Wow. Wowie wow wow. I have no other words for yesterday. It was a strange, interesting, and back-breaking day. No, seriously, I need a super deep tissue massage.
My school, being the charitable establishment that it is, worked concessions at the lovely Busch Stadium for fundraising. Having always wanted to do this, I jumped right on board when my lovely learning leader-a.k.a teacher for you non-Paul Mitchell people-decided that we could raise some heavy cash for this. Little did I know what I was getting into.
First of all, I want to give a nice little shout out to all of you in the food service industry. None of you get the recognition you deserve. Thank you, a million times, thank you, especially those of you who do it with a smile. That takes a special kind of person. How you don't haul off and punch some of these jerks in the face is a mystery to me. I will be tipping for everything from now on.
A few weeks ago, we went to Cardinal concession training. They took us in this underground lair room under the stadium where they taught us...basically nothing helpful. Mostly how to push buttons on the register (which was totally self explanatory-push the hot dog button twice for 2 hot dogs ect.) and how important it was to card people under 30. Now, this was nothing close to real world situations. They didn't tell us how to prepare the food, what we would actually be doing, where anything was, how to freaking pour a beer (hardest thing I've ever had to do), and what to do when you are out of cheese, and people are yelling at you because you should have some cheese!! And we had no chicken tenders, no cannelloni basket, (whatever that was), no lemonade,and no Coke Zero.....WHERE ARE ALL THE PRETZELS?!
Chaos. Utter chaos.
Plus the lines were 700 miles long. Every person in that stadium gravitated to our stand, which was great for fundraising, but terrible for us. Chickens with heads cut off about describes this scenario. Eric kept going on about how they "didn't prepare us," and "aren't they just setting us up for success" (sarcastically of course).
Barbara. Dear Barbara needs a paragraph dedicated just to her. She was the stand manager provided to us by the stadium. This woman was bipolar to say the least. At one point she would call me baby, and then give me this look that basically called me the biggest idiot known to man. We were all afraid of her, and would do everything in our power to stay away from her. But I love her. The stand was still standing *chuckle* and there were no casualties. I believe she saved our butts, and did it all without tearing her hair out. That takes a pretty strong lady, so Miss Barb, I owe you my gratitude.
You may be thinking, "Shea, it was only concessions, aren't you being a little over dramatic?" No. In fact, I'm watering this down a little so you won't openly weep for me. I don't want that. I want you to come back for more posts after this, not break you down into a puddle of tears. I'm already trying to erase that memory from my brain. Although, I have to do this 2 more times. I don't know if I will survive. Pray for me.
But of course, we all took it like champs. The owners of our school, Eric and Michelle, are saints. Or they should be. Did I miss that election? The voting of the saints? Anyway, they were simply amazing, and I have a new found respect for them.
The friends that were there with me, enduring the torture of those awful bowling shirt uniforms, and pretty much just surviving the night, I just love you guys. Aaron, Miranda, Chelsea, Ashley, Brittni, Angela, Lindsay, Chris, Eric, and Michelle. Bless you all. May the odds be ever in your favor. Now would one of you, please, please, get me some cheese!!
Adios, amigos.
-Blank You Very Much
Cheesy wiz!
ReplyDelete