by Kari Byron
While this job was a great improvement from my desk job, I always felt like I was missing something. “Sampling” wasn’t creative or a positive contribution to society . . . it didn’t have anything to do with art, or sculpture, or building, or creating—all of the things I was most passionate about doing with my life. But let me tell you the truth: I was really good at being a sampler. Really good. Doing anything half-assed is boring to me, so I put some gusto into the job. I have my dad’s salesman’s silver tongue and could talk to anyone. I played it like an actor, pretending to be carefree and excited to show up and dive headfirst into whichever bar I found myself in. I even got a promotion! The boss asked me to manage a whole crew of sampler girls, dispatching them to bars all over town.
For a while, I drove to events in an Escalade wrapped with Tanqueray logos, which was super embarrassing. One night I was pulled over by a highway patrol and asked if I was drinking in that monstrosity. Seriously? Wouldn’t that be a bit idiotic? Maybe he just wanted to investigate an SUV full of giggly girls in tight T-shirts.
Sampler-ing took me in and out of every nook and cranny in the Bay Area. I worked at a divey drag bar on Polk Street with a coworker who dressed head-to-toe in his best leathers. Then there was a backroom dance hall in Oakland where I was in the pale minority. At a bar in San Jose, I stood inside a cage and poured Hennessy into people’s open mouths through the bars. I served Moët Champagne at the America’s Cup yacht race when it was in San Francisco. At parties, food festivals, and Whiskies of the World events, I organized tastings, and was a spokesperson for Johnnie Walker and their umbrella-ed single malts.
The experience really drove home that people are people. You can talk to anyone as long as you’re nonjudgmental and accepting of whatever personality is in front of you. This skill came in handy later on at MythBusters because we employed experts in a wide range of different fields. Even if I didn’t speak their particular lexicon, I could still converse with them without feeling intimidated by them or embarrassed by the gaps in my education or experience. Whether they were Civil War reenactors, biology professors, or arms dealers, everyone has a story. I loved exploring the anthropologic beauty of everyone who came to our shop. (Having a vast knowledge of alcohol also helps in dealing with MythBusters’ Australian film crew.)
* * *
WAYS TO KEEP YOURSELF ENTERTAINED AT YOUR ENTRY-LEVEL JOB
Not every first job is going to be as mind-numbingly boring as mine. But if you do have hours with nothing to do at work, try:
Doodling. If I wasn’t working, I was drawing. All of my pencils were extremely well sharpened.
Origami. All those crafts you’ve been curious about? A boring desk job presents the perfect opportunity: knitting, embroidery, whatever. (My boyfriend got the most awkwardly long scarf ever for Christmas.)
Pro bono projects. If someone was doing a charity event and needed poster art, I volunteered to make an illustration for it. I thought it’d help me advance, but those things turned out to be favors. People think art isn’t work, and not worth rewarding. I made friends, but didn’t get to the next level.
Reading Missed Connections on Craigslist. People wrote two or three of them about me. One had collected my poetry postcards on the 22 Fillmore bus and wanted to meet me to discuss them. Maybe he’d found a chicken foot under his seat, too, and wanted to compare notes. I never replied to any of them. I was a stealth poet. I liked to be mysterious. While traveling, after I finished a book, I wrote a note in it and left it in the hostel. I leave notes in hotel room drawers. I just love the idea of connecting anonymously with strangers and never knowing the outcome.
Updating your résumé. Nothing like getting a paycheck and using the resources at the office to search for another job.
* * *
My job made me very popular, especially when I was assigned to be a secret martini taster. I would go into a bar, and ask the bartender to make the brand’s signature cocktail, taste it, and ask him or her about the brand and the drink. Then I’d write a report about it. I would go to three places a night, and go through the same process. As a petite woman, I couldn’t possibly finish all the drinks I had to order and taste. While I took notes on how the bartenders made the drinks, I had some “designated drunk” volunteers—my broke artist and musician friends—who would help me finish my assignment. Best job ever for living a Sex and the City life on a Shameless budget. (I watch too much TV.)
