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So after I got home I got, much to my surprise, a few PMs asking me what happened this year in the desert.
I work at one of four concessions at a commerce-free event, with those concessions being ice, coffee, tea, electrolytes, etc. You can buy these things at this event, but those are the ONLY things you can purchase. And mostly it's because trucking that much ice into the event is a royal pain for a distribution system that requires a dedicated sales team. Believe it or not, for certain things, capitalism really is the solution.
So I run one of the stations selling ice. The prices are REALLY simple. $3 per bag of ice, OR you can get a six-pack of crushed (cube) ice for $15 (6 for the price of 5). This is truly a reasonable deal given that the alternative is a five-hour drive out to civilization, which is usually out of ice itself and must buy ice from us.
And you would think this is a fairly basic environment, but it is unique in two ways:
1. I don't give a flying fuck about what the customer wants. Neither does my crew. We're volunteers and we do our thing with massive margaritas in hand. (We have power. We have tequila and mixer. We have ice in 110 degree heat. You think we're NOT going to work three sheets to the wind?)
2. The customer's dysfunctional attitudes are there for us to make fun of. "I worked in retail and therefore I know..." applies fuckall to what we do. We are trained monkeys with alcohol in hand who punch one of three buttons, make change, and make sure your ice (AKA, FOOD) is not going to hit the ground.
3. My boss is a kickass woman with a bullshit tolerance in the negative digits. We have radios and can contact any number of people ranging from event supervisors to our co-workers at other stations to the federal law enforcement officers who I still hang out with when I'm off-duty, and who actually, yes, do have drug-sniffing dogs and M-16s.
That said, here's my favorite SCs from the week.
1. Pink corset girl. I am finishing up my bachelor party (and for those of you who don't know, I am marrying the beautiful lurker of CSuck! by the name of Kukla, which means that by "finishing" I mean "polishing off my second bottle of MacClellan 18 while a stunningly hot drag queen and her straight girlfriend give me a lapdance) a grand total of three hours before I open. I have sung megaphone karaoke and so my voice, never terribly loud in the first place, is shot to hell. I have to move the line, which always stretches for hundreds of feet and remind people not to bring in my bike.
Enter Pink Corset Girl. I am whispering into the megaphone to explain my situation while Pink Corset Girl storms up to me and says, "You shouldn't use a megaphone at people. It's not within the principles of The Event In The Desert. It's So Not Event In the Deserter. You should be ashamed of yourself for using that."
My response is to hold up my finger and thumb and ask, gently, through the megaphone. "Do you know what this is?"
"No. What is it, the tiniest violin?"
*hoarse whisper* "No. It's something I'll tell you about in a minute, but consider this. Your experience at this event is not my experience at this event. Since I have been doing this particular job for five years and I have had a megaphone each year, I must ask whether you, Miss "I Bought My Slutty Costume At Frederick's of Hollywood And Hoped Nobody Would Notice" realized that other people are not, in fact you, and are not, in fact, people who give a shit if they have a raging hangover and must communicate with the line."
"You're just an arrogant jerk, Monkey."
"*hoarse whisper* Yes, that I am. And now I'm ready to tell you what this is."
At this point my second-in-command walks over and puts HIS megaphone (a 50w beast that can be heard a mile away) in front of my mouth. Two of the people who are Situation Mitigation from the local outpost and my friend the EMS emergency nurse (all of whom look official) are watching.
"Are you ready?" I look over at the line, all of whom are watching intently this argument go on.
Pink Corset: "Sure, what the hell is it?"
Me, through double-megaphones pointed right at her, with the last of my ravaged voice: "IT'S 10,000 TONS OF COMPRESSED I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. BACK OF THE LINE, YOU ENTITLED SANCTIMONIOUS BITCH!"
She looks stunned. I then say, "Have a lovely event. Peace love and please stop being a dipshit!" and turn to the line (some of whom have started to clap), and say, "Thank you everyone, we'll be here from 9AM to 6PM every day. Try the veal!" and go back inside.
I found out later she tried to get me in trouble, and at one point my second just said, "Well, guess you get to buy your ice in civilization!" At that point she yapped a bit more, but her boyfriend/SO/whatever nudged her and said something along the lines of "SHUT UP you idiot, they'll make us go out each day. It's five hours and money to leave and re-enter!"
My next SC was the Man of Entitled Ascension.
MESC: Hey. The ice only cost $2 last year.
Me: Yep, that is true. It was. It's $3 this year. There's that whole oil thing.
