LOOK AT LIFE / COCO HAMES

Too far gone: friends don't let friends become nannies.

By Coco Hames

Sometimes people will ask us, "What is the worst job you've ever had?" and for each of us, the story is different, and sometimes it changes.  Worst how?  Meanest boss?  Longest hours?  Shittiest pay?  Depending on the mood we're in, we can site any of the many crappy jobs we've had.  Jem will tell you about the bloody pumps he had to clean at the hospital, Poni maybe being accidentally drugged at a club and then hallucinating that she's being stabbed to death by hundreds of small flying knives.  Maybe getting smacked in the kitchen of a terrible New York restaurant that I'd quit not for the smacking but the fact that they made you clock in with a thumbprint... But one of the most annoying, I think, is the one I never got.  

I was living in Los Angeles, I think I was working as a receptionist at a hair salon, barely getting paid, and I knew I had to get another job if I was going to survive.  Through a friend of the owner of a local music venue, I think, I was asked if I'd ever want to take a nanny position.  I like kids well enough now (COOL kids) but I've never been that great with them.  Our mindsets are too similar, they know it and I know it, so we just mostly sit around analyzing each other, scowling into each other's faces from across the room.  You with your toys, me with my books, you mind your business, I'll mind mine.

But I needed the money (oh how many stories start this way), so I said I'd at least take the interview.  I went over to these people's house in the afternoon, probably just around when school got out.  I was introduced to the parents, who seemed like nice enough people, or the mom did, however skin-crawlingly LA the dad was.  And don't give me shit about using "LA" as an insulting adjective; California has the best food and prettiest everything, makes movies and wine (two things I cannot live without), and there are a lot of great people out there, so shut up.  For my derogatory definition of "LA" please view this short documentary film: http://www.timanderic.com/laguyz1022.mov.  Regard, and then we can move forward.

So as soon as I was settled in their spacious living room for my interview, two 12-year-old girls come downstairs.  I learned one of them was the girl for whom I'd potentially be nannying (picking up from school, helping with her homework, making her snacks/dinner, maybe even teaching some guitar, piano, songwriting) and the other was the girl's best friend.  And they came equipped with their own list of questions for me.  It was really cute, something I totally would have done had I been interviewing a potential nanny at age 12.  Questions about how much trouble I'd let them get into, what kind of snacks I'd make, what my favorite movies were, who my celeb boy crush was... really cute.  And I thought to myself, well, they will pay really well, and maybe I can get these girls into rock and roll, this could be a kind of fun job!

But then, after the girls had finished questioning me and gone back upstairs, the parents asked me about school work.  How well I'd done in school, what my strongest subjects were.  And then they dropped the bomb on me: the girl needed a lot of help with her math.  I said, look, I have to be honest, with books and languages I can totally help, but math... there's just no way.  I couldn't lie to them, don't 12-year-olds these days need to know calculus?  Isn't she studying for the SATs and college placement stuff?  Wouldn't I be doing a young mind a huge disservice, pretending I knew how to add and/or subtract numbers?  I don't know, I couldn't be a bad influence in an academic respect, so I knew it was a deal breaker, but I had to tell the truth.

Sure enough, a couple of days later the mom called me and said while I was like one they all LIKED the best, there was another applicant who had experience tutoring in math, and they had to do what was best for the kid.  I understood, of course, and the job I went on to take was running a boutique within walking distance from my apartment, so it really worked out for the best.

Fast forward two years, and I'm a pretty content 23-year-old.  I'm managing a cool boutique, I play whatever records I want all day, I can read and play on the computer, I can walk to and from work (unheard of in Los Angeles) and to my favorite Thai joint for lunch, PLUS my hours were really pleasant (vaguely 11am-7pm) and allowed time for my band to rehearse and play shows.  It was all very well-rounded and just what I needed.  Until one day...

All the time douchey people would come in (not the least of which, that Bradley Cooper guy, who I always thought was someone else, and then would realize, no it's just that guy who plays mean guys on TV? TOTAL jerk to me, every time) so it never really fazed me.  What was best, of course, is when these douchey people would buy expensive things, and I'd get commission on top of my salary.  Then I can buy stuff!  Guitar strings!  Groceries!  Vodka!  Note to douchebags: spending a lot of money goes a long way with little shop girls, who will either put on really loud punk music until you're forced to leave, or pleasantly help you with your jacket selection.  Dear Adam Levine, the nicest exchange we ever had was when you bought that solid gold starfish for whichever model you were with at the time, really made my day, way more than the time you said the Kids in the Hall "weren't funny", you didn't remember the State, and that Elf "had no plotline".  

So this one afternoon, this teenager came in texting away, talking to her friend.  And I said, "Hey guys, let me know if I can help you with anything" and went back to doing my inventory, and one of them goes, "Oh my God, Coco?" and I looked up and was like, "Yeah?"  thinking, these girls are a bit old to be the kids of my friends, and definitely way too young to have come to an Ettes show?  And then one of them goes, "Didn't you almost work for me?" with this derisive laugh.  Didn't you almost work for me... um... and I was like, holy shit!  It's that kid I was going to nanny!  And I said, "Holy shit!  You're that kid I was going to nanny!"  And she was so snobby, oh, it was horrible!  She kind of looked around the shop and said, "Sooo... so this is what you do now?  I thought you were in a band or something?"  Ouch, right?  From a spoiled rich kid that I could have given cool books and records to.  It was like Veruca Salt if she had a Valley girl accent.  Only not Louise Post from Veruca Salt, she's really nice, she taught me to type properly.

I think I just gave them my best Scientological stare until they got uncomfortable and giggled off into the Silverlake afternoon, but sometimes I think about that girl, if I had been her nanny, would I have helped her at all, would I have helped her not become the LA Guyz teenage version of her dad?  Could I have gotten her into rock and roll, stocked her bookshelves with great subversive books, influenced her to replace her pink polo shirts and khaki shorts with black black black?  But then again, you never know: she always could have been already too far gone.

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Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums. Their Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores last fall, their music was featured in the Drew Barrymore-directed film Whip It, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in the latest issue of BLURT.

The band commences a big European tour next week then upon returning to the states will be headed to Austin for SXSW. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.