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The Liacouras Center, the major indoor sports arena of Temple University, does quite a lot of work being something other than the home to Temple's basketball team. It's often used for floor level events such as career fairs, and the like. And it's being put to just such a purpose today.
In the saddle between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the arena doesn't see much use, and so securing the space was a pretty simple matter. Not at all expensive, especially since the job fair is being put on as much for the benefit of Temple's student body as for the unions themselves. Turnout is pretty good, and a crowds of young people and graduates in search of a new career are all milling about in their best interview attire, padfolios under arm, taking careful notes, shaking hands, and practicing their smiles.
Frankly, it's all very awkward and stiff and artificial in the manner of most job fairs. Especially at first. The awkward dance steps of capitalism playing out in slow motion for all to see.
The noise inside the arena is a bit amplified for the stadium being empty and noise being free to bounce from the hard backs of empty seats and the cinderblock walls and steel roof. It means speaking in a slightly raised voice constantly just to be heard, but that's pretty standard for events such as this one.
Jack's made an effort to head some of the awkwardness off at the pass, at least with what he's wearing - dark jeans and his rainbow IATSE pride shirt under a pink suit coat. Just dressy enough to be taken seriously, but not so much that he runs the risk of alienating the students.
Even if more of them are dressed for formally than he is.
The IATSE booth has pens and magnets and even those little laser pointers, and Jack's gotten sick of sitting behind the table, so he's grabbed a handful of them, as well as a stack of business cards, and has left the booth in his capable (hopefully) stagehand coworkers and is now wandering. Giving out smiles and freebies.
A lot of the student groups on campus have booths here, trying to recruit for their majors and their programs. They're not bad gigs, really, for fellow students. The pay is decent, the jobs are on campus, and all of them come with bennies like reduced tuition costs and discounts at the book store. But there is definitely a class component to the pursuit of those placements, as only those needing such benefits tend to seek them out. Jack's probably seen that sort of thing a dozen times or more.
The suits tends to be there among the business and law majors, and congregate around the law firms and business conglomerates that bothered to show up. The 'nice pair of slacks and a shirt' crowd tend to congregate around his wing of things. The paid internships, the union jobs, the trades. Nursing. And so on.
And to make matters more interesting, there's a booth there from the Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce that isn't so much hiring labor for job openings as evangelizing about the merits of free market capitalism. Oh, there's plenty of business cards being exchanged and suggestions of sending a resume once they've graduated, and so on. But that's about it. They've got a center lane booth with large screen TVs on each side of their space showing flashy videos of smiling people spending too much money for coffee and being Serious in board room settings, moving paper and pointing at Powerpoints, all to a peppy soundtrack that really isn't helping anyone else to be heard. That becomes more glaringly obvious the nearer Jack wanders to it.
If there's a student theater group, they definitely get a visit from this union man. And anything that may have to do with corporate events planning.
The Chamber of Commerce, on the other hand, gets a sigh, and Jack fixes a polite smile on his face as he approaches, looking to catch the eye of someone who isn't a white, cishet male.
He's in luck. Because he has his choice of white, cishet males and also a white cishet woman! Okay, it's not quite that bad. But the gladhanders are all white. They're out front of the booth, working the crowd, shaking hands, taking those cards. Most of them are in their 40's or older, and probably believe they're doing a great service to the people they're interacting with.
Inside the booth, though, are the people running the technology and keeping the whole show moving. And they're disproportionately young and representative of Philadelphia's actual demographics. Two young black women and a young mixed-race Asian fellow. They do the polite smile thing while indicating the gladhanders with their eyes. They're not really supposed to be doing much crowd interaction, is the implication there.
Temple Arts is here, which isn't the theater per se, but encapsulates theater within the fine arts program. So that might make for a good place to swing by and see if anyone from the theater program is about.
"Dude I'm on the clock too, don't worry," Jack mutters at the closest of these younger workers with a small smile, and gestures to his shirt. "You been told to crank the sound? 'Cause it's loud as fuck out here..."
"I don't know about 'crank it'," the young man temporizes with some hesitation only to be succinctly spoken over with a very definitive, "Yes," from one of the young women, the taller of the pair. Gangly and athletic, she could probably play volleyball. And might. The saccharine sweet smile she gives Jack is customer service semaphore for 'and I hate it'.
The shiny bling ring certainly draws the attention of the gladhanders. One of them, in any case. He sidles on over with a smile made to sell Barbasol. "Well, hello there! What can I do for you, Mister...?" He fishes for a name while offering his hand, like a two pronged attack of things it's impolite to try and avoid.
