New Orleans Own: Nine-to-Fivers, the Next Generation

Who are they, and for whom do they work? More importantly, where are they? Because you never see them anymore. They no longer get ripped during the "weeknights," (please, what is a weeknight? we're not in high school anymore) and most of the time they're too exhausted from the 40-hour-week to show their faces on Friday night. On Saturday, they're up early for friendly tennis matches or outdoor adventure Northshore trips. That exhausts them for Saturday night, plus they need their beauty rest so that they can wake up early on Sunday, hum "doot-do-do" happily as they brew coffee and fry some eggs and bacon, toast some Whole Foods Seeduction bread to craft the perfect little breakfast sandwich, then take care of the week's errands so they can dedicate the rest of their day to their other job: Saints pundit.

Ok, so, it's no secret there are no jobs here. A separate concern from our nation's record-holding financial crisis...because there were never any jobs here. Maybe at the turn of the 20th century, but after that...nah. Certainly not before that--Civil War wreckage followed by Reconstruction-era incompetence rivaled only by that of the Post-K rebuilding effort.

So where are they working? Some are teachers, some work business for daddy. Some slave away at law firms, others test water for amoeba all day. Then, there are the Y.U.R.P.S, or Young Urban Rebuilding Professionals. They are post-grad, non-natives who rebuild New Orleans, working through such organizations as Common Ground, Hands-On, Teach NOLA, and Habitat for Humanity.

A handful work retail, and some are unpaid interns.

And the rest of us? We work in the service industry. Our hours are roughly 5 p.m.-11 p.m. We work till midnight on the weekends, so that the more established Nine-to-Fivers can have a fine-dining experience.

Basically, we eat shit for tips. Our cheeks hurt from fake smiles when a customer sends a steak back to the kitchen, an asshole bullies the hostess because he's too important to wait to be seated, and that lady who looks like she's straight out of Death Becomes Her leaves coins as a tip for her pre-dinner Cosmopolitan. But learning to kiss ass is an important skill. These people skills will help us make friends and move up in life, you know, that day when we, too, are working for...don't say it.

But we have a good time. Chat at work, have a drink or two, sit down for a meal prepared by the kitchen, then take the party over to the local bar, where we mingle with crews from neighboring restaurants.

Then, in the day time we watch episodes from The Office, laughing that we don't work for a paper company, and brainstorming our own work place's counterparts to the show's characters. We mess around in the kitchen, squeeze in a run, shower, and go to work again. Umm, but this is all after a morning dedicated, Hemingway-style, to working on our latest manuscript...

But this post was supposed to be about Nine-to-Fivers...forgive me.

Some of them do party on the weekend!!! Some of them suffer from Friday Nine-to-Fiver Desperation: they drink too much and stay too long, eventually sicking themselves on whoever is still hanging at the bar and will tolerate them. Then Saturday, they lie around all day, feeling guilty, reluctantly go out again that night, deflated and sour-faced, while their Five-to-Elevener friends coast on easy energy and the attitude, "So what, it's Saturday, I like Monday night better;" and Sunday, sluggishly run errands and think about how much the week ahead is going to suck.

But hey, they're playing with the big dogs, right? That's what it's all about, huh?

Working Five-to-Eleven isn't as glamorous as it seems. For example, getting ripped during the week can make you feel bad about yourself. Going to bed at 5, and waking still tired at noon, with only five hours till work, is no recipe for a cheery mood. And I believe I already spoke about the whole shit-eating component.

But you'll be unhappy no matter what, anyway. In the words of Morrissey, "I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now..."