I was enjoying myself, and the bosses could tell. They gave me more and more responsibility, and raises to accompany it. For the first time in my twenty-something years of life, I made enough money to pay my rent and buy groceries.
But something nagged at me. All of the other sampler girls saw this as a temporary gig, a way to get paid while continuing their educations—and most of them did go on to have professional careers as doctors, lawyers, and engineers. But I had no plan B, no alternative. I was living for today. Was this the track I wanted to stay on forever?
I reminded myself that when I dreamed of being a maker, it wasn’t a maker of cocktails. I was a great liquor ambassador, had fun, and basked in the appreciation and acknowledgment of my bosses. But I had the sense that I should be doing something else, there was something else out there for me. However, like almost everyone who finds themselves in this predicament, I didn’t know where or how to start over. How much longer should I keep hoping for a creative career when I hadn’t gotten close to one yet? Were my passions just pie-in-the-sky fantasies? Or were they something I should chase in the form of gainful employment . . . ?
I asked myself this question constantly during my excruciating, limbo/first-circle-of-Hell hours at the ad agency job (I hadn’t given that up; I was receptionist by day, shot girl at night). To keep myself from going crazy, I started bringing polymer clay—the stuff special effects artists and prop makers use for toys or models—to the office, made sculptures at my desk, and amassed a large collection of little statues. I showed them to a friend of mine who was trying to find his way into the movie industry.
“You should do this,” Matt said of my models. “You’re great at it. Put together a portfolio.”
“No, no, I’m not good enough,” I said.
I was afraid of being judged. A real professional had never seen my sculptures. What would a real artist think? Would he or she know I had no clue what I was doing?
Now, when I look back on this time in my life, I’m aware of my inferiority mind-set, always seeing the world from the outside in, a stubborn holdover from junior high. Now I see the world from the inside out. This is my art, like it or not. I do it for me. If you like it, great. If not, great. It’s not up to me to decide your taste for you.
Matt kept on encouraging me. One night, he said, “Listen. There’s a local place called M5 Industries run by this guy Jamie Hyneman.” He described it as a design and build company/workshop that made special effects, prototypes, and props for commercials, movies, and TV. “Jamie’s assistant Alberto teaches a class out of the shop on sculptural special effects and model making,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me and just check it out? You will love it.”
And still I hesitated.
Sculpture was my favorite thing to do in the whole world. Was I really going to give up on my dream so quickly? Was I really going to assume that this job would be like the others, that I was never going to make things for a living? It was time for me to throw out my expectations and my baggage, but, most importantly, my assumptions. About myself, about life, and about who can and can’t have the career of their dreams. I searched my mind for a mantra. At the top of the list was the all-purpose powerhouse: “Why not?”
I reached into my soul and told myself, Woman up, Kari! Matt is right. Yeah, special effects! You could do sculptures for a living! I forced myself to push past fear, and go for it.
TRY ANYTHING, DO EVERYTHING, SAY “YES” EVEN WHEN YOU AREN’T SURE
Beg Your Way In
The next day, as I sat at the second-
floor ad agency reception desk, I put together a portfolio with every drawing and sculpture I’d made at my job in purgatory. I was nervous about the possibility of another disappointment at M5. I’d already sent résumés with no response to every animation and special effects shop I knew: Pixar, Industrial Light & Magic, and others. From my lonely desk on the second floor, I imagined my résumé and portfolio being tossed over the shoulder of an eye-rolling HR person into a comically large bin labeled REJECTS. The beautiful outcome of feeling like a reject for so long: Desperation makes you bold. And that boldness led me into the greatest opportunity of my life.
