Ice, Ice, Baby

[thedrunkenmonkey]

I've been thinking I'd like to go sometime, I know several people who go every year, but then I remember that my heritage is entirely northern European, and I burst into flames in strong sunlight.

*sigh*

Heh. I'm Irish, Native American, and Germanic in heritage, and I get double-freckles all over my body when I go. It's called SPF 75, and you can get it in a gallon bucket.

Really.

[thedrunkenmonkey]

I thought (and GIS seems to confirm, unless my Google-fu is off today) that a PA was a ring through the head, the other description I've found under bisection. (For the LOVE OF ALL WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO YOURSELF????!!!!).

Prince Alberts began with...well, Prince Albert, who got it done as a fashion accessory. Since men's pants were extremely tight, he had his tailor place a hook on the inside of his pants, and he would clip the hook to the ring so he would "stay in place", as it were.

[thedrunkenmonkey]

I've been wanting to hit up that shindig for years.

Alas, finances and a complete lack of preparedness for even a weekend of semi-roughing it in the desert continue to prevent me from even considering attending.

But I love your stories about it.

What's it take to get in on the ice-master volunteer work, anyway?

^-.-^

For the most part, showing up.

Every time someone asks me, "OMG, how do I volunteer?" I usually say, "Hop behind the counter and stay here for three or four hours doing stuff." We have signup sheets, but for the most part those of us running the thing have collateral experience with running crews on other stuff and other events, and we're more or less proven entities in one way or another. If you rockstar it for us, you get noticed, and then if slots in the management team open up, you get promoted.

But the first step is to show up and bust ass.

[thedrunkenmonkey]

I have always wanted to go...never had the opportunity ... now I am just old ...wouldn't be nearly as much fun.

Nice to be you.

Did you not read the part about the two sixty-somethings dancing on the counter for me?

My best volunteer was a 90-year old woman. Age is irrelevant.

[Seshat]

How in the world did I manage to get that and forget oh, the stuff like you mentioned? This is why I wouldn't survive past day one. I'd spin myself into the ground!

Nah, you'd go to the website and get the list of needs. And from the website, it looks like if you showed up without the necessary gear, they'd turn you away and tell you what you need to get.

So show up with an empty credit card, prepared to do some shopping.

Heh. I'm Irish, Native American, and Germanic in heritage, and I get double-freckles all over my body when I go. It's called SPF 75, and you can get it in a gallon bucket.

Australian Cancer Council's page of sun protection stuff

Another random company

Google "UV protective clothing", and select ones that are moisture-wicking as well as sunproof. The moisture-wicking ones draw sweat away from the areas where it collects, and to areas that are dryer - so the sweat doesn't stay in one place and give you a rash, and as a bonus, it evaporates faster making you cooler.

[ArcticChicken]

It's called SPF 75, and you can get it in a gallon bucket.

Really.

I prefer to use 90, at least on my face.


....literally a gallon bucket? 'Cause if it's literally a gallon bucket, this thing suddenly sounds feasible.

[LadyMage]

I have only two words to the OP for the SC-smackdowns:

MY HERO.

Can I volunteer next year? I will break out the Patented Noo Yawker Sarcasm Kit.

[thedrunkenmonkey]

I have only two words to the OP for the SC-smackdowns:

MY HERO.

Can I volunteer next year? I will break out the Patented Noo Yawker Sarcasm Kit.

The answer is YES! Absolutely! But with an addendum:

These are by far and away the MINORITY of people we deal with on a weekly basis. A lot of the people who come through the line indeed are hot, dirty, dusty, and cranky, but by and large they're really, REALLY happy we're there, and they're able to get what they need from us. Some of the people I've heckled into nigh-oblivion realize that we're as cracked-out, hungover, happy and exhausted as they are, and they are hugely appreciative of us and the people that work there. You work with us, you are gonna get some serious love, and the asshats are my domain to fuck with once they enter the station. I tell my people every morning: if someone gives you serious grief, you don't have to do a damn thing for them. You don't have to be nice. You don't have to be pleasant. You don't even have to acknowledge their existence. I'm there to run interference and keep them off your neck so you can do a damn fine job. And I'll give you shots of whiskey to help your "nerves" afterwards.

I've had to let people know we need to dial down the surly a bit - getting the balance right is more important than anything else, because for the most part, we're laughing our heads off 99% of the time.

What we do is both service and performance art, and I'd be willing to say 99% of the people who come through the line who are bitchy aren't expecting much more than the default world, where people who are in customer service positions kowtow and say, "Yessir, right away sir, yap yap yap" like most corporations require you to do to attract a repeat customer.

We, on the other hand, are more or less the only game in town, and while my station is one of three outposts, we're also FULLY aware that if someone really goes across the line that the other stations are willing to back it up.

