Would You Like Some Cheese with that Whine?
On Wednesday I have to work concessions at Safeco Field.
"What?" you ask.
Historically, the school's Parent Association has earned the lion's share of their $10,000 annual budget commitment by staffing a concession booth during Mariner games.
I'm a carnival/dinner/karaoke/dance kind of fundraiser. Something fun, something for the whole family. I'm all about these sorts of events because I like planning parties.
I don't like selling magazines, candy, raffle tickets or gift wrap. In fact, I won't. The Child, who was born for sales, gets bent when I don't sign up for 200 boxes of chocolate bars. It is her dream to sit outside a grocery store hawking wares. I, preferring the searing but short pain of a hot needle to the eye, have a hard time supporting this dream of hers and it's just going to have to be one of the things on her list entitled "Stuff to Talk to My Therapist About".
Even more distasteful than selling things no one needs is the idea of schlepping hot dogs for Joe Q. Publique. If I'm going to be at Safeco, I want to be watching the game. But for a variety of very good reasons, I have committed to working this one time.
It's going to completely bollocks my Wednesday afternoon and evening. All sorts of scheduling/juggling stuff that I never have to do has to be done and I am already not looking forward to it.
"It's so much fun," people keep saying. I'll just bet. Look, even if it ends up being the most outrageously great time I've had in decades, I still am not looking forward to it. Really not. But I'm not going to let it ruin my whole week. I just wanted to complain and now I'm over it.
Do you want fries with that?
Labels: cheese
cobbled together by Moi at 8:33 AM
4 Comments:
Sat in a 5 x 8 shack selling brats outside the grocery store in a town of 1000 for a soccer state tournament fundraiser...with a lovely parent, who brought their child with the 103 temperature. True, she had no idea of the degree at that time. Your setting has some sort of glamour. I wonder, though, if a gentleman tourist will come up, say he doesn't care for a brat, but put a $20 bill in the jar for "the team"?
You may run across magic. Or a madman. Or a pervert.
With regard to Edy's comment and considering the arena, I'm going with 'pervert' and/or crazy person. God I miss Seattle.
You might fare well with the SNL standby of, "Coffee? Tea? Me?". Just a thought.
With my luck I'll get a perverted madman with a fever. Oh, wait. Charlie is in Glasgow.
Just had to track down family to sponsor DramaQueen in Boosterthon Run. Since at some point I had opened my mouth and said something about how great a walk-a-thon would be because all the proceeds would go to the school, I felt obliged to guilt everyone into donating. At least no one gets landed with a magazine subscription/gallon of cookie dough/set of greeting cards they don't want.
She was all gung ho to win a CD player, which requires that you get donations from your entire city (or so it seemed). She got a frisbee, a rubber bracelet, a nerf ball and a bag of candy, which is more than I expected. Dear Husband stepped on the frisbee and cracked it. I'm waiting or the cats to discover the delights of sinking their claws into Nerf foam.
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