Marco Polo

I've been getting lots of free polo shirts lately. Saturday, I helped out with running a NAMI fair, which was basically to educate people in the community about mental illness and recruit volunteers for our studies. My title was "Runner". My job? To carry all the heavy stuff from the kitchen into the main room. Big bins of soda and large trays of sandwiches were my lot. This is what two years in grad school has gotten me. But listening to the speakers was interesting, and I enjoyed talking to people who came to our information table, which I also sat at for a while. In the middle, I had to leave to play in my flag football game, with my team "Chan's Olives". It's named after a grad student in our department and I think "olive" is what you get if you translate football into Chinese and then back again. Seriously, I'm pretty sure that's where it came from. Anyway, we won 20-7. I caught a pass. Yeah, I'm as surprised as anyone about that one. I think I must have frozen for a second when it dropped into my hands, but then I ran like hell. Didn't make it to the end zone, but gained some good yardage. Anyone who has me on their fantasy team, you can celebrate. So right, the polo shirt. I got one for working at the NAMI fair.

The second polo shirt experience of late happened tonight, although I wouldn't really call it a full polo shirt experience. As part of a fund-raising effort for the American Stroke Association, someone I work with organized a group to work at a concession stand at Busch Stadium. I think any profits that they get after costs go to the Stroke Association, so it's a good cause. Anyway, I agreed, and down I went to the stadium around 4 today. I was told to show up at 3 if I could, but not a big deal if I couldn't. I found my way to the vendors entrance, showed ID at the right places, and proceeded down into the basement. Man, I won't try to grope for nice words - it smelled down there. And it was steamy. I'm sure the two things went hand in hand. And tonight was cool, I can't even imagine it during one of the unbearable nights in July or August. Anyway, I went to a window where I surrendered my shirt for a red, well-used short sleeve polo with the "Sport Service" logo on it. If you've ever gotten food or drink at a sporting event, you've probably been served by someone wearing this logo. So part of me felt like I was taking part in a piece of sports tradition. Part of me was also trying not to think of how many people before me had worn this very shirt.

So there's that. I'm there. I'm wearing the shirt. I find my group. I get a hat. Everything's great. So I just need to be trained, which I was sure couldn't take too long. I mean, how much time does it take to learn to use the hot dog machine or how to check someone's ID? While I wait, I survey the place. There's a snack bar for workers when they take breaks. I look at the prices. They're selling hot dogs and pretzels and sodas at vastly cheaper prices than just upstairs in the stadium. MAN. Good for the workers, but what a rip for the fans. I then found the wall accessory with revolving numbers (sponsored by Busch) that reminds vendors what the minimum drinking age is. On this day, the thing said "If you were born before 9/27/1984, head for the mountains." I found this funny, because it could be taken more than one way. Of course they mean it as a welcoming message to drink their beer if you are of age. But it could also be a way to tell someone to get lost if they're trying to drink beer illegally. "Hey, your ID is fake. You're not 21! Head for the mountains, buddy!"

Finally, after all this waiting around, I finally inquire as to when I can get trained and go upstairs and start working. Turns out that I talked to wrong person before. There's no more training. If I missed the one earlier, that was it. I was out of luck. Is there anything I can do at this point, I asked. Nope. Sorry. I returned my polo shirt, walked back to my car, and went home.

Leavy is in town tonight, so in a way it's good that I didn't have to work all night and get disgusting and have to fight traffic to get out of there on time.