Twinkie Donut and the true reckoning
I arrived in New York City with two suitcases, a $600 cashier check and a dream realized. I had arrived in the mythical place of my imagination, and if that wasn’t miracle enough, I landed a job through a remarkable set of circumstances, as a receptionist in a theatrical agency. My first phone call was from Athol Fugard, the playwright. I had fallen into such a pot of jam. After about a year, I was offered the job of theatrical agent. I was stunned. I was being asked to represent major star talent in this bi-coastal agency with my own office and stationery on the corner of 57th and 7th! In my heart of hearts I had misgivings but how does one turn down that kind of opportunity and promotion? I knew I had to try. It was a thrilling career filled with theater every night, hobnobbing and glamour, and I was successful. I built great relationships and never messed up a contract. Yet it was an all-consuming job; reading the Sunday Times, all the credits after TV and movies, remembering so many names ( a skill that has served me well since), seeing shows and being available at all times by phone for whatever might arise. This is before cellphones and I was more dutiful than I probably needed to be which came into stark relief during a massive snowstorm. Fifteen inches fell and the city had shut down completely. I was living on Central Park West and the park in its stark whiteness and the silence of the city were extraordinary. I was negotiating a contract for a client living in LA who wanted the movie role for a part she’d originated Off-Broadway. There was big competition and it was for a huge sum of money. In my concern about missing any of the calls, I didn’t go out and experience the remarkable snow. Of all the days I could have justified an outdoor sojourn this was it, for the whole city had stopped. But I was dealing with a time difference and such a high-pressure scenario, I didn’t feel I could take one second to enjoy that circumstance. I realized then that the job wasn’t for me. Still, it was much too soon to consider a change. There was a measure of disingenuousness that caused me discomfort as well. I loved the theater. I loved watching and meeting actors. But in New York there are two questions one is asked when at a party or meeting someone; “Where do you live”? and “What do you do”? I lived on Central Park West and was a theatrical agent. After saying that, all bets were off. I wasn’t going to get a genuine conversation. Everything became “what can you do for me”, working the New York angle. I am a counselor and librarian at heart. This world of bravado and negotiation just didn’t fit. I began to dread the phone ringing and the big negotiations and felt bad for all the hopefuls that would pass through our door looking for their big break. I was in a respected seat of glamour and power, but I wanted something different. Every lunch hour I’d go to the donut shop around the corner. Twinkie Donut. I’d sit at the counter and have a coffee and rye toast and watch the waitresses. I wanted their jobs. I wanted to make a simple transaction, smile, chat, and go home free at the end of the day. I wanted real conversations and freedom to pursue other things, not be beholden to the next new thing and remembering all the Who’s Who. I eventually resigned. And soon after, I became a waitress at a chic spot where many of the actors I had represented would dine. I still keep an eye on who’s who and always stay for the last of the credits in the movie theater but at Twinkie Donut my career path became clear. The greatest opportunity I’d been given, the miracle of wow, wasn’t for me. But what an extraordinary thing that I got the chance to figure that out in such a remarkable way. Before I got to New York, people would ask me what I was going to do there and I’d say, “I’ll be a waitress”. Turns out after hitting the major big time, a colossal dream job, I became a waitress.