Jack winces in sympathy with the young woman's smile and opens his mouth to say something else...
Before he's Very Politely Accosted by the gladhander. The man gets Jack's most polite of polite smiles, because What Else Can You Do, Really? And he shakes the man's hand.
"Martingale, I'm over at the IATSE booth." He gestures to his shirt, his body language and his casual tone attempting to convey 'hey I'm working here too, please don't talk to me about capitalism and how great it is for everyone 'cause I'm not gonna buy it.'
"Might want to reboot your GPS, Mister Martingale, because right now you're over at the Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce booth." The man, still shaking Jack's hand, let's the 'joke' hang in the air like the observation that it is before he tries to play it off as a joke. By laughing at it himself and giving Jack's elbow a clap with his other hand. Ha ha. I'm just kidding!
"I'm happy to talk to you about membership in the Chamber. You know, it comes with a lot of discounts from all of our participating members. The average member finds they more than quadruple the cost of their dues in savings in just the first year of membership. Plus the networking opportunities!" He makes an exaggerated explosion with his hands, leans back a bit, and makes a 'bwoosh' sound with his mouth before clapping his hands together and chuckling again.
"Oh, where are my manners. I'm Dave Cahill, I'm on the board. Just here enjoying the vibe. Turn out for what!" He is so white. And so over 40. And so out of touch. The trio of cringes from the young people inside the booth are priceless. And quickly hidden before anyone can notice them cringing.
"You know I could say the same thing about my union, Dave." Jack's smile turns a little smarmy, meeting this guy at his level. Or at least, attempting to. "And any of the unions here. About members saving money, by becoming members. Little different than the...who're the participating members, 'f you don't mind me asking?" If he can swing it, without Mr. Cahill noticing, Jack will shoot a sympathetic glance to his Fellow Young People.
"Only some of the most prestigious, most influential leaders in business and politics within the Delaware Valley, Mister Martingale! Here's a brochure on what we call our Top 40 Under 40, showcasing the rising stars of the chamber, the stewards of the next decades boardrooms, all of them. And here's a brochure on the Excellence Awards, our annual award program showcasing leaders in various metrics throughout the greater Philadelphia area. We even have a Pride category!"
Yeah, he went there. And he's handing over a brochure about it. One of the men on the front is wearing a cardigan.
Around his waist.
Tied at the sleeves.
Dave is just continuing to gawp like a proud fish, the fronts he paid good money for at a maxillofacial surgeon gleaming in the arena lights.
"I bet even a hard working union guy like you would find benefits with the chamber. Give a 20% discount on tickets, and we'll fill those seats for..." He makes a small beckoning gesture with a hand. "Well. Whatever show it is that you do."
The heads behind the booth are looking down at their work, but all of them start shaking slowly.
"You'd wanna talk to the boards of the theaters about that, not me..." Jack glances at the brochure. "Surprised you haven't done that kinda thing, already. Seems like the kind of thing these 'influential leaders in business and politics' might wanna do on their nights off... " Jack shrugs. "But again, 's not me you wanna talk to for that. I just make shit look nice."
Yeah, he swore in front of this guy. And he doesn't even really seem to have noticed.
"We have the Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts, Opera Philadelphia, the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, the Pennsylvania Ballet, People's Light Theater Company, the Philadelphia Theater Company, the Temple Performing Arts Center, the Kimmel Center, the Mann, the Philadelphia Orchestra..." David makes that little spinning motion with his hand again, eyes rolling slightly to imply he could just keep going and going and going as he lists off some of the largest art endowments in the commonwealth as casually as he'd namedrop a movie star.
"Where do you pull the ropes at, again?" He asks it with that same Brill Cream smile. Little dab'll do ya.
"I get around, but my main gig's at PTC. Master electrician and board op. Stardust Jazz Club too, but that's a little small for you, I'd think." Jack's smile is a polite mask, at this point.
There's a brief, shark-like glint in his eyes, as though he'd just seen blood but opted not to strike. He does let out a rueful, chuckle-growly laugh. "I just bet you do! Then maybe I can get those discount tickets after all, ha ha!" His laughter is not genuine. "So, no. Really, Mister Martingale. What can I do for you? Because we both probably should get back to our respective jobs."
"Honestly, I was just stopping to see what the kids are up to these days..." He gestures to the probably-now-looking-very-busy youths at the computers. "And making the rounds. You want a pen?" He holds one up. "They've got a stylus and everything, really fancy shit."
