American Side Hustle: Part One
My sister kept collections, and to herself. Gleaming sidewalk coins and stones and stamps lined her desk drawers, happy in their arranged marriage to the others. I never cared much for the coins, and couldn’t be bothered with the stamps, but the real prize taunted me from her fireplace mantle- dolls, still in boxes. Pristine in plastic and cardboard, hair unbraided, they posed in their lonesome museum.
I couldn’t stand it- couldn’t stand the box, the waste, the unsullied little faces, the “house” they’d never play – and I caved. I broke them out of jail and brought them onto the rug, where I happened upon the pivotal thought, “but what if they all swapped arms and legs? How much more fun?” I’m still sorry, sister, but not really.
Athens, the city in which I reside, can’t seem to sit still, either, and we find ourselves taking parts of this and parts of that to form the most amazing community collaborations and break out of that 9 to 5 regime. Our fathers’ economy doesn’t exist anymore, and neither does his cubicle – welcome to the side hustle. We open sunny brunch spots that host punk shows by night, serve chicken and waffles next to craft cocktails, and turn five star restaurants into drag queen catwalks to benefit the Boybutante AIDS Foundation. We come off the line and home to feed our friends, and we fall asleep in our aprons. We are a conglomerate of myriad arms and legs stemming from one big heart, and we do not neglect what we love.
About a year ago, Ella Sternberg and Lenny Miller, of local band, Cancers, took a pause between tours to open up their side hustle, Preserve, in the old home of Broad Street Coffee. The building itself is all soft edges and curves, a 12-seater nook with an open view into the kitchen and a chalkboard menu. 
There’s something oddly comforting in hearing Lenny holler at Oliver to “toss me a cod, eh?” and momentarily, you could be in your cooler, older cousin’s kitchen on Thanksgiving, wondering which vinyl to put on that won’t offend your parents. But then you’re served fried cuttlefish over local greens, with a stone fruit salsa and roasted jalapeno crema, and you remember that your older cousin burned Kraft macaroni and wore too much tie-dye. You shed a few tears into your delightful plate because you know nothing in your house will ever taste this good, regardless of the holiday.
It sounds crazy to call a restaurant a “side hustle,” I know, but they’re Goldilocks, and they’ve found a bed that’s just right. In a small, yet comfortable, space and with a staff of good friends and bandmates, Preserve has done just that- preserved the life they love and all that was previously growing green while tending to some newer seedlings. Music was never meant to take the back burner after opening. “While we were doing the band, we were in the midst of sorting out all the restaurant side of things- the LLC’s and insurance, etc,” but that hardly slowed them down.
In fact, they’ve continued to work on new projects and squeeze in a good bit of home recording for their latest record, which is currently being released in Japan. They have shifted their touring mentality since opening, though, opting to “spend a bit more on PR rather than the money we’d burn on tour, anyway,” says Miller. Framed album art of past bands sits nestled between vintage coffee carafes and glass milk jars behind the bar, and you get the feeling that it is possible to have just as much heart in two places at once.
The age of not having enough time is over – hobbies have turned to well respected hustles, and equal dedication given to whichever corner of life you love garners a tip of the hat from this community. It’s a multi-faceted approach to living and a strong arm against an economic downturn. Friends are encouraged to bring their ideas into color, and someone’s sister’s roommate will make your website for free, because we’re just as curious as you are inspired and underpaid. We run restaurants while writing lyrics in the kitchen, we aren’t afraid to seek out mentors, and we are confident in our own hands, beloved callouses and all. It’s a golden age of familiarity in consumption, a harder hustle, and a love for all those mismatched, yet synchronous, arms and legs that hustle with you.
