1) Attire
Eight years ago, when I arrived for my first day of training at Banc of America Securities in New York City, I realized I had forgotten to pack a belt. I rushed out during our lunch hour to look for something inexpensive but still fashionable, choosing Ann Taylor as an appropriate store. I found a bit more than just a belt, and came back to class toting a large Ann Taylor shopping bag. The girl in front of me, Bree, a snooty blonde, spotted my bag and said pointedly, "you came all the way to New York, and you went shopping at...Ann...Taylor?" She then tossed her hair, spun around, and never spoke to me during the entire week of our training course. "Sh*t," I thought, "she's right!" As a result, I blew my first paycheck on a Marc Jacobs dress and my first pair of Manolo Blahniks at a Barney's warehouse sale.
Bree definitely had a point in New York. There were plenty of women in Theory suits and Jimmy Choo shoes, but it turns out a I needn't have worried working in L.A. When I arrived for work in L.A., sporting a new suit and Blahnik heels, my boss, Suzie, met me wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a "Rehab is for Quitters" t-shirt. But even the laid-back nature of L.A. is black tie compared to winery wear. Working in wine, it's important not to wear anything you care about. In fact, I'm wondering if I should wear anything at all. Today, I was tucked in the fetal position inside our Chardonnay bladder press, hosing and scrubbing it down with water and various chemicals. It was basically like being trapped inside a washing machine, only thankfully it was unplugged and therefore not spinning around. It was 100 degrees outside, but it felt like 150 degrees inside the press, not to mention I was hosing it down with hot water. Before that, I had been using a pressure washer to blast gunk off plastic bins, feeling like Al Pacino with his M16 in Scarface, only I was drenched from head to toe and was squishing water as I walked, as my new black waders were about two inches full of water. Point is: working in wine, don't bother shopping at Barneys or Ann Taylor or maybe even wearing clothes. Steel-toed boots, yes, clothes, no.
2) Physical activity
On Wall Street, my ample behind was nursed and coddled for years in ergonomically correct chairs behind a trading desk. I only left my comfy seat cushion for restroom breaks, and the only activity I had was picking up phones and trying not to break them when frustrated. Over my past two days at the winery, I did not sit down once except during our half-hour lunch break. We are constantly lifting, pulling, pushing, flipping, and cleaning. As F, our winemaker explained, and as I am quickly observing, working in a winery is 80% sanitation and cleanliness of equipment, and most winery equipment is really heavy. (According to F, the other parts of winemaking are 15% perspiration, 3% winemaking, and 2% beer-drinking.)
3) Lifestyle
Yes. Well. All my friends working in wine, be they sommelier, wine journalist, or wine salesperson, told me not to get into wine for a reason: there is no money. In Wall Street, there is plenty of money. One hedge fund founder I went out with on a blind date told me, "if someone's only making $500k in this business, he must really suck at his job." Yes, when working on Wall Street, I could afford good wine, and, better yet, I could expense decent bottles and dinners to the company, but for the past three years, I have felt miserable driving to and from work. And my office was in Manhattan Beach, where I was driving down the coastal highway alongside the beach each day! I know it's only been two days working as a harvest intern, but I am so phenomenally happy, it's ridiculous. I was so tired yesterday, I fell into bed at 8pm, but not before thanking the good Lord for this job. However, I'm not kidding anyone; I'm paid hourly, and if this job were annual, I would be making less than 1/10th of what I could make on Wall Street. I moved out of my two-bedroom condo by the beach and have stuffed myself into a one room rental, sharing a bathroom and kitchen with a nice landlady in St. Helena. I'm living off PB&J and tuna fish sandwiches, and I'll be out of a job in two months when my internship is done, wondering what to do next. So it's definitely stressful, and I'm no longer waving in expensive bottles of wine or planning wine tasting tours in France. But, despite it all, I'm happy.
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| P, another harvest intern, blasting fermentation bins with the pressure washer. Note the bright sun (e.g. overwhelming heat). It's about 8:30AM. |
Love it! Keep em coming
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