‘There doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel’

Heather Svelan was 33 when she landed her dream job six years ago, working behind the scenes at rock concerts. Now, with her work at a standstill because of the coronavirus pandemic, that dream has been indefinitely deferred.

“I finally found something I love to do,” said Svelan, who has been unemployed since the live-music industry shut down in mid-march. As a production assistant at Observatory North Park and — since 2019 — the Magnolia Performing Arts Center in El Cajon, she prepared and maintained backstage dressing rooms for performers, transported them to and from their hotels, helped with their shopping and did advance work with their managers prior to each concert.

A San Diego native, Svelan lives in Golden Hill with her boyfriend, Dayne. His work as a traveling production crew member for touring bands also came to a sudden halt in March. With concerts and festivals not expected to resume until sometime next year at the earliest, Svelan is dismayed about the prospects for her industry.

“There doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel,” she lamented. “It’s unknown when, or if, anything will change or improve. I know people are trying to do drive-in shows and livestreamed concerts, which is great. But in my line of work, we’re still screwed out of our jobs because we don’t have any role with those kind of events.

“I’m not happy. I’m not happy about any of this. You almost get delirious.”

Svelan had previously spent 10 years in the corporate world, working in purchasing and logistics. After becoming a production assistant at the Live Nationowned Observatory North Park, where she was a seasonal employee, she landed regular freelance gigs at other venues booked or operated by Live Nation, including Viejas Arena at San Diego State University and Pechanga Arena San Diego.

“We worked all over the place, and we had to do that. Since there was not a show every day at the same venue, we had to bounce around,” Svelan said.

“It just sucks now because we can’t bounce around anymore . ... We’re seasonal employees, so we work for Live Nation, but we don’t reap the benefits of full-time employees, and they don’t have to give us health insurance.”

Health coverage is a bigger concern than ever for Svelan, who turned 40 on Aug. 26.

In the last week of August, her son, Kane, a 21year-old student at Cal State San Marcos, was tested for COVID-19 after showing symptoms. He was subsequently diagnosed with strep throat.

“Because he’s at my house, and I’m at my boyfriend’s house, I’m now quarantined from my son,” Svelan said in late August. “Until we hear the results of the test, he has to quarantine. It’s scary.”

Happily, by Sept. 1, the scare had passed. “Luckily, the results were negative, and the strep is slowly going away,” Svelan said. “Thank God for Medi-cal! They covered the visit, steroid shot and antibiotics.”

Svelan’s son is living in the Mira Mesa home owned by her mother. Svelan, who lived with her son there until last year, is covering the $1,500 monthly mortgage payments, at least for now.

“My mom is the landlord,” she said. “And she has told me, multiple times, that if I need to skip (paying) a month now and then, it’s OK, because the house she and her husband live in is paid off. My son also gets help from his dad.”

Mindful of expenses, Svelan has reduced her budget as much as possible. Since she and her son have little need to drive anywhere, she reduced their monthly joint car insurance payments from $213 to $102.

Not all spending reductions have been voluntary.

After work ended in

March, Svelan qualified for the $600 weekly unemployment benefit. In August, that was reduced to $350 per week. And $236 worth of monthly food stamps got slashed to $6.

“I talked to two friends and their food stamp amounts have gone down to $17 and $12, respectively,” Svelan said. “It’s going to be tough. I saved as much as I could from the $600 payments. I don’t know what we’ll do when what I saved runs out.”

Svelan is grateful for the extra time with her son, until his recent quarantine. And she values having more time with her boyfriend, who was sometimes away on concert tours for weeks, or even months, at a time.

But not working has been soul-sapping for Svelan, who loves music and thrived on her 10- to 15-hour workdays. And while she enthusiastically took up making crossstitch family and pet portraits earlier this summer to earn some money, by late August enthusiasm waned.

“I feel like my spirit is dying, so I’m not into it,” she said. “I want my real job. I love my real job. We’ve got to do something, but crossstitching is not going to pay my bills.”

“I’m not happy. I’m not happy about any of this.”