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.
Not.Tetched.At.All.
Hope you can say the same.
Tiff out.
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