sometimes i feel like i might actually be cooking… which is why i wanted to see if i could fry an egg on the hood of my car. well, the actual reason it occurred to me was that i came home one day to find a plastic toy egg, sunny side up, in the driveway.
not on the edge or the sidewalk, but almost up by the house. either the universe was confirming that it was indeed really, really flipping hot, or maybe the kids across the street were playing house in front of our house. anyway, the real egg-cooking experiment failed tragically, but more on that later, because i’m going to give it another shot.
i’m surprised i didn’t get heat stroke yesterday. aside from my full-time, pay-the-bills job, i hawk beer at all of the journal pavilion concerts. which means that i carry 30 16-ounce beers and two bags of ice and walk up and down the lawn selling people $9 refreshments. to give you an idea how hot it was, i literally drank a gallon of water during those five hours, and didn’t pee once. not once! and i always have to pee! working these concerts is always an adventure. i don’t really need the extra money, but it is incredibly satisfying to work so physically hard. it’s also satisfying to know that i’m really, really good at it. every few shows, a girl shows up, convinced she can do it, and quits within twenty minutes because she can’t carry an unwieldy 60 pounds on her back and navigate the rowdy lawn crowds. so it’s me and a bunch of guys, who might be bigger or look stronger, but can’t haul ass like i can, and never sell as much as i do. so many customers last night told me that my beers were colder than the last guy’s, and that i actually poured it right (how hard is it to pour a beer? really, how hard?).
i realize i sound cocky. i so rarely feel that way. but this is a job where i feel like a warrior, a bad ass. so maybe i’m doing the work