Living the dream...sort of

A man only has to cut a few hundred top round roasts before he realizes that, when it comes to meat, the average consumer has no idea what he’s buying. Although society tells us that dominance over the barbecue grill is as much a part of the true nature of manliness as beer, football, and chest hair, you can take it from me—when a guy walks into the meat department of a grocery store, he is as clueless as an Iron Maiden fan at a Miley Cyrus concert. At least that was the case at my store, where dozens of would-be celebrity chefs would come to me in search of the finest meat in southern Connecticut. They would walk down the aisle, wide-eyed and enthusiastic, hoping to select the perfect roast or the freshest chops with which they could act out their barbaric fantasies. For them, dabbling in the culinary arts was a great way to unwind after an 80-hour week on Wall Street. After all, nothing takes one’s mind off of the global economic meltdown quite like a honey-glazed rack of lamb with mint jelly.

Week after week, my co-workers and I watched as these guys hunkered over the meat case, searching desperately for the objects of their carnivorous desires. Picking them out of the horde of other customers became a pastime. It was the best way for us to keep our minds occupied, and it certainly helped us to keep our eyes off the clock. We would say things like, “Man, that guy had no idea what he was looking for,” or “I bet he has never even set foot in his own kitchen!” We all laughed as we imagined the disasters that would ensue as these noble weekend warriors returned home to conquer their culinary leviathan. It was amusing at the time, and those few moments of laughter in an otherwise tedious day helped us to maintain a good attitude. Poking fun at these amateur chefs was empowering, and knowing that they made the big bucks while we went home every night feeling tired, sore, and dirty made it all seem fair. At the time, it was the best that we could do.

I learned a lot from working in that little grocery store, but to say that it changed my life is an exaggeration. I never really took my job that seriously—after all, I was only working to earn a little cash until my band hit it big. I may have spent my days packing ground beef, but like any up-and-coming rocker that is worth his weight in Jack Daniel’s will tell you, my heart belonged exclusively to rock and roll. After long days at work I returned home, at which time I would work even longer writing songs, assembling press kits, and booking shows. It was a labor of love, really, motivated by an unshakable desire to live life by my own terms. My band mates and I were on a mission that was one part messianic, one part egomaniacal, and completely immature. Corporate vampires were sucking the life out of rock and roll itself, and we were the leather-clad heroes that were going to save it from total annihilation.

Although it had never really occurred to me, perhaps I had more in common with those amateur chefs than I once realized. They imagined themselves in the kitchen at Le Cirque, serving coq au vin to hungry patrons, and I pictured myself on the stage at Madison Square Garden, playing hard rock music to a sold-out crowd. These fantasies seem diametrically opposed, but the overall concept is the same. From the white-collared businessman to the blue-collared butcher, we all have dreams, and it is the relentless pursuit of these dreams that makes life worth living.

It is hard for me to think of a time in my life that was more exciting than when I was playing music and working in that grocery store. Of course, after five years of hard work and hard-earned money spent, the time had come for me to move on. My time in the “real world” allowed me to explore new things, and I was able to immerse myself in philosophy, literature, and art with an open mind and a fresh perspective. I came to Columbia to prove to myself that I have what it takes to succeed at the highest possible level. Things have worked out a little bit differently than I thought they would—I write papers instead of songs, I ride the subway instead of a tour bus, and the late-night parties have been usurped by late-night homework sessions. It has been a long and winding road, but I am proud of everything that I’ve accomplished. Most of all, I am proud to say that I am a Columbian.

The author is a student in the School of General Studies.