Monday, August 13, 2012

That's a lovely cliff to fall off of

You, gentle reader(s), are asked to do one thing, and one thing only, as a result of being here right now.  This one is is as follows: leave me a comment saying thank you that I didn't post what I just spent 30 minutes whining writing about.

Wholey cats what a self-absorbed nitwit I am!

Suffice it to say that once I'd written out this craptastic load of whinge and then re-read it, I wanted to slap myself.  Good God, what a load of garbage.

So, yeah, while people are suffering and struggling and sickening in this world, I ALMOST chose to moan about how lethargic I've felt lately and how 'blah' everything seems.

Because, you know, I can pay the bills and go on vacation and afford to buy decent food and drink.

Right.  That's a world of hurt, ain't it?


Now that you're not reading about THAT (remember, thank you!), you can read about this - - 

We were in the red circle last Friday night
Rascal Flatts sounds better when you're the one behind the beer cart handing out the cold ones instead of paying 13 clams apiece for a 24-ouncer.

You might be curious as to how I know this.

First-hand knowledge, I say, after having spent Friday night dressed in a 'venue appropriate' logo shirt and regulation black trousers grabbing beers and twisted teas and the occasional (at least to start) bottle of water out of a giant vat of ice water for the thirsty, THIRSTY crowds at the Walnut Creek Amphitheater.  Yep – for the evening I was masquerading as a concessions lady, basking in the adulation of all those jealous folks who handed over good money just to get at what I got.  Mmmhmm!  While the country music blared, the thirsty came, dollars (or plastic, it's all good) clutched in sweaty hands, eyes glazed over with desire for the goods.  When I put that chilled tallboy in that sweaty palm (after ensuring that all IDs were checked and cracking open the pull tab [all cans MUST be opened before the customer leaves the table!]) you could see that the future looked bright to them.

Why, some folks were so overcome with this transformative moment that they came back time after time!  Some folks had become SO VERY transformed that they were at the peak of their Nirvana (or 'the peak of their Rascal Flatts'?) and we had to refuse them access to any more 'transformation' so they could avoid the possibility of releasing the transforming liquid back into the wild, as it were, or getting themselves transformed into a pile of goo on the side of the road, post-concert. One must be careful with the gift, I think we can all agree.

It was a gratifying evening, taking part in all that transformation.  It was also a hot hot hot night, a long-ass shift to stand on a concrete slab (6+ hours!), and seemingly fruitless for us as we didn't get a dime for our service. 

Not that being a concessions lady/transformer of souls isn't pay enough, because it totally would be if I was already stinking rich, but the plus side of all this is that the marching band gets some moolah out of our 'time spent,' and whenever we can make money for the band we're all over it.  OK, so what that this was my first time doing this, and my kids aren't even IN the marching band?  It proves that I have a stupendous generous spirit (and Biff does too, because he went right along and served too!), not that I might be a wee bit tetched in the head for volunteering to do such a thing.


Hope you can say the same.  Tiff out.

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