Fried chicken cook, dishwasher, pamphlet collator, camp counselor, bus boy, waiter, roofer, deli
delivery boy, bike taxi rider, seafood cook, office furniture mover, apple orchard clearer, special
events coordinator, administrative assistant, advertising sales executive, sports radio producer,
bartender, clothing salesman, environmentalist, video transcriber, indoor plant care technician,
telemarketer, actor and comedian.
These are all the jobs I’ve worked in my life. I know it’s not exactly the roster of positions that a Rhodes
Scholar might have. I’ve never interned at The Hague or furled the spinnaker on one of the tall ships. I
have no problem with that-I ain’t no senator’s son, but I do wish the list included something ballsier than
indoor plant care technician and brainier than ad sales executive. Something like tug boat 1st mate or
Nobel Prize winning Ebola researcher.
I’ve cooked, cleaned, waitered and bartended, and I’ve sold, cajoled, hondled, and hectored. We change as
we age. I used to be able to carry things, but not anymore. Back surgery. And I used to be able to say, “hi,
I’m Dave, I’ll be your server tonight,” but not anymore. Self esteem.
A lot of my early jobs seemed to involve the vital perk of free food. I liked moving the office furniture
because I felt manly, and at the end of the day, they bought us subs. I know how stupid that sounds, but as
my friend Chris Lee, the guy with no nickname, points out, “they were big subs!” Chris and I flipped a
coin to see who would be the first bike taxi driver at Rehoboth Beach in the summer of ‘86. A distinction
that only the two of us seem to regard as memorable—not exactly Orville and Wilbur Wright. Riding the
bike taxi was a fine job. It was good money, great exercise and kind of a thrill knowing that women were
staring at your ass.
I did roofing for a couple of days that same summer. That was kind of a ballsy job. Unfortunately, I’m not
the most graceful sugar plum in the dream, and I tracked around so much tar on my size-14’s, that it
looked like I was setting up the floor of a dance studio. That roof leaked, but the guy who fixed it can now
do a mean tango.
I traveled with the Knicks when I was a producer for Madison Square Garden Radio Network. Impressive
right? I became much less impressed with myself when the management on the team bus had me moved
after I sat in a row between Patrick Ewing and Gerald Wilkins. How was I supposed to know only the
team sat in the back of the bus? I’m a shirking back of the bus kind of guy.
On the team plane, I did get to sign a Knicks pennant for the pilot. Somewhere he has that pennant
framed, and right between hall-of-famers Walt Frazier and Paul Silas is the only legible signature of my
life. That’s the night I realized I had to quit my job and begin the tortuous journey to comedy fame and the
spotlight. You get more props when you’re traveling with the Knicks than hand collating pamphlets in
your dad’s friend’s print shop.
I’ve done some other things that were like jobs but I’m pretty strict and I don’t count them if I didn’t get
paid. In college I worked security at a Santana concert, but the only payment there was whatever we could
confiscate at the door. Oh, and a SECURITY t-shirt, and that was worth its weight in gold.
My boss at my first career-type job in New York City said I was a good salesman because I had a
seemingly honest quality. I like to think of myself as truly honest, but to him, seemingly honest was much
more of a compliment. Maybe that’s why I hated sales.
I think I’ve learned the types of jobs I should and should not have. I don’t need to be heroic, but I
definitely do better when there’s less chance of spilling things, carrying things, selling things, or dealing
with a guy with a coke problem who’s worked his way up to restaurant manager. Simple.
I think I’ll stick with comedy. My parents once told me, “never sell anything that doesn’t fit in a
briefcase.” Comedy’s not sales, but there’s nothing to carry. Besides, I’ve always had a seemingly funny
quality.