As Aaron Hunter stood in front of his newly acquired business premises, jingling a large set of keys in the palm of his hand like metallic castanets, the punk rocker couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu at the whole situation. Roughly a year and a half ago, the musician had proudly opened the doors to his brand new drumming school, Skin Trade. It was a dream come true for the budding entrepreneur to finally have his own teaching academy, albeit a pretty small one, where he could impart his knowledge and skills to enthusiastic pupils.
It was hardly the Julliard School, located in the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in the drummer’s old hometown of New York City, just a basic workshop in the edge of a shopping mall in Harper Rock, but to Aaron, it meant everything. It was a place to have fun, to let off steam, to share the emotional highs that music could give with like-minded individuals who were willing to learn. It was more of a vocation than just simply a job.
On a purely functional basis, the business venture also provided Aaron with a few extra bucks. Aaron wasn’t particularly materialistic, but he now had someone sharing his bed, sharing his sofa, sharing his life, so a set of new sheets, or a few extra comfortable cushions here and there wouldn’t go amiss. The ability to earn cash while doing a job that he truly loved was such a blessing for the humble musician. While most folk seemed to trudge to work each day, as if their boots were made of concrete, and they were knee-deep in thick, putrid swamp water, Aaron almost floated. There was always a spring in his step, and a beaming smile embossed again his stubble-covered face.
Today marked the next stage in Aaron’s musical business journey, the next rung up on the teaching ladder. Skin Trade had effectively outgrown itself. It needed to shed its skin, and trade it in for something bigger and better, something a little more spacious to allow for growth and development. It was time for Aaron to fling open the doors to Skin Trade 2.0!
Numerous builders and tradesmen had been renovating the disused building for weeks: plumbers fitting new pipes that didn’t creak like the bones of ancient skeletons; electricians installing elaborate wire circuitry that looked like a map of the London Underground system; painters and decorators adding those aesthetically pleasing finishing touches. Now, finally, the empty shell had been transformed into something verging on spectacular - the grubby caterpillar had metamorphosed into a magnificent butterfly. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t quite a gold-lined palace, but to Aaron, it was amazing!
There was, however, something missing, something important if this blossoming enterprise was to continue flowering. Aaron needed to hire staff. Originally, Aaron - teacher and proprietor, all rolled into one - had run the whole show, looking after the books, dishing out the lessons, and sweeping up afterwards, but he needed help if this journey was to continue smoothly without his musical ship encountering too many choppy seas. The operation was too big for just one person to run efficiently. Skin Trade was no longer a solo mission.
Ideally, he needed an enthusiastic bookworm to keep all the accountancy neat and tidy, combined with someone artistic. In addition, preferably somebody who wasn’t afraid of vampires! Advertising on the Internet seemed like a reasonable idea. Hopefully, there would be a few suitable candidates out there. Maybe Taylor Hawkins from the Foo Fighters was on vacation, and needed a part-time job? Perhaps Nicky “Topper” Headon from The Clash had a retirement home in Ontario, and would like to offer his assistance? Probably not, but Aaron had always been a daydreamer.
Unlocking the front door of the pristine establishment, Aaron made his way though to the back office, remembering to first wipe his feet on the welcome mat. He wanted the place to look immaculate for his first customer. Firing up the desktop computer, the drum instructor eased his way into a spinning leather chair that still had that fresh, newly bought smell to it. He swivelled around 360 degrees, catching his knee on the corner of the desk.
“Ouch!” he yelled, feigning injury before chuckling. “I knew this freaking chair was way over the top.”
Tapping away on the keyboard, Aaron posted a concise advert for the position of “General Assistant”:
"Do you love music? Do you have a passion for drums, or an enthusiasm to learn? Are you handy with spreadsheets, and in possession of good people skills? Then why not give Skin Trade a try! Following refurbishment due to increased demand, the position of General Assistant has become available. Everyone is welcome to apply, and all enquires will receive a reply."It was hardly the Julliard School, located in the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in the drummer’s old hometown of New York City, just a basic workshop in the edge of a shopping mall in Harper Rock, but to Aaron, it meant everything. It was a place to have fun, to let off steam, to share the emotional highs that music could give with like-minded individuals who were willing to learn. It was more of a vocation than just simply a job.
On a purely functional basis, the business venture also provided Aaron with a few extra bucks. Aaron wasn’t particularly materialistic, but he now had someone sharing his bed, sharing his sofa, sharing his life, so a set of new sheets, or a few extra comfortable cushions here and there wouldn’t go amiss. The ability to earn cash while doing a job that he truly loved was such a blessing for the humble musician. While most folk seemed to trudge to work each day, as if their boots were made of concrete, and they were knee-deep in thick, putrid swamp water, Aaron almost floated. There was always a spring in his step, and a beaming smile embossed again his stubble-covered face.
Today marked the next stage in Aaron’s musical business journey, the next rung up on the teaching ladder. Skin Trade had effectively outgrown itself. It needed to shed its skin, and trade it in for something bigger and better, something a little more spacious to allow for growth and development. It was time for Aaron to fling open the doors to Skin Trade 2.0!
Numerous builders and tradesmen had been renovating the disused building for weeks: plumbers fitting new pipes that didn’t creak like the bones of ancient skeletons; electricians installing elaborate wire circuitry that looked like a map of the London Underground system; painters and decorators adding those aesthetically pleasing finishing touches. Now, finally, the empty shell had been transformed into something verging on spectacular - the grubby caterpillar had metamorphosed into a magnificent butterfly. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t quite a gold-lined palace, but to Aaron, it was amazing!
There was, however, something missing, something important if this blossoming enterprise was to continue flowering. Aaron needed to hire staff. Originally, Aaron - teacher and proprietor, all rolled into one - had run the whole show, looking after the books, dishing out the lessons, and sweeping up afterwards, but he needed help if this journey was to continue smoothly without his musical ship encountering too many choppy seas. The operation was too big for just one person to run efficiently. Skin Trade was no longer a solo mission.
Ideally, he needed an enthusiastic bookworm to keep all the accountancy neat and tidy, combined with someone artistic. In addition, preferably somebody who wasn’t afraid of vampires! Advertising on the Internet seemed like a reasonable idea. Hopefully, there would be a few suitable candidates out there. Maybe Taylor Hawkins from the Foo Fighters was on vacation, and needed a part-time job? Perhaps Nicky “Topper” Headon from The Clash had a retirement home in Ontario, and would like to offer his assistance? Probably not, but Aaron had always been a daydreamer.
Unlocking the front door of the pristine establishment, Aaron made his way though to the back office, remembering to first wipe his feet on the welcome mat. He wanted the place to look immaculate for his first customer. Firing up the desktop computer, the drum instructor eased his way into a spinning leather chair that still had that fresh, newly bought smell to it. He swivelled around 360 degrees, catching his knee on the corner of the desk.
“Ouch!” he yelled, feigning injury before chuckling. “I knew this freaking chair was way over the top.”
Tapping away on the keyboard, Aaron posted a concise advert for the position of “General Assistant”:
Finishing up the rather brief notice of the job vacancy with details of how and where to apply, Aaron posted the bulletin, and shut down the computer. Even such a simple task of writing a job description was a chore: Aaron definitely needed assistance.
Scanning his hazel eyes over the interior decorations of the building one more time as he wandered towards the exit, Aaron stroked his chin, wondering if anyone would be interested.
Scanning his hazel eyes over the interior decorations of the building one more time as he wandered towards the exit, Aaron stroked his chin, wondering if anyone would be interested.