I went to the class Matt recommended, and I walked into M5 Industries for the first time. My memories are always a bit rosy, but I’m pretty sure there were angels singing and God-light emanating from the shop door. There was a metal shop, a wood shop, an electronics shop, a mold room, a paint room, movie props all over the walls, cool sculptures (including a Mugwump from Naked Lunch in the corner), spaceships from Star Wars, masks and models from The Nightmare Before Christmas on the walls, and the shuttle from Running Man with a half-size Schwarzenegger hanging from the ceiling! I can still feel my excitement. (I am even typing this section fast remembering this moment.) There was every tool you could imagine, and boxes upon boxes with labels like googly eyes, plastic domes, tank parts. I could smell freshly cut wood, metal dust, and the slight scent of toxic fumes from resins and paints. To someone like me, it was like new car smell or freshly baked cookies. All of a sudden a light went on and I thought, Oh my God. I want to work HERE! I had to be a part of this place. I’d do anything to stay.
I went up and introduced myself to Jamie Hyneman. He was wearing his signature beret and big moustache, a look he’d maintained for decades. I was wearing my best “don’t care but I actually really care a lot” outfit (jeans and a black T-shirt, combat boots, and a flannel tied around my waist; grungy but not dirty). I tried to seem full of confidence but my goofy grin and nervous talking didn’t help. Jamie is an intimidating character; he doesn’t smile needlessly and definitely doesn’t suffer fools. I was used to people beaming at me from my night job (offering free drinks will do that), so I had no idea how to gauge Jamie’s reaction to me. I learned that he’s incapable of lying to soften a blow. He is straight with you, a trait that I both respect and fear to this day.
I showed him my portfolio. He flipped through, page by page, with silent disinterest. I swallowed back nerves and made an audible choking sound because my mouth had gone dry. With every page he passed, I died a bit inside. When he got to the very last page, he pointed at the picture of a wrinkly old man sculpture I was pretty proud of, and said, “Maybe we can work with that.” Exhale.
“Well, I’m willing to intern for free,” I said.
“Come back tomorrow.”
* * *
TOP THREE GET-OUT-OF-WORK-FREE CARDS
Pink eye. My favorite ailment for getting out of work, it is disgusting, highly contagious, cleared up in a few days, and no one wants you within five miles.
Food poisoning. The gross factor is high, and most prefer the symptoms not be described in detail. You have to stay home long enough to make sure it isn’t the flu or Norovirus, so it’s an excuse with an open end date.
Family emergency. It sounds dire but is purposefully vague. No one would be so rude as to pry what the emergency is. And if anyone does, say, “My mother has food poisoning, the flu, the Norovirus. And pink eye.”
* * *
And that was it. My foot was in the door again, but this time, in the right place. I was thrilled! I was elated!
But, crap. I still had a nine-to-five job at the ad agency. Should I call in with the flu or pink eye? I didn’t know at the time that I would never go back to the silent phone on the second floor. I would never go back to being a corporate zombie. Instead, I just kept showing up at M5, every tomorrow, made prototypes and toy parts, learned from Jamie, and loved every minute of it.
I was so energized about doing something art related at M5 by day, the good vibes spilled into my night job. Out of the blue, one of the spirits companies offered me a big job as a brand ambassador with a significant salary, benefits, perks, and a future. My job would be going to dinners and events, like I’d been doing, plus I would travel to exotic places representing the brand and running promotions. I could see a career and a future taking shape in front of me, making more money than I had ever imagined.
So, what was it going to be? The high-paying, high-flying corporate job I could grow into, or the unpaid internship that could end at any second?
I was given two days to decide.
It took me two seconds.
Everyone in my life thought I was crazy—except Paul, my then-boyfriend, now-husband, a fellow artist dreamer weirdo. As my friends reminded me, “You’re not a kid, Kari. You can’t play with clay and make toys forever. What about earning good money and having security and maybe growing up?”
My parents asked, “Are you sure?”
I told Mom, “The risky path is way more interesting. I’m gonna go with that.”
I was poor but happy. It felt like a new adventure was beginning, and was it ever. My decision turned out in my favor, I have to say. If you are reading this book because you’re a fan of MythBusters, you already know that.
YOUR INSTINCTS KNOW WHICH JOB IS DREAM-WORTHY AND WHICH IS A SAFE COMPROMISE. TRUST.
