So show one of the annual recital commenced tonight, and the following things occurred in no particular order:
A. I remembered why I should never work retail, because customer service is NOT my strong suit. Witness when the woman came in a half an hour late and got in my face because I was busy with someone else and didn’t offer a program. “We’re you late?” I snapped, and she looked at me, as though surprised.
Yeah. Don’t piss off a volunteer.
And what I almost said to the asshole who–after watching me pick up trash for half an hour, cheerfully and willingly, in what was mostly just a bid to get us all the hell out of there as soon as possible– snarled, “You are DRIPPING all over the FLOOR!”
It almost slipped out. I was JUST right there about to say, “Hey, asshole, maybe YOU should volunteer for trash duty!” when I realized that the public might not be served by this display of temper, and I turned around to go dump my trash bag. Mate saw me marching down the aisle and said, “Is there a body?”
No. But because I didn’t glare at him to kill.
B. I also proved that I can fuck up the mostly harmless duty. So there I was, punching holes in tickets, when suddenly the hole punch jumped and BIT me. It drew blood. I had to ask one of the busiest dancers in the show to go back and get a bandaid from the first aid lady.
Seriously. Brought down by a tragic ushing accident– don’t let it happen to you!
C. Don’t pull petty tyrant crap on me either. When an older woman asks for a bottle of water so she can down a painkiller for her back, don’t give her shit about “These many hundreds of bottles of water are here for intermission ONLY!”
Especially if she’s your mom.
And don’t look at me dirty if I open a sacred bottle of water for your own mother because she’s not feeling well and is really frickin’ pale. I appreciate that you take snack bar seriously, but… you know. THE WATER IS DONATED. In fact, EVERYTHING on the table is donated. Which means that elderly women who need to wash down a Tylenol can pretty much “steal” a donated water.
And yes. I did donate four boxes of Oreos and two boxes of shortbread and an ice chest full of ice, and I AM going to donate the same tomorrow. So yeah. I’m taking a cookie for me and a cupcake for my daughter, who sat in the audience for most of the show because she only performed one bonus number (the father daughter dance) and her actual class performances are tomorrow. She’s been an awesome kid, I just spent half an hour filling ice chests when I didn’t have to, and she’s getting a cupcake. Your glare means nothing to me. Sayin’.
D. Chicken once again walked into a backstage situation and did her best. Zoomboy proved he is all hambone and was adorable during the boy’s dance and the Wizard of Oz dance, wherein he buffed the Tin Man in rhythm. (That sounds… just wrong, but it was what he DID.) Squish sat politely in a seat next to a complete stranger and watched the show until her time to go.
Mate did EVERYTHING including Security Dad, including help with the backdrop, including the father/daughter dance. Yes. Watching him and Squish dancing together makes me tear up every time.
Well done, family.
We’re back tomorrow–I shall do my level best not to get fired from volunteer work.