MESC: You capitalist pig. You should be giving it away.
Me: You entitled asshound. You should be nailing yourself to two strips of wood and setting yourself on fire.
MESC: What?
Me: Well, obviously you think it's okay for YOU to tell me how to do things and expect me to do it for you for your personal convienience and/or personal belief system. So why is it not okay for me to do the same thing to you?
MESC: That's totally not the same thing and you know it!
Me: Hey, guess what?
MESC: What?
Me: You get to be at the back of the line now! See ya!
MESC: But it's way the hell back there!
Me: You know, nowhere in the Constitution of the United States, or in the stated principles of this event does it say buying ice is your right.
MESC: Oh yeah?
Me: Yep. It's a priviledge. And you either wait in the back of the line like a good little capitalist or you get it in Civilization.
MESC: Fuck you.
Me: YAY!
MESC: You're ruining The Event In the Desert for me!
Me: YES! (And I mark off a tick on my arm).
MESC: What the hell's that?
Me: Oh, the number of soft-sappyass fuckheads who I ruin The Event In the Desert for. Mostly I just keep it for sentimental reasons. Then they get run over by an art car because they're fucking morons.
MESC: Take it off.
Me: Go set yourself on fire, fuck a llama on the counter and bring me a three-nippled woman, then we'll talk.
MESC: You can't tell me...
Me: (standing up and waving the megaphone) Remember, argue not with a man wielding a megaphone. For one, he's louder than you, and two, he can hit you in the head with it until you either shut the fuck up or go away.
MESC: You asshole! (storm storm storm storm)
Me: Next!
Next Customer: You were a little hard on him.
Me: Yeah, but otherwise he'll never learn that not everyone buys into his utter bullshit.
Last, but not least, the girl who thought she paid.
SC: I paid a hundred dollars for ice through my camp.
Me: Right. Then you should probably go back to your camp and get it from them.
SC: But they said they had an account with you guys.
Me: They lied. We have no accounts. That's a royal pain in the ass. I've been drinking Crown Royal all morning on ice, you think I'm going to remember who came in and did what? I had over a thousand people ask me questions today. What am I, the peoplekeeper?
SC: I'm a professional....
Me: (cutting her off) I'm a professional writer who does this as a volunteer gig and can't be fucked to deal with the needs of an individual who clearly needs to work this out with her camp lead. I cannot help you. Nor can anyone else, because clearly if I don't know what the hell is going on, then none of my volunteers do either. You have a choice. Pay for your ice or go back to your camp and work it out with them.
SC: Well, give me some ice and I'll go sort it out.
Me: No.
SC: What do you mean no?
Me: No. It's the universal word of denial for ridiculous, sanctimonious, idiotic proposals. It's what Napoleon should have used when someone said, "Let's invade Russia." It's what you should have said when someone said, "Give us $100 and we'll get all your ice for you." I am telling you that you can either buy ice or you can go back to your camp, and if you don't make your decision in the next ten seconds, you can also get kicked out of line for hindering the progress of the two hundred people behind you in line.
SC: But I...
Me: Talk to your camp. Next.
SC: I'll buy ice, I just need you to hold...
Me: Nope. Go wait in line.
SC: You're a jerk. I can't believe you.
Me: Your lack of planning and good judgement does not constitute my emergency. Better planning next time sweetie!
And those were my only three. Each time I had to deal with them, I got to do Street Theater.
One of my ALMOST SCs said, "I hate people yelling through megaphones at me."
Me: "If you'd moved like I told you four times, you would not have had that experience."
ASC: "Right, but I'm all tired."
Me: "Two hours of sleep and hungover, and you're being a safety hazard. I either yell at you or fume silently in my head."
ASC: I know you need to make an example of me.
Me: Nope. I'd do that to anyone who clearly didn't read the five signs reminding them NOT to do something because of a safety hazard and did it anyway.
ASC: I'm still very angry at you.
Me: You are more than welcome to be angry with me, but do not expect preferential treatment due to your inability to drink heavily and wake up without a headache.
ASC: Huh.
Me: What?
ASC: I'm still mad, but not at you anymore. Thanks.
Me: Sure, no problem. Who are you mad at, now?
ASC: That asshole who gave me absinthe last night.
Me: Oh, yeah, that'll do it.
Those were it. Had a great time, and out of the 5K+ people who came through my dog-and-pony show, that was the grand total of SCs for the week. Surprisingly low, but my stacked sound system behind the bar and ability to play feedback screeches to the crowd may have reduced the number of angry asshat SCs this year.
