“Work” is the sixth song on our first full-length Bear Hair, and it is the first song the band ever learned. It was also one of the first songs written for the album, considering I started this thing right when I got my first big-boy real-shit job…working as an administrative and medical assistant for a very evil dermatologist named Dr. Brodsky. The song features rapping and poetry slam, which I focused on a ton in high school with our keyboard player/my friend Danny Radovanovic (EVERYBODY GO TO stutterbot.bandcamp.com). It also features awesome backing vocals on the choruses from my friend Maryann Michael.

Alright, so this job was very interesting, and it kind of turned this song into a live favorite for a few reasons: 1. There was a very inane sort of “meme” that developed around it, wherein some friends (and eventually others) would shout “WHERE DO YOU WORK???” right before we played the song, and 2. There was a sample on the original demos from my favorite TV show that I described in a previous post, The Prisoner, that I only get to do live (it couldn’t be on the final product for licensing reasons).

I’m going to have to break it down line by line, because…there are a lot of lyrics in this song. Here we go!!!

Okay, the speakers at work blast 101.9 The Mix,
loops adult-contemporary bleeps and blips
The pop-music equivalent of 8-bit Atari attempts at melodies
while I work, work, work

If you’re not from Chicago, you are not familiar with 101.9 The Mix, and that is good; Eric and Kathy (Cathy?) are the bane of my existence. However, you’re familiar with the format; a radio station that includes modern pop, “rock,” some hip-hop (SAFE HIP-HOP!), R&B, and every once in a while, a little throwback. Very safe. Believe me, you already know the station.

Work out why this cheap excuse for a cougar needs a face-filling syringe
and a tinge of liquor binge to keep her convinced she’s the shit
and keep the young guys interested and pussy-whipped

Dr. Brodsky’s main way of making money was through cosmetic procedures, most notably facial things like Botox and Sculptra. One of my jobs was to prepare those syringes…I felt grimy and awful doing it. However, it leads to some entertainment; some of these moms who would like fashion themselves as “MILFs” (yeah, they genuinely see that as a compliment) actually just end up looking like Steven Tyler.

And now this 5-year-old kid needs a cosmetic mole-removal
from his face to avoid Enrique Iglesias jokes
pouring out of schoolkid’s throats; harmonious cajoling notes
Oh, the trauma, the trauma!

Okay, maybe 5 years old is an exaggeration (it is), but the preteens and younger kids who come in for cosmetic stuff look practically perfect and have no need for anything except pacifying. I can’t believe some of the money that is dropped on looks, especially when they look just fine. Also, Enrique Iglesias has long since had his mole removed, but the memory lives on. Forever.

Now this TV reporter may have malignant melanoma
She slipped into Amy’s pathology slot, unseen but not forgetten
Embedded in the bits and little baby bullshit parts of my heart
I dream of strangers

All of this is true; I can’t say who the TV reporter was out of fear of getting people angry at me on the internet, but there was a famous Chicago news reporter who came in because they may or may not have showed signs of malignant melanoma. The charts that are malignant all go in the doctor’s slot that just says “Pathology,” and are kept there until they need to be called.

Another true thing: the names I started seeing started following me, so to speak. I would leave work with all of this information in my head about other people’s lives, the name sticking out primarily. And, eventually, all of it would pour into my dreams and stress me out, including the reporter.

Work, gotta age and mature with my work,
gotta make damn sure of my work
Sit upright, muscles tight, eyes alert,
and it works, and it works, but it’s work
Gotta age and mature with my work,
gotta make damn sure of my work
Where the nurses and patients all flirt

Yes, every once in a while when a handsome man was on the premises, there would be some talking. But if I mentioned it, it would be swiftly denied. Ho hum.

And it works, when an emergency’s urgent and drives the doctor berserk,
when you hear “It won’t stop bleeding!”, insert squirts
Then I try to decipher the hurt, and I don’t, but I get it
I’m not pain illiterate

Every once in a while, we’d get insanely busy, to the point where the doctor was working between 5 or 6 rooms at once with the help of just 1 or 2 nurses. It was very hectic. But, the worst was when we’d get an emergency call (it does happen in private practices), and someone would come in bein’ all crazy. I’ll tell you, it got weird fast. And the “pain illiterate” line is just about trying to relate to these people.

But I’ll never get the decimated severance methods
or even how to make a sink look clean
I mean, Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, I’m no natural-born slacker
but I suck raw ass at cleaning everything, anything seen

“Decimated severance methods” is in reference to the size of some of the biopsies, or skin specimens, removed off of people. The size is really a deciding factor sometimes. And I had to clean the sink after I cleaned all of the bloody instruments, which was…not, not, not fun. Triple negative.

But the files have this efficiency gleam
And I leave the friendliest of messages on various machines
And my voice is now known
by what seems to be Glenview’s entire retired community
Yeah, that’s me; I spat it ugly for Helen and Murray
They’re both in their 80s, Medicare card copied
I said, “Both are benign, and you’re fine”

Once again, all very real details. I organized and kept the filing system in check, and I had to leave a LOT of voicemails saying that people’s results came back normal (which was MUCH better than doing the opposite). Helen and Murray are also real people, their last names being Klein.

Now, the last part of this song on the ORIGINAL recordings (the Prisoner sample I discussed earlier) are not on the Spotify link above, so I will transcribe it here. They’re a few lines delivered by Number 6 (the actual prisoner), responding to the leader Number 2 saying that The Village could eventually become a place he liked, and that he even could be an authority figure there…

“I WILL NOT MAKE ANY DEALS WITH YOU.
I’VE RESIGNED.
I WILL NOT BE PUSHED, FILED, INDEXED, STAMPED, BRIEFED, DEBRIEFED, OR NUMBERED.
MY LIFE IS MY OWN.”

My life is my life is my life is my life is my own.