers who
allowed me stay with them. The most memorable of these was Tommy, the prop master
from my first film. Tommy lived in a midtown garden apartment. My mind took garden
to mean "shady patio attachment with pots of half-cared-for summer flowers."
In fact, what garden apartment meant was subterranean, no window. I didn't mind,
though — I had graduated from the floor to an undersized springless couch (and
it felt good!). Tommy had also taken in a PA named Rich. What I remember about Rich
was a sneering smile, complimented by a large body swathed in various shades of brown,
and a very severe foot odor problem that made it impossible not to locate his sneakers
even in the messiest of rooms. Tommy, Rich, and I were working different hours, so I
was asleep when they came in at 3:00 a.m. one night, turned on Neil Young, and lit up,
and Rich began to expound on how some crazed woman, driven mad with desire for him, had
jumped him and he was forced to do all sort of wondrous nasty things to her. Uh huh.
Time to leave again.
<p>
<font size="+2">T</font>he very real problem now was finding a more permanent place to
live. In retrospect I can be casual or romantic about my lack of planning, but it was
uncomfortable and very scary at the time. After I had found a spot, a co-worker clued
me in to a place called the Webster which is information I wish I had known about from
the get-go. Another place called the DeHirsh Residence offers rooms where you can stay
up to a year. Needless to say this takes a little setting up in advance, but it's worth
it — it's no fun to try to do all of this while working long days.
</td>
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<font size="-1">
<b>A GOOD BOOK TO HAVE:</b><p>
"How To
Find An Apartment in New York"<br>
by Karen Spinner<p>
Detailed explanations about different areas of NYC, publications that list
rental/sub-let notices,the skinny on agencies that hook you up with
roommates, things to look for when checking out an apartment, services that
help you find "no fee apartments" for a flat rate, thrift stores that will
come pick up furniture you don't want anymore, and on and on.
</font>
</td>
<td valign="TOP">
<font size="+2">E</font>ventually I wound up in a prime spot in the East Village.
I almost didn't take it, because $525 per month sounded expensive to me (hey, in New
Orleans you can get a house for that much). It took people bugging out their eyes and
saying, "Oh my God, you are so lucky!" before I realized I was. Things were great:
In the morning I could look directly into a classroom of LaSalle High School boys.
This was a shocker the first morning I woke up and peered nervously over my covers,
out my window into theirs ("they're so close and my pants are so far away").
At varying hours, an aggressive fried stench would waft up through the floor boards,
but the roaches were at a minimum and my roommate was cool. So it only made sense to
stay in New York a little longer. As with so many things in this city, even if you
don't like your situation, you fought for it too hard to just give it up and walk away.
<p>
<font size="+2">A</font> year later, when I had to up and move again, I realized how
hard apartments are to come by — and that there is usually a broker involved
(pinkie ring optional). We're talking first month, security, and the middleman fee
(think $1500 to $2000, even for what you might consider a dump). Sometimes real estate
firms have apartment shares that don't involve fees. Beware of the signs trumpeting
"no fee" offers of $20.00 manuals with lists of building owners who don't work with
brokers (SCAM!). Of course, you can't look at a place without being here —
but online New York papers (the Times and the
Voice) both have real estate sections and
the middle of the summer is a decent time to catch grad students (check school bulletins)
looking for a share.
<p>
<font size="+2">H</font>ey, you can do it. It only took me a year or so to get
settled here.
<p>
<hr>
<p>
Now check out <a href="../../../../www_subdomain/work/columns/internship/970210.html">part two</a> of
this series to learn about Gabrielle's adventures in <b>The "Glamorous" World of
Indie Films.</b><p>
<hr>
<p>
<p><b>Gabrielle Mullem</b> is a freelance writer who currently works as an editor at
Urban Desires in New York City.
<font size="-1"><p>© 1997 Gabrielle Mullem, all rights reserved.
</font>
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