Stay frosty!
I work at one of four concessions at a commerce-free event, with those concessions being ice, coffee, tea, electrolytes, etc. You can buy these things at this event, but those are the ONLY things you can purchase. And mostly it's because trucking that much ice into the event is a royal pain for a distribution system that requires a dedicated sales team. Believe it or not, for certain things, capitalism really is the solution.
So I run one of the stations selling ice. The prices are REALLY simple. $3 per bag of ice, OR you can get a six-pack of crushed (cube) ice for $15 (6 for the price of 5). This is truly a reasonable deal given that the alternative is a five-hour drive out to civilization, which is usually out of ice itself and must buy ice from us.
And you would think this is a fairly basic environment, but it is unique in two ways:
1. I don't give a flying fuck about what the customer wants. Neither does my crew. We're volunteers and we do our thing with massive margaritas in hand. (We have power. We have tequila and mixer. We have ice in 110 degree heat. You think we're NOT going to work three sheets to the wind?)
2. The customer's dysfunctional attitudes are there for us to make fun of. "I worked in retail and therefore I know..." applies fuckall to what we do. We are trained monkeys with alcohol in hand who punch one of three buttons, make change, and make sure your ice (AKA, FOOD) is not going to hit the ground.
3. My boss is a kickass woman with a bullshit tolerance in the negative digits. We have radios and can contact any number of people ranging from event supervisors to our co-workers at other stations to the federal law enforcement officers who I still hang out with when I'm off-duty, and who actually, yes, do have drug-sniffing dogs and M-16s.
That said, here's my favorite SCs from the week.
1. Pink corset girl. I am finishing up my bachelor party (and for those of you who don't know, I am marrying the beautiful lurker of CSuck! by the name of Kukla, which means that by "finishing" I mean "polishing off my second bottle of MacClellan 18 while a stunningly hot drag queen and her straight girlfriend give me a lapdance) a grand total of three hours before I open. I have sung megaphone karaoke and so my voice, never terribly loud in the first place, is shot to hell. I have to move the line, which always stretches for hundreds of feet and remind people not to bring in my bike.
Enter Pink Corset Girl. I am whispering into the megaphone to explain my situation while Pink Corset Girl storms up to me and says, "You shouldn't use a megaphone at people. It's not within the principles of The Event In The Desert. It's So Not Event In the Deserter. You should be ashamed of yourself for using that."
My response is to hold up my finger and thumb and ask, gently, through the megaphone. "Do you know what this is?"
"No. What is it, the tiniest violin?"
*hoarse whisper* "No. It's something I'll tell you about in a minute, but consider this. Your experience at this event is not my experience at this event. Since I have been doing this particular job for five years and I have had a megaphone each year, I must ask whether you, Miss "I Bought My Slutty Costume At Frederick's of Hollywood And Hoped Nobody Would Notice" realized that other people are not, in fact you, and are not, in fact, people who give a shit if they have a raging hangover and must communicate with the line."
"You're just an arrogant jerk, Monkey."
"*hoarse whisper* Yes, that I am. And now I'm ready to tell you what this is."
At this point my second-in-command walks over and puts HIS megaphone (a 50w beast that can be heard a mile away) in front of my mouth. Two of the people who are Situation Mitigation from the local outpost and my friend the EMS emergency nurse (all of whom look official) are watching.
"Are you ready?" I look over at the line, all of whom are watching intently this argument go on.
Pink Corset: "Sure, what the hell is it?"
Me, through double-megaphones pointed right at her, with the last of my ravaged voice: "IT'S 10,000 TONS OF COMPRESSED I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. BACK OF THE LINE, YOU ENTITLED SANCTIMONIOUS BITCH!"
She looks stunned. I then say, "Have a lovely event. Peace love and please stop being a dipshit!" and turn to the line (some of whom have started to clap), and say, "Thank you everyone, we'll be here from 9AM to 6PM every day. Try the veal!" and go back inside.
I found out later she tried to get me in trouble, and at one point my second just said, "Well, guess you get to buy your ice in civilization!" At that point she yapped a bit more, but her boyfriend/SO/whatever nudged her and said something along the lines of "SHUT UP you idiot, they'll make us go out each day. It's five hours and money to leave and re-enter!"
My next SC was the Man of Entitled Ascension.
MESC: Hey. The ice only cost $2 last year.
Me: Yep, that is true. It was. It's $3 this year. There's that whole oil thing.
MESC: You capitalist pig. You should be giving it away.
