Sunday, August 27, 2006

Hot Dogs and Pigskin


Stadium snack bar duty. Ugh. Last Saturday Bear had a scrimmage to prepare for their first game on Thursday. I signed up for a snack bar scrimmage- sort of a practice run before Friday's big varsity game. I worked the snack bar until Bear's team took the field, just to learn the ropes and figure out where everything is. Next Friday I will have to work a full shift. That's the thing about being the mom of a JV player, I have to help out when the Varsity plays so their moms can watch the game. Its just as disgusting as working the fast food at Six Flags when I was Bear's age and I can't believe I'm wrapping pickles and hot links again. The stench! The snack stand is hot as hades and the shift is wicked long but it's for the boys so I have to do it. Blech.

09/02/06: Last night was snack bar night. Oh the humanity! It was like a war zone in there. Football and Band moms dropping like flies. You could see it coming, as one by one they'd first flush beet red, then go suddenly pale until their lips turned white and whoosh! down they'd go. The lines for dogs and nachos never ended. We tried to shut down one side halfway through the fourth quarter, but the mob just kept coming. Bravely, the obviously ill moms would sit down for a few minutes, guzzle some water and soldier on.

I was wiping down the counters when Argh! "They got me Sarge!" The room started to spin. My head was already pounding like all the other gals' heads from the the heat and noise and stress. I heard a roaring sound like a freight train running through my head and whomp! Down I went.

I would like to report that I had a victorian "spell" where I floated gracefully onto a nearby chaise longue, however I landed face first into a soda pop cooler full of melted ice. This was fortuitous as it revived me enough to then run to the ladies where I heaved uncontrollably for an extended period of time.

I briefly considered going back the front lines. Briefly. I found Bear. I sat with him in the stands for a few moments trying revive in the relatively cool and drizzly evening air. I then went home to a cool bath, a tall icey ginger ale, my trusty Excedrin and bed. I was the first deserter of the evening.

As a veteran dishonorably discharged, I can now say snack bar duty is not for the faint of heart.

Snack Bar is Hell.