Satori Shakoor - Shoestring Budget

 

Last year, May 2011, I'm sitting on my couch clutching the remote, stressed out and co-dependent with Congress over whether they're going to vote to extend my unemployment benefits. Now, I'm surrounded by boxes, because in two weeks, I'm moving out of my loft of nine years into a bedroom in my sister's house. I'm trying to figure out how to pay for the U-Haul and the storage unit. 

 

On top of that, I'm menopausal. I'm having hot flashes and mood swings every five minutes. So, when I hear myself screaming at the Congress, “Lazy my ass, vote you constipated bitches.” [audience laughter] I vow that I will never let Congress or anybody else decide my destiny in life. I sacrificed for years to develop myself, to become who I am, so I could do what I love to do. 

 

I'm an artist, an actor, a storyteller. I tempt in offices from Brooklyn Penitentiary to Hostess CupCakes Factory in Detroit. I cleaned toilets in LA, and catered in Toronto to keep my schedule open for auditions and other opportunities. And it paid off. I was fairly successful. My investment portfolio looked healthy. My 401(k) was growing. I was bouncing back and forth between two hit shows, traveling, performing, winning awards. 

 

Life was good until 2005 when it all fell apart when I lost my mother to ovarian cancer. And then nine months later, my husband calls and asks, “Was I sitting down?” And he told me that our son had died an hour before from a massive seizure, that it was quick and that he felt no pain. Well, I didn't hear anything else because I died. I died right there. 

 

And after crawling for six years on my hands and knees through a place of grief so dark God couldn't even reach, finally, I was ready to live again, to connect with my life. And I'm running out of money. There's not a theater job in sight. I got to move in two weeks. I need a job, but I don't want a job. I want to do what I love to do for the rest of my life. 

 

So, I'm sitting there immobilized with fear and indecision, scared because there's no jobs, scared that I'm not looking for a job and scared that if I look hard enough, I might find one. It's not that I don't want to work. I just don't want to work for anybody that would hire me. [audience laughter] Well, fear will test anybody's faith. And I was so scared, I started applying for jobs everywhere. Nonunion acting jobs, Walmart, US truck driving school, script supervisor on a CC Dynamite porno film. [audience laughter] 

 

Craigslist was the only thing giving me hope. Nobody called me back for an interview, except Macy's. Now, Macy's want to do a background check. They want to do a drug test, fine. But Macy's just needed to know two things. I'm menopausal and don't put me in customer service. [audience laughter] [chuckles] Well, my gym is right next door. So, after my workout, I realize I forgot my makeup and the shoes that go with my outfit. So, I said, okay, well, I'll buy a pair of shoes and Macy's, then take them back after the interview, [audience laughter] because I can't afford $59 for some cheap shoes. I'm plotting to take the rug route, so the bottoms don't get dirty because I don't want no mess when I go to get my money back. 

 

Well, a guy brings me the shoes I can't even get my toe in. That's when I have a mood swing and snap on the guy. I said, “Look, these corporations going to ship the shoe jobs overseas, they need to ship them to a country that knows something about big feet.” And I stormed out of the shoe department. And that's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'm looking militant. I'm looking like a cross between Cornel West and Lil Wayne. [audience laughter] Nobody's going to hire me looking like this. So, I got 10 minutes and I rush to the makeup counter to put on some lipstick to fix it. Now the lighting is bad, so I got to take the makeup girl's word for it. She's like, “Mm, you look good in that color.” 

 

So, I'm going up the escalator, nothing but pure light and mirrors. I look like a cross between Cornel West and Lil Wayne with black lipstick. [audience laughter] I mean, she lied to me with her purple hair. Now, I'm walking through the door as personnel, looking like something out of predator too. [audience laughter] The little guy that's interviewing me look like he's almost 13. I apologize for my gym shoes and we sit down and start the interview process. Now, he asked me, “Is it ever okay to steal from your employer?” I'm thinking, is this part of the drug test? [audience laughter] I mean, because who in their right mind going to say yeah? [audience laughter] And then, he proceeds to ask me more questions just as stupid as that. 

 

So, finally I said, well, I'm a grandmother. I can do anything. How much does this job pay? So, he said, “Well, it's an on-call job and it pays $7.40 an hour.” I'm thinking, $7.40 an hour? You mean to tell me Macy's can't kick in another dime, so I can get almost 2 gallons of gas to get to work? Then he asked me, “Do I have any conflicts?” I'm thinking, I'm conflicted, I'm even here. I'm conflicted, I would have to work eight whole hours to pay for them cheap shoes downstairs and I'm a conflict away from walking out of here. But I don't say that, because I'm broke. I just smile and say, “No, no, I don't have any conflicts,” and I shake his hand and I leave, pretty certain I'm going to get this job. Matter of fact, before I get to the parking lot, I'm already paying my bills with the piddly check. 

 

Three days later, I get an email from Macy's, “Dear Ms. Shakoor, we regret to inform you we cannot hire you at this time... Your skills are strong. We'll keep your application on file.” I don't know, this feeling of relief just came over me. It was like a message from the universe saying, “You better do what you love to do for the rest of your life, because nobody's going to hire the incredible menopausal Hulk.” [audience laughter] And then, I panicked. I'm terrified, because what am I going to do? 

 

Well, the next morning, I'm driving home from the gym, which is my healthcare plan, and I get a phone call. It's from a Dr. Jim Boggs. He says he has a company called EffectiveArts and he trains businesses in high stakes interactions. And he's coming to Michigan to an eye bank to train the people who ask for cornea donations, and that his company hires actors to help facilitate with the training, and that he was very impressed with my resume. I was suspicious because Macy's had just turned me down. [audience laughter] Plus, I had sent my application to millions of people. He could be a Craigslist crazy.

 

But then, I remembered the audition notice because the online site that posted it warned the actors, “We're not familiar with this company, so submit at your own risk.” So, I pulled my car over to the side to google him. Turns out he's legit. So, I perked up my ears. He said, “Well, do you know anything about cornea donation?” Well, I'm thinking, well, it had occurred to me that things got really bad, I could donate my blood for money. [audience laughter] But I tell him, “No, no. No, not really.” 

 

So, he says, “It's a very delicate operation. A cornea has to be recovered within 23 hours of the death, or it's not going to be able to be used. So, most of these deaths occur unexpectedly, tragically as accidents, so you can imagine the shock and devastation of the family. So, when the requester calls for the donation, they're going into a high stakes interaction, a crisis situation that's time critical. So, our company helps to improve the communication to reduce the risk and mistakes of getting to the donation. And at the highest level, the communication is human. And it's able to move that family member from devastation to seeing the possibility that even in death, their loved one can give the gift of sight.” I was blown away. I was like, “That is awesome.” 

 

He engaged me in a conversation and then he tells me, “You know, we don't usually hire actors over the phone. We like to see them in person. But I have a feeling you'll be perfect for this job and I'd like to hire you.” Tears were rolling down my cheek. I was so thankful. And so, he tells me, it's a nine-day job and he offered to pay me 200 times what Macy's had offered. [audience laughter] All I can say was, the most amazing nine days of my life. And if I had known about cornea donation before my son died, I would have said yes. I realized that not only could I do what I love to do to pay the bills, I could use it to help make a difference. 

 

Well, for the next year and a half, just little miracles started popping up like that, little job miracles. And two months ago, I moved out of my sister's bedroom into my own beautiful 1921 two-bedroom apartment in Detroit in a neighborhood that was once elegant, and that has seen the worst and is on the rise with a new beginning and a new life, just like me. So, here I am, ladies and gentlemen, doing what I love to do for the rest of my life. Thank you.