We know that people who come back through the line are going to show up two or three times during the event; sometimes far more. We've got a good system in place to keep people who are standing in a LOOOOONG line entertained, and it involves active participation.

The majority of people who are the people who complain simply have either had a bad day, or they're doing something they know they shouldn't, or they're trying to edge around the rules to get someone to color outside the lines.

The Way Things Work is sometimes hard to grasp, but we try to make it blindingly easy for people to understand what we're about - we get up, we show up, we work our asses off and we have a lot of fun doing it. If someone decides that that's not how they want to play, even in services, or they tell one of my people to hurry up, I tend to park my 6'5", 300lb ass in front of them and tell them I'm not selling them a damn thing until they give the polar bear a lap dance.

Most of all, all of these people have a common element - they feel entitled to special treatment for one reason or another, or have decided that they want to use some kind of leverage in order to obtain that special treatment. The reality is, we only give special treatment to people who truly DESERVE the special treatment. (And that definition is fluid - schwag is a good way to earn it, entertaining us by dancing is another, as is blatant bribery via boozahols.)

The thing is, even with that kind of "WHO WANTS A SHOT?" mentality in the line you will always, ALWAYS still run into someone who is the example of what you should not do - and most of the time those examples suddenly realize they're not going to win their special snowflake award, and either play the game by the rules the rest of us are, or they go home.

So yeah, actually, I'd say a good 1 out of 400 people are the ultimate SCs out there - the rest are simply stumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time and get used as props in a performance art piece called "Assholes With Megaphones, Radios, and the ability to make you dance like a little monkey for what you want." For the most part people are smiling and laughing and happy - they may not be really happy in the hot sun, but we try to make it possible for them to grin a little bit and do something out of the ordinary to make other people in line laugh while they're waiting.

We are, in essence, enablers with the backup to call someone's bluff if they're really being a dick.

Out of the entire week I think those, out of the 7,000+ people who came to my station on shift, were the only ones I ever had to deal with.

Outside of the guy who I had to notify that he wasn't welcome after shoving my greeter, and that he should probably leave before I unleashed my angelic-looking shift manager on him.

"What's he gonna do, huh?"
"Well, for starters, he trains cage fighters, so he'll probably tie your limbs in a pretzel until the <Official Mediation Team> gets here to figure out if you're going to be arrested for assault. And not using any binding agents."

[ta2ooed1]

I just want to say:

Me: "No no, fuck on. Fuck on, my idiotic moochable drainbow hippie asshat, fuck on."

Shine on you crazy diamond!


Sounds like a helluva experince that I hope to have the resources/courage to do someday!

[RecoveringKinkoid]

I thought (and GIS seems to confirm, unless my Google-fu is off today) that a PA was a ring through the head, the other description I've found under bisection. (For the LOVE OF ALL WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO YOURSELF????!!!!).

I'm right there with you on that. I mean, that makes ME cringe and cross my legs, and I don't even have the right equipment to even BE sympathetic.

I don't mean the PA, that's pretty self explanatory, but how much of everything do you have to smoke or shoot or snort to think that slicing your wang in half might be a fun idea? Don't most normal guys run screaming into the night at the very thought of such a thing????

Seriously. How can you...you know...USE the thing afterwards?

[AccountingDrone]

really? a guy with two wangs? it's not a metaphor, right?

Ah, whisky at the job. and women in just fishnet stockings. And guys doing pole dances. That sounds like Nirvanah.

unfortunately *no*

body mods and people who are addicted to them can be freaking scary ...

[Bookkeeper]

Oh man! I went this year, and you guys are awesome! A ton of love for doing what you guys do

[42_42_42]

I'm right there with you on that. I mean, that makes ME cringe and cross my legs, and I don't even have the right equipment to even BE sympathetic.

My reaction exactly.

I don't mean the PA, that's pretty self explanatory, but how much of everything do you have to smoke or shoot or snort to think that slicing your wang in half might be a fun idea? Don't most normal guys run screaming into the night at the very thought of such a thing????

Seriously. How can you...you know...USE the thing afterwards?

I mentioned this to my DH yesterday, with the warning NOT to go GIS it. He forbade me ever to mention that such a thing exists ever again.

According to the BMEzine, it still functions afterwards, but I really don't see how, nor do I want to see any demonstrations.

[thedrunkenmonkey]

My reaction exactly.



I mentioned this to my DH yesterday, with the warning NOT to go GIS it. He forbade me ever to mention that such a thing exists ever again.

According to the BMEzine, it still functions afterwards, but I really don't see how, nor do I want to see any demonstrations.

Not to thread necromance, but the wang in question was not -cut- in twain.

It was two, separate entities of normal size (and apparently function).

[Saydrah]

I've just logged back in for the first time in about six months solely to comment the following:

What. The. Flying. Fuck. I want pictures of this damnit.