Theft by Finding - David Sedaris

Amy and I walked up 8th Avenue to Intermezzo, where Hugh and his friend Sue were having lunch.
“Here you are!” Amy shouted. “Just what do you think you’re doing? You can’t afford to be eating
here, not when I’ve got a five-month-old baby waiting in the car. And wine too! You’re drinking
wine! I hate being your sponsor, I really do.”
Everyone stared and Hugh turned bright red.
Afterward I went to Macy’s, where I filled out umpteen forms, peed into a jar, and had my eyes
tested. This year, as a returning elf, I’ll make $9 an hour. Regular Christmas help gets only $6.
October 28, 1991
New York
Last night was the final performance of the play (Jamboree). The house was packed so we brought
in extra chairs. Unfortunately we brought too many, meaning that, once again, we had empty seats. In
the end the audience numbered sixty-four, which was great, the biggest so far.
Afterward we struck the set and then came home to cook chicken, which we ate at three thirty in
the morning.
The night before that, I performed at P.S. 122 as part of their Avant-Garde-Arama. The house was
sold out, and though we were told to limit ourselves to twenty minutes, most people went on much
longer—a trio of girls, for instance, who slowly rolled a hundred oranges across the floor.
I’m having a bad run as far as readings are concerned. I was bad at the Nuyorican and bad at P.S.
122. Next Monday I’m at La MaMa, and then Ward-Nasse, followed by a benefit, followed by two
weeks of Orchid Shows, and then another gallery. I stretch myself too thin and wind up with tiny
houses.
November 1, 1991
New York
Hugh and I moved into our new apartment last night, but I screwed up and we won’t have phone
service until the twelfth, and that’s if we’re lucky. I thought they could turn it on from some office
somewhere, but instead they have to make a special trip that should have been scheduled weeks ago. I
was supposed to do this last month but I didn’t. I fucked up.
After paying this month’s rent and giving Rusty the money I owed him, I’m left with $40. I might
make some at La MaMa this week, but without a way for people to call me, I’m screwed.
November 3, 1991
New York
Amy and I met Jeff and Tina for a drink last night at El Teddy’s, the fancy Mexican place in
Tribeca that sometimes feels exciting and sometimes feels awful. Last night it was the latter. I was