Jesse says he does this day after day and he no longer sees himself as a person, but as an object. People throw everything at him. Soda bottles and cans. Lit cigarette butts. A shot gun spray of loose change. He says, “It sounds harmless but when junk is thrown at me at high speeds I can’t help but see myself as a victim.”

Jesse stands at the corner of a busy intersection in Berkeley. He wears a black t-shirt, black jeans, and skateboard shoes. His headphones have been tucked under his shirt. The earbuds sprout out from his collar and dangle across his chest. He holds onto a sign shaped as an arrow. The sign advertises a new housing development that offers condos in the low $200,000. He swings the sign around his body like a baton. He flips it up in the air. The sign spins like a rotary mower. He catches the sign with his elevated foot. He says, “Always make sure the sign is pointing in the right direction. That’s sign spinning 101. Make sure the motorists know where to go.”

Cars honk. Jesse smiles and waves. He kicks the sign up in the air and grabs it with his hand. I tell him he makes sign twirling look easy. Jesse informs me it’s not easy, it takes time and practice. He also corrects me and says he prefers the title Human Directional to Sign Twirler.

Not Jesse.

Jesse is a young twenty-something. He listens to rap music. He attended college for one semester, but didn’t return because he couldn’t afford it. He’s also accumulated a bunch of credit card debt. He says, “It was a stupid thing to do and I didn’t know any better.” He signed up for several credit cards while on campus. When they arrived in the mail he went on a shopping spree and maxed them all out. Now, he says, he’s broke and works full time as a Human Directional to pay off his debt. He tried other low paying jobs but nothing kept his interest. He says, “Everything else was either standing in front of a cash register or preparing beverages. Being a Human Directional was right up my alley. I’m not much for standing around.”

When I moved to California I noticed there were Human Directionals at almost every intersection. In Chicago they had people holding onto signs but they didn’t have the same enthusiasm or sign twirling skills as Jesse. They looked bored, holding onto the sign like it was punishment. The same way adolescents are court ordered to stand on a street and hold a sign stating how they were caught stealing.

In California when I stop at an intersection I can’t help but be mesmerized by the hypnotic twirls and body movements of the Human Directionals. Something to pass the time as I wait for a red light turn green. Each individual is providing a performance.

As I searched the web I learned Human Directionals and sign companies take their jobs very seriously. Some companies require all trainees to attend sign twirling boot camp to learn the ropes. Others have secret sign twirling moves that have been trademarked so other companies can’t steal them. There are YouTube clips on sign spinning competitions and articles on how sign twirling has been banned in some cities for being a distraction to motorists.

Jesse explains the sign is made of corrugated plastic. The advertisement was silkscreened onto the sign. Corrugated plastic can endure tough weather conditions like rain, sleet, or snow. The image won’t crack. The sun beating down on it will not make the advertisement fade. Over time the sign will begin to deteriorate, but so do all great masterpieces that hang in museums.

Jesse spins the sign and flicks his wrist. The sign pops up in the air like a propeller. He spins his body. He catches the sign and throws it up again. He bows down and the sign lands on his back. He rises. The sign slides down his spine. He kicks it with his heel. The sign pops up. He twirls his body and catches it. He breathes heavy and says, “That move took me a month to learn. When I’m not working I go home and practice new moves. I don’t even skateboard anymore.” People walk out of the local Starbucks and clap. Jesse bows and says, “Thank you.”

Jesse explains the only downside to being a Human Directional is the stuff people throw at him. Not everyone is a jerk, but sometimes he feels he’s target practice for others looking to let out their frustrations while stuck in traffic. He’s been hit with leftover cartons and baby toys. He’s been cursed out and has been flipped the bird more times than he can count. “The cool part,” he says, “is sometimes chicks in the back seat will pull down their pants and moon me. That’s when I feel like a rock star. Other times passing motorists make feel like garbage.”

I would be lying if I said Jesse was a real person because he isn’t. I created Jesse about a year ago. He’s a character in a book I’m writing. He is a mosaic of actual Human Directionals I have passed on the road holding onto signs that advertise cell phone deals, going out of business sales, and new housing developments in Berkeley. Jesse is a figment of my imagination, but the sign spinning skill he possesses is very real. Drive around and you’ll see Human Directionals performing moves like the Airplane Propeller, the Wind Up Toy, and the Street Tornado.

In our current economic times it’s hard to have a good time while working. Human Directionals make it look simple as they dance and flip a sign proving if they were performing on stage or at a theme park they would be considered Gods. But on the street corner they are nothing more than people trying to make a buck like everyone else.

***

Rumpus original art by Lucas Adams.

Related Posts:

• No related posts…

Just because you don’t succeed the way others define success, you’re not a failure. You just chose to take a different path. And who’s to say that’s wrong?

I just finished watching Anvil! The Story of Anvil.

The documentary is about two high school friends, Steve “Lips” Kudlow and Robb Reiner, and their band, Anvil. They are revered by many musicians as pioneers of the thrash/speed metal genre. Their fifteen minutes of fame, as portrayed in the documentary, came in the 1980s when they performed at the Super Rock Festival in Japan with the likes of Bon Jovi, Scorpion, and Whitesnake. They try to stay in the limelight and be just as successful as their peers, but the band falls into years of hardship due to poor management and bullshit recording contracts. The documentary centers on the band trying to make a comeback.

