Brilliant Career

Will Durst is not your regular 9-to-5.

by Ben Kharakh

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Will Durst has worked 108 jobs. Some of them have been in the entertainment business (political satirist, actor, NPR contributor), others have been in the field of manual labor (construction worker, dishwasher, ditch digger) and a couple have been simply absurd (margarine smuggler, pirate, door-to-door soap salesman). Along the way, Durst has picked up some wisdom — which he promises to dish out at Helium Comedy Club.

City Paper: You were a clown for a while, but when it came to being a pirate, you called it quits after one day. Why was that?

Will Durst: It was me and my best buddy and we were both actors living in Milwaukee. We're working shitty jobs, hardly getting paid. Then we find out there's a Long John Silver's opening up on the East Side of Milwaukee. This place is opening in a ghost mall. All the stores are shuttered. We're paid $50 to wander around, but the only people who are there, are there just to mock us. We did get free food, but it was Long John Silver's, so that's a double-edged pirate sword.

CP: How'd you get into door-to-door soap sales?

WD: That was a scam! I was 14 at the time, and I met this guy in a conference room at a hotel. It was me and all these other 14-year-olds, which had to have looked weird. He gave us our soap, our routes, and dropped us off around town. We were supposed to meet him at a diner a mile and a half away. Fifteen houses in, I realized I was stuck in Death of a Salesman, and called it quits. I dropped my soap off at the diner and walked seven miles to get home.

CP: One of your strangest jobs has to be margarine smuggler.

WD: Yeah, that was in the late '70s. Up until 1981, it was illegal to sell dyed margarine in Wisconsin. We had these white bricks that looked like lard. It was awful and no one wanted it. So, once a month, I'd drive to Illinois to get dyed margarine, load up the station wagon, and distribute it to the neighbors.

CP: What would happen if you got caught?

WD: Absolutely nothing! Those farmers were just being bullies.

CP: What have you learned about people from all of your jobs?

WD: You don't learn anything about people. You just pick stuff up about individuals. People are jealous and quick to rage and fear, but individuals are brave and can aspire to courage and spirituality. But people, ha! Even when I'm dealing with a crowd, I try to get individuals on my side. One at a time — that's how you win the crowd.

CP: What sorts of changes have you noticed in people over the years?

WD: The old generation seems locked up in prejudice, but to the new generation it doesn't matter if you're black, white, gay or whatever. People [today] are much more accepting.

CP: What's your take on kids today?

WD: What I do onstage is I say that the government's messed up, and the kids today say, "And what's your point?" My generation was taught that the government's looking out for our best interest and the cops are our friends, and my generation realized that that's a bunch of crap. I was able to translate that to my generation, but the kids today, they want me to do more work.

WILL DURST

Thu., June 21, 8 p.m., $15; Fri.-Sat., June 22-23, 8 and 10:30 p.m., $20-$25, Helium Comedy Club, 2031 Sansom St., 215-496-9001, www.heliumcomedy.com