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STRANGER TIMES
A to Z From The 80s: Part One
It was a brilliant decade for music but not so much for me
Living in a gilded cage beyond the reach of any ladder
It was the 80s. I was in a strange place. Not just geographically, but also mentally and occupationally. I worked the night shift at a cult. Doing quality control on email-like communications from top management to hundreds of churches on six continents. I was gatekeeper of all directives and bulletins that went out to thousands of worker bees.
It was a franchise. Like McDonald’s, uniformity was key. You could walk into any church in any city in any country on any continent and it would look, sound, feel, and smell like all the rest. The staff were cogs in an enormous machine and I was a cog in the master machine. The one to rule them all.
I worked seven days a week except for rare Sundays off. Every two weeks, assuming I wasn’t grounded for some or no reason, I’d hop on a shuttle to the city and explore. Shopping in the garment district. Walking down the Third Street Promenade. Getting lost in the stacks of the Los Angeles Public Library downtown. Strolling the streets of Hollywood. Trying out new restaurants. Going to the movies with my guy.