I’ve never been a huge fan of heavy metal music. When I was younger there were kids in school with long hair, tight jeans, and heavy metal band t-shirts who always smelled like cigarette smoke. We called them burn-outs. But I didn’t discriminate about who I smoked weed and dropped acid with. I had friends who were “burn-outs.” I enjoyed watching them play air guitar and headbang to Slayer in a basement when someone had money for drugs.

As I watched the documentary I couldn’t help but relate to Anvil’s passion for their art and the frustrations they continued to face while trying to build a name in the mainstream. Being a writer and working to become a successful novelist has never been easy. I don’t write books for a mainstream audience (from what I’ve been told) and I don’t have any representation to help build the attention I think my books deserve. I’m on my own, and like Anvil, I refuse to give up just because I can’t fulfill the dream of having a traditional writing career.

During the documentary, there’s a scene when the band gets an opportunity to record a new album with a big-name producer. The only problem is, they have to finance everything themselves. This is similar to what’s happened with my own work, which has been rejected as “not marketable,” which led me to publish it through a POD company.

After Anvil records their album, they make copies and begin a journey of sending demos to record companies, hoping to get a contract.

When Lick Me was published, I received positive reviews. I thought it was an opportunity to begin sending the book out to agents and publishers, hoping the praise I received might change minds. I was wrong. I returned empty-handed, much like Anvil.

The turning point for the band comes when they decide to sell the album themselves on their website — DIY style. They realized they had an obligation to please their fans. And just because they don’t get a huge record deal, that doesn’t stop them from being musicians. As Lips puts it: “I don’t care if I play for no one, I just enjoy rocking.”

After several more rejections for my novel Lick Me, I decided not to continue publishing with POD companies (they rape you in royalties). I saw there was an opportunity to start my own publishing company. Although I didn’t have nearly as many fans as Anvil, I still felt obligated to publish more work just for those few who purchased Lick Me.

Lick Me was reissued under my P’NK Books imprint. My next novel, White Belts, would follow a year later.

Just like Anvil, I decided not to wait for an opportunity. I don’t have the patience. I wanted to create my own opportunities, on my own terms, and follow my own rules — a freedom not everyone gets to enjoy.

One day I realized I wasn’t getting any younger. There would only be so many chances when I could risk it all and jump into the pool without checking the water temperature. This became one of those chances. I said “fuck it” and became a DIY publisher.

When I think about my decision today, I sometimes can’t help but feel like a minor failure because I never got to live that childhood dream of being a traditional writer with a publisher and agent. I will never have the pleasure of seeing my books in the bookstores. I will never be reviewed by major literary publications. No one is banging on my door for an interview. Hell, I can’t even get the literary community to return my emails.

Did I make the right decision?

Hell yes.

When I walk into a bookstore, I shop for everything but a book. Bookstores have become a place to buy coffee, board games, candy, DVDs, some bullshit membership card, and lip balm. The available new titles on the shelves don’t interest me. It’s like going to Blockbuster: they have a billion shitty new-release titles and a small selection of great films.

As for literary publications like journals and short story magazines, I don’t read them. None of my book recommendations come from big publications or from some media mogul. They all come from website forums, regular people posting their favorite books.

Another great thing about DIY publishing is, I never find myself hating what I write. I refuse to create fiction that’s calculated to appeal to a mass audience. I write because I have passion for what I do. Do I give a shit if it doesn’t meet a mainstream audience? No, no I don’t.

Although I may not have a readership like the top heavyweights of the literary world, I can say in all honesty that the few people who do read my work, I treat like friends. When I receive an email or a message on Facebook from someone who has read my books, I always reply and thank them. I write a personal message that isn’t some instant reply thanking them for sending me a message, like a Speak & Tell voice saying “I’ll get back to you when I have a moment.”

I know there was a time when there was no Internet, no Facebook, no Twitter. Writing was a lonely profession. Some liked it that way. But technology has changed everything. If someone writes to you through a website or a social networking page and you don’t reply, you are a douche. I mean, you have the opportunity to speak with a fan that just spent hard-earned money on your art, and although you can write a 300-page novel, you can’t write a sincere thank you note, or praise your fans in a blog post?

There was another great moment in the film, when Lips finishes performing and is talking with his fans. He tells them he plays music because he loves it, not for the money. He doesn’t make a living as a musician: he uses his vacation time to go on tour. He’s just like them: he’s a regular guy. When he returns home, he’ll go back to his day job.

Although he may not be as successful as he originally sought to be, he still has a purpose in his life. He is a success in his own right. I can’t say the same for most people.

Just because you don’t succeed the way others define success, you’re not a failure. You just chose to take a different path. And who’s to say that’s wrong?

Although I may not be a huge fan of heavy metal, after learning Anvil’s story, I can say for certain I am now a fan. I will listen to their music whenever I’m feeling like a failure. I can relate to them and their story. It feels good that I’m not alone.

Listen to Metal on Metal, and everything will be okay.

(This piece was originally published, in slightly different form, on the P’NK Books website.)

Related Posts:

• THE EDITOR’S DESK: Personal History
• WHERE I WRITE #1: Hotels, Highways, Hotspots, Haiti
• Febos and Marcus on Memiorville
• Lorrie Moore at The New Yorker Festival
• On Blowing My Load: Thoughts From Inside the MFA Ponzi Scheme