Everyone has a day job; whether they want to admit it or not. There are these people that we play all day long in the world’s strangest one act play. And I find myself constantly trying to peer behind the curtain.
Friday nights pan out, for me at least, as an ode to the week past. It serves as a momentary closure to something going fast, and a precursor to something rapidly approaching. We had driven down to the corner of hip and right now in Silverlake to meet a few of Jack’s friends for dinner. The group consisted of the token gay duo, and a party of six teachers. These women, by day wearing capes and tiaras, leading the youth of today along their paths to the adults of tomorrow. There were art teachers and Spanish teachers and everything in between. And while the conversation at times did touch on their days as teachers, the rest of the evening played out like an episode of Sex and the City. Striped bear of their titles, surrounding me were twenty-something women with more than twenty or so modern problems. From heart triumphs to heart breaks, the gang was all there.
It got me thinking about what is was like to be eight years old, and looking up to these almost god-like creatures that guided us through the thick and thin of long division. From my eyes, teachers were always these boxy ladies who hoarded cats and had an affinity for papier-mâché. They knew their way around a glue gun, and could praise Pollack style macaroni art. But who were these women that were so firmly imprinted in my mind? With their floral dresses circa 1994, did they secretly change in the bathroom into a sexy tank top and hit the town? Were these supposed aged women really only 24? I had this revelation somewhere between the 3rd glass of wine and the appetizer platter. There we were, talking about the delicacies of fellatio, and it all felt so natural. All attractive women, careening through the thick of it; all of them regular people.
Outside of our capes and our day jobs, we are surprisingly regular people with regular people problems. And that is usually fairly obvious to the naked eye. It is the desire to be regular is what creates the sense of drama to these plays we are acting out. And it begs the question: are our day jobs, or our time spent beyond the stage, the performance of a lifetime?
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