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ESCAPING COLLEGE POVERTY | PAGE 1, 2
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When the massage frenzy died down, I launched into my second enterprise: silk-screening T-shirts. Once again, I commenced with a flyer -- I sketched a samurai warrior waving a squeegee instead of a sword, with the words, "The Silkscreen Empire will print T-Shirts for your team or club" emblazoned beside him. I plastered this notice in a wide circle surrounding the women's gymnasium: I wanted a jockette clientele.

Women's rowing called first, followed by women's field hockey and women's rugby. I nodded confidently when they described what they needed. Cheerfully, I accepted their deadlines. Then I requested 50 percent down payment. Securing this, I purchased a hobby kit, so I could learn the craft.

Silk-screening is simple: Push paint through the prepared screen, iron the T-shirt to heat-set the ink, repeat, repeat, repeat. Monotonous, but profitable, if you get the shirts wholesale for $30 a dozen and sell them with the logo added for $7 each. My service was quickly in enormous demand: teams, clubs, sororities, fraternities, department events.

The silk-screening Love Factor was excellent, too. I offered girl jocks 15 percent off if they did the ironing and folding themselves, at my house. "For sure!" they roared. They jogged over all sweaty and scrumptious-looking after a workout; they labored cheerfully into the dark hours, keeping me company, making me laugh.

I ended up dating two volleyball babes: setter Deborah and striker Robyn. Plus I enjoyed a thrilling one-night stand with Kelly, the rugby team captain -- she told me not to blab because she was also president of the lesbian collective.

That's my testimonial to capitalist ingenuity, dear cash-strapped comrades. Now I beg you, take heed of the seven steps to student solvency.

1. Confront the ugly facts.

2. Examine your campus carefully. Deduce what your body and student bodies desire.

3. Brainstorm entrepreneurial efforts that combine your many needs into one job.

4. Then offer it at a reasonable price!

5. Begin without knowing what you're doing and without going into debt.

6. Be charming while you fake it.

7. Move on before you get bored.

I challenge you: End your plight now! Do not, I repeat, DO NOT FEAR SKILLED COMPETITION FROM OUTSIDE THE IVORY TOWER -- you can do the job cheaper, you know how to advertise better (student newspapers, bulletin boards, word of mouth), you've got the contacts and, last but not least, your trump card: Students prefer to hire other students.

Here's Hank Hyena's List of 10 Sure-Fire Collegiate Enterprises:

1. Bike repair: My friend Barry at spoke-infested UC-Davis offers $20 tuneups to derailleured co-eds. Granted, this takes some skills you can't fake, but if you have a mechanical bone in your body, chances are you can help your student population.

2. Haircuts: Cute Cathy at UC-Berkeley trimmed locks for $5 a head, colored 'em for $15. She learned her craft by enacting numerous atrocious hair cuts on her own head and the heads of a few indulgent friends.

3. Dictation: Jessica at Stanford scribbled lecture notes for truant students. She went to any class, any time -- and she enjoyed it! "I learned a lot about everything."

4. Bartending: Drink mixers are tres chic at elegant college parties. Don your dapperest duds, create a snazzy business card, learn cute concoctions with umbrellas and olives and put the word out that you're available for weddings, graduations and other fabulous fetes.

5. Scholarship advice: If you bagged some free dough, everybody wants to know how you did it. Spend a week or two diving into the mind-numbing bureaucratese of information at the financial aid office and the grants section of the library, then charge $15-$25 an hour for researching grants for fellow students.

6. Tutoring: Teach English to international students. I had a charming Nepali customer named Sarasvati when I pursued this line. She cooked a mean green curry.

7. Car repair: Provide on-site visitations to ailing automobiles. You'll be desperately desired, even off-campus, even if your price is high.

8. Computer repair and instruction: According to friends who have mined this vein, never do cute humanities students look so lovingly on geeks as when you have just recovered their hard drive with their thesis intact!

9. Campus calendars: It's shameless, it's cheap and with the help of your local copy store, you can transform a pile of cheesecake shots into cold hard product. Besides, anyone with school spirit or a secret crush has to purchase "Asian Beach Beauties of Santa Monica College" or "Buff Men of Nebraska Football."

10. Matchmaking services: All you need to become a modern-day yenta is a file cabinet full of everybody's photos and identifying information. Collect a small initial fee to be in your files and a more substantial "finder's fee" for every "connection" you make. And don't forget: Put your own photo in there, just in case.

There are (at least) two fund-raising plans that MUST BE AVOIDED!

1. Drug dealing: Profits can be lucrative, but the lifestyle is cheesy and dangerous. My senior-year roommates got robbed at gunpoint; they lost two kilos and almost their lives. Another friend got expelled for concocting mescaline in his chemistry class.

2. Embezzling from your parents: My pal Randy dropped out of college, but he kept cashing tuition checks he received from his folks. His rationale? He claims he was getting a better education not going to class. Mom and Pop didn't agree. When he finally confessed, they exiled him to Fairbanks, Alaska. He's still "straightening out," doing construction work for a polar uncle.

OK, you've got your dreams, I gave you schemes. You got nothing to lose but those holes in your clothes and that ache in your belly. I want to see you tacking up notices tomorrow -- tell us about your latest cottage industry, your recently discovered area of expertise. Remember: There's no sense in being a MENSA member if you got no cents at all.
SALON | Oct 2, 1998

Hank Hyena is a columnist for SF Gate. He lives in San Francisco.