"Well, if you wait around until after the show and all of this is broken down and in the van, one of them might want to speak with you on their dime. That's my dime until then, Mister Martingale, and as I have said; we both should probably get back to our respective jobs." David is now exuding the raw and unfettered confidence of a mediocre white cisman. From any other rational creature, this display would read as textbook hubris. But he's managed to fool even himself with the whole pretense of his personality that it manages to somehow read as humble sincerity.
Jack's being dismissed. Like the help. There's probably even an implied 'or else' in David's tone. But it's all so impossibly low stakes what possible consequences could he even be implying. It's farcical in its sincerity, this looming unspoken consequence.
"You know, I'm interested. What's the going rate, to work on 'your dime'?" Jack glances over to the IATSE table and then back to David.
"Send me a resume, Mister Martingale, and if HR thinks you have what it takes they'll discuss salary with you at that time. Handling it this way helps us weed out less determined candidates." Which is another way of saying more desperate candidates.
Jack huffs out something that may be a laugh. "Well, like I said. I'm making the rounds - which is part of my job. But I'll leave you to yours." He gives the man the politest smile he can muster, a nod to the the kids at the electronics, and he holds up a business card between his fingers. "You know where to find me, 'f you need me." It's said to David, but he gives the kids another glance before he takes his leave. For now.
He'll make his way over to the Temple Arts table, see what theater folk can be found and are interested in something that isn't acting...
He accepts the card with a smile and tucks it away after a glance. "Sounds good, Mister Martingale! I look forward to receiving your resume." He beams as though in this statement he has somehow proved this engagement was somehow a point in his column rather than Jack's, so much so he doesn't seem to care much what Jack ends up doing with respect to his employees. The woman rolls her eyes at Jack when Dave's back is turned, ending it with a little shake of the head at Jack, sharing in the horridness that is Dave's presence.
The Temple Arts table is full of young, vibrant, nerdy, pretty people. That usual cross section of the lovely ingenues and frumpy back of house sorts. They're in that wide-eyed starving artist 'I know all the words to La Vie Boheme' phase of youth theater that involves the active wearing of kigurumis during the day and lots of make up. Jack should know it well. These kids have dreams. Plans. Ambitions! And he knows just how unlikely they are to see them through, too.
A chipper strawberry blonde young woman, with freckles and a single dimple, is doing the heavy lifting of drawing in the crowds. An equally attractive young man in a fashionable button down and slacks with a $120 haircut and teeth that probably cost his parents a second mortgage is playing backstop to her charismatic draw. The crew kids, one in a kigurumi, the other in overalls and a flannel shirt, they're curled up in plastic chairs behind their table. One is playing their Switch. Animal Crossing, to guess. The other is vibing with a single ear bud in, head nodding to an unheard beat. They'll probably startle if spoken to, what with the lights being on, and people talking to them and all.
"Animal Crossing?" Jack upnods at the kid playing the switch with a smile, leaning carefully on the plastic table and keeping a little bit of distance between them. You know, like you do with nocturnal animals who are forced to be awake during the day.
Kigurumi kid startles rather like a dozing hamster that was just poked. The kigurumi definitely adds to the overall 'cute but deadly' aspect to the reaction. The kigurumi hides the figure within enough that gender is hard to peg, presentation wise. But they stare back at Jack with owlish eyes and an eventual rapid little nod. "Yeah! Animal Crossing. I'm revamping the paths cos I need to move one of the cabins-- but. Do you play?!" Ear bud kid keeps on vibing, though Jack is eyed with the wariness. On account of being a human speaking in her vicinity.
"My partner was big into it when it first came out, watched them play a lot of it. So I...kinda know how it works, but I haven't got my hands on a switch to actually try it out myself, yet..." He smiles and shrugs, and takes a look at the two of them. "You're technicians, yeah? Backstage crew?"
Silent flannel lesbian just nods Jack's way, short shorn hair with much gel held firmly in place, but abundant ear rings wobbling about with the motion. Kigurumi kid nods vigorously, floppy fleece ears flopping fleecily. They do not speak in the affirmative, however. Kigurimi Kid leans over and whispers aside to Flannel Lesbian, "He's with The Union."
"...Yup." Jack raises his eyebrows, still smiling. "Hope that's not a problem...? I'm Jack. Technically I'm supposed to be wandering and not stopping to chat, but you both look bored as fuck, so I figured I'd say hi."
As with most introverts who are literally engaging in their favored activities, they seem confused at the suggestion that they're bored as fuck. Flannel girl even makes a 'what' face about it. "Just vibing," she assures Jack simply. Kigurumi kid just shakes her head with a grin, "I'm playing AC, so I'm good. But thanks. And no! It's not a problem! We love Yahtzee around the shop." "It's IATSE," flannel girl corrects. "That's what I said," Kigurumi maintains a little tartly. Flannel girl rolls her eyes a little.