Me: You entitled asshound. You should be nailing yourself to two strips of wood and setting yourself on fire.
MESC: What?
Me: Well, obviously you think it's okay for YOU to tell me how to do things and expect me to do it for you for your personal convienience and/or personal belief system. So why is it not okay for me to do the same thing to you?
MESC: That's totally not the same thing and you know it!
Me: Hey, guess what?
MESC: What?
Me: You get to be at the back of the line now! See ya!
MESC: But it's way the hell back there!
Me: You know, nowhere in the Constitution of the United States, or in the stated principles of this event does it say buying ice is your right.
MESC: Oh yeah?
Me: Yep. It's a priviledge. And you either wait in the back of the line like a good little capitalist or you get it in Civilization.
MESC: Fuck you.
Me: YAY!
MESC: You're ruining The Event In the Desert for me!
Me: YES! (And I mark off a tick on my arm).
MESC: What the hell's that?
Me: Oh, the number of soft-sappyass fuckheads who I ruin The Event In the Desert for. Mostly I just keep it for sentimental reasons. Then they get run over by an art car because they're fucking morons.
MESC: Take it off.
Me: Go set yourself on fire, fuck a llama on the counter and bring me a three-nippled woman, then we'll talk.
MESC: You can't tell me...
Me: (standing up and waving the megaphone) Remember, argue not with a man wielding a megaphone. For one, he's louder than you, and two, he can hit you in the head with it until you either shut the fuck up or go away.
MESC: You asshole! (storm storm storm storm)
Me: Next!
Next Customer: You were a little hard on him.
Me: Yeah, but otherwise he'll never learn that not everyone buys into his utter bullshit.
Last, but not least, the girl who thought she paid.
SC: I paid a hundred dollars for ice through my camp.
Me: Right. Then you should probably go back to your camp and get it from them.
SC: But they said they had an account with you guys.
Me: They lied. We have no accounts. That's a royal pain in the ass. I've been drinking Crown Royal all morning on ice, you think I'm going to remember who came in and did what? I had over a thousand people ask me questions today. What am I, the peoplekeeper?
SC: I'm a professional....
Me: (cutting her off) I'm a professional writer who does this as a volunteer gig and can't be fucked to deal with the needs of an individual who clearly needs to work this out with her camp lead. I cannot help you. Nor can anyone else, because clearly if I don't know what the hell is going on, then none of my volunteers do either. You have a choice. Pay for your ice or go back to your camp and work it out with them.
SC: Well, give me some ice and I'll go sort it out.
Me: No.
SC: What do you mean no?
Me: No. It's the universal word of denial for ridiculous, sanctimonious, idiotic proposals. It's what Napoleon should have used when someone said, "Let's invade Russia." It's what you should have said when someone said, "Give us $100 and we'll get all your ice for you." I am telling you that you can either buy ice or you can go back to your camp, and if you don't make your decision in the next ten seconds, you can also get kicked out of line for hindering the progress of the two hundred people behind you in line.
SC: But I...
Me: Talk to your camp. Next.
SC: I'll buy ice, I just need you to hold...
Me: Nope. Go wait in line.
SC: You're a jerk. I can't believe you.
Me: Your lack of planning and good judgement does not constitute my emergency. Better planning next time sweetie!
And those were my only three. Each time I had to deal with them, I got to do Street Theater.
One of my ALMOST SCs said, "I hate people yelling through megaphones at me."
Me: "If you'd moved like I told you four times, you would not have had that experience."
ASC: "Right, but I'm all tired."
Me: "Two hours of sleep and hungover, and you're being a safety hazard. I either yell at you or fume silently in my head."
ASC: I know you need to make an example of me.
Me: Nope. I'd do that to anyone who clearly didn't read the five signs reminding them NOT to do something because of a safety hazard and did it anyway.
ASC: I'm still very angry at you.
Me: You are more than welcome to be angry with me, but do not expect preferential treatment due to your inability to drink heavily and wake up without a headache.
ASC: Huh.
Me: What?
ASC: I'm still mad, but not at you anymore. Thanks.
Me: Sure, no problem. Who are you mad at, now?
ASC: That asshole who gave me absinthe last night.
Me: Oh, yeah, that'll do it.
Those were it. Had a great time, and out of the 5K+ people who came through my dog-and-pony show, that was the grand total of SCs for the week. Surprisingly low, but my stacked sound system behind the bar and ability to play feedback screeches to the crowd may have reduced the number of angry asshat SCs this year.
Stay frosty!
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