On his march to age 30, Brandon James Singleton continues his quest to check off as many items from his list of achievements as possible. Up this week: A career… or the start of one.
Mike check … 1 … 2. Testing. Test. OK.
Is this thing working?
Good. I’m ready.
“I’ve gathered you all here for an officially announcement that I’m sure will effect you all and even shock some. I. AM. POOR.”
There. I’ve said it. Now, if someone would kindly pass that info along to the bill collectors and those department store clerks who work off of commission, and smell my shopping addiction from a mile away, I’ll be set.
California is considerably more expensive than Texas. That also means it’s time to lock down a job, hopefully in the same industry now that I’ve settled.
I never thought I’d be one of the statistics. You know, single and pregnant. OK, I’m not pregnant, fingers crossed. But I def eat enough for two. Which means I need to be bringing in the bacon for two.
I had almost forgotten how to write a resume. It’s been so long since I had to make one. So, I asked my new neighbor, who ironically used to live in Dallas, for some assistance. Skip ahead with him trying to understand the way the entertainment business works, and we finally managed to make me something I could work with.
Morning of my first interview and I’m a wreck! Why am I so nervous? Oh, that’s right. No job, no money. And no money, no home. And, well, I don’t do homeless very well.
I spend the next week in and out of different offices around Hollywood. Not understanding why these people weren’t just snatching me up before I even left the office. I kept getting offers about interning.
Interning? Really? Um, no thank you. Try again.
I meet up with my friend Dustin for brunch. He had moved out here two years ago from Dallas, for a job, so maybe he’d have some critiques to give me on what I’m doing wrong. Before I even sit down at the table, he realizes the problem and calls me out.
“Brandon, you’re trying to get a job, not auditioning for the Real Housegays of Beverly Hills.”
I’m sure I have no idea what he’s referring to.
But as we eat, he explains how difficult it was for him to relocate. In 30-something years, he had never left lived too far from his family and close friends, so to move out to L.A. just for a job? He had to make that transition of finally taking his work seriously.
It wasn’t always glam. And it wasn’t something you’d always want to show off. But it was a career. Funny enough, he found himself interning at 32 in a strange new city. But a month later, he was given the position he wanted, and has since been promoted again. It was hard, but he was working even harder to set up a successful future for himself.
It was one aspect I never really needed to consider. Or at least, never took the time to. I mean, I just never considered that I wouldn’t be working alongside Kim and Kyle Richards, as I do in my head.
It’s like when you’re in grade school and the teacher asks you what you want to be when you grow up. Everyone would automatically say doctor or lawyer. But thanks to eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy (still pissed about how Lexie died!), we know that it’s not simple to just become a doctor — that’s only after a lot of hard work, the gratification of knowing you worked your ass off makes it worth it. (Unless you work at Seattle Grace, where it seems the death rate is higher for its doctors than it is for its patients.)
But he was right. It was time to get over myself. So I responded to a few of the internship offers. I accepted one with this entertainment company casting for major networks. If I do well, I’ll have an actual paid position within the month as a casting associate.
Sure, I’m not working alongside Kim and Kyle. But I am casting for their network. That’s only one hop, skip, and diamond-motivated jump away from future BFFs.
Career? Maybe just the beginnings of one. But it’s enough to give me hope.
Follow Brandon on Twistter @The_HugoBoss
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