Jack huffs in amusement at their assurances that they're not, in fact, bored. "Fair enough. Scene shop or costume shop? And what's the news about us around there?"
"Scene," says flannel lesbian. "Costume," says Kigurumi kid. That's playing to type, isn't it?
"They let her use power tools," Kigurumi kid confides to Jack by way of explanation. Flannel girl once more rolls her eyes a little.
"About the union? That you guys stuck it to PTC and got some huge concessions, mainly. Is it okay if I try for an internship there, or does that make me a scabie," wonders the Kigurumi kid.
"Scab," corrects flannel girl with exasperation. There's a reason the Kigurumi kid isn't an english major, as it happens.
"Everyone can learn to use power tools - hell, a sewing machine is a power tool. Which, to be fair, you won't see me anywhere near, they all fuckin' hate me." Jack chuckles, and runs a casual hand through his hair.
"Nah, won't make you a scab anymore - but there's pretty damn strict rules about what the interns can and can't do there. They were treating 'em like free labor, it was a mess -" Jack cuts off with a slight grimace. "But I can do you one better - you can work on union gigs without joining, at least for a while - hourly equivalent of about thirty days. If you've got resumes today, or if you wanna email them later..." Two more business cards come off the top of the stack he's carrying.
"We just want to have something on our resume when we graduate, and everyone says an internship is the way to go, so. But you're doing the job now so if you have a better idea, we'd love to hear it. Well. I would." Kigurmi kid sits up a little straighter and reaches forward for both cards, holding the other over to the Flannel Girl who, after some enticing waggling, is convinced to take it and that it doesn't bite. She looks at it intently with a small frown. "We didn't bring resumes, no. But we can e-mail you after, maybe? It's all just. School and community theater stuff? Is that okay?"
"Carp work is carp work is carp work. You gotta start somewhere, right?" That's to flannel lesbian, and he gives her a small smile. "I've never had an internship in my life, and I think I'm doing okay, so..." A shrug to kigurumi kid, "who knows. Everyone kinda finds their own way into work like this, I think. But we're always looking for fresh faces. And here -" He takes another business card, flips it over, and scribbles down his personal email with one of the fancy stylus pens. "The email on there goes to the BA, but here's mine, too. 'F you've got any questions later. And if you give me your names, I can get 'em to the BA, let her know to look for your resumes when they do come in. And - if you or anyone else on the crew, 'f they're not here, wants to shadow for a day or two at PTC, see how a union shop runs and how backstage works, I can totally make that happen."
The two look at one another in the silent consultation common either to couples or friendgroups of many years. Whatever they're saying with their eyes ends up being favorable in Jack's direction. They look back to him and both nod, "Okay." Then kigurumi kid continues, "I bet we can gather up more than a few to come see how you guys run house. I know more than a few of us are hoping we can do this after school, full time. I wanted to be an actor, originally. But." They're an introvert that wears kigurumis, not a dimple faced ingenue or in possession of a $50,000 smile.
"Hey, without us, actors'd be naked on a blank, dark stage. And, if you get really lucky, no one'll even try to ask you about it, they'll just say how great they all look." He gives them a conspiratorial grin. "But yeah, shoot me an email and we'll work something out. Y'want a pen? Or - there's candy back at the table, but it felt weird to be walking around handing it out..."
The look flannel lesbian gives freckles-one-dimple suggests certain actors being naked in a dark room is just fine by her. Cue sappy 80's lovelorn music.
And the look Kigurumi kid gives Flannel Lesbian when she gives freckles-one-dimple that look makes it all the more tragic. The ciiiircle of piiiine.
"Yeah. The candy would be weird, I agree," Kigurumi kid finally agrees with a small sigh. "But you can never have too many pens, I guess." Practical. "That's Becca. I'm Caper." Because of course they are. "My doteedoo account doesn't have that name, though. So I'll send it from my gmail. I'll make sure I mention Temple Arts in the subject, though. Okay?"
"Works for me." Jack nods. "It was nice to meet you both. I gotta get back to my booth - have fun crossing your animals." He flashes Caper a grin. "Stop by if you get a sec and want some candy, there's folx from more relevant department for both of you over there, they can tell you a little more about the kind of shit we get up to."
And with that, Jack is gonna return to the IATSE booth, I think. I don't know that I have any other Things To Explore here, though he absolutely wants to adopt these two now...
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