Use Everything You’ve Got
My first day as an official intern was, coincidentally, the first day MythBusters was being filmed at M5. I had no idea that it was going to be the set of a TV show, and, after I found out, I certainly had no expectation that I’d be a part of it. There were other interns and shop guys hanging around. I was just one of the crew, just glad to be there.
It was 2002, the Wild West of cable, before reality television was highly produced, contrived, and scripted, spread out over dozens of networks. Discovery Channel had always been known for nature documentaries, but the corporate overlords decided to try something new and made the shows Deadliest Catch, American Chopper, Dirty Jobs, and MythBusters. They were unfamiliar departures from the norm, and successfully ushered in a new era of content. MythBusters was set in a working shop, and anyone might get pulled into the action—or, in my case, be enlisted to sweep up the action after the camera was put away.
One day, Jamie and Adam (the hosts), and the show’s creator, Peter Rees, were planning the segment called Vacuum Toilet, about the legendary myth of a very girthy woman sitting down on the toilet in an airplane, flushing it while seated, and creating such a powerful suction around her fleshy rear that she got stuck on the seat until the plane landed.
Jamie called me into his office and said in an awkward monotone/half giggle, “So, Kari. In exchange for learning how to use the software to create a mold, would you let us do a 3D scan of your backside? Because we need a female butt.” (The way Jamie enunciated the word “buttttttt” with five extra t’s still makes me smile. He was probably just as uncomfortable asking me this as he knew I would be hearing it.)
My butt is undoubtedly female. I was also the only girl hanging out at the shop. But make a mold of it? I wasn’t sure about that.
“And I will give you a hundred dollars,” he added.
“YES!”
Besides, who was ever going to see this? I mean, it was just a weird cable show.
Also, no one had a clue on how we were going to actually make the mold. The beating heart of MythBusters was coming up with solutions to ridiculous problems. We just strapped on our thinking helmets and figured things out.
The production manager went shopping and bought me this ugly flesh-colored one-piece catsuit to wear while they did a 3D scan using super high tech that is now antiquated software. I leaned over a stool, held still for half an hour for the scan, and had a suspicion that the male interns were taking pictures of my bum.
If you are wondering right now whether I objectified myself, a betrayal of the feminist cause, hold on f
or a second. During my sampler-ing days, people stared at my butt every night—like every other girl in the bar. It wasn’t part of the job, but it was an unavoidable hazard of it. In this case, doing the 3D scan of my butt was an ass-ignment (Yes! I am the pun queen.) I was uniquely qualified for in a shop full of all men. It just didn’t feel exploitive. It was for science. And one hundred dollars. Somehow I knew that this odd opportunity could be my ticket to more.
Where does that land me on the feminist scale? My attitude was (and is) if you give me a wrench, a hammer, and a saw, I’m going to use every tool in the box to get what I want. In this case, I wanted in on the project. They needed a female butt. I happened to have one right on me—the only person who did—so I used it. If a guy gets a job because of his physique, he’s not exploited, but if I used my shape to get this one, it is? I was interning while female. My boss needed a woman’s rear. If I didn’t use that tool, I would have neutralized myself out of an opportunity and that was not going to happen. In my years of job shifting, I’d learned to play every angle and use every attribute I had. I was only being consistent. Always say “yes” to opportunity. You can change your mind later. But if you say “no” at first, you might not get another chance.
After the image was downloaded onto the computer, I used the sculptural software to design and refine the 3D model. My actual butt wasn’t big enough, or cushy enough, to test the myth. I was tasked with the artistry of making an enlarged version of it look “real,” so, as a reference, I went online and looked at a lot of plus-size porn. It was the only way to see butts, perfectly dimpled, for my rendering. Everyone that walked past my computer and saw what I was looking at just nodded and walked on. It was that kind of place. As per our deal, I learned the new tech and got my hundred dollars. Jamie got a 3D model of my butt on his hard drive. Hell of a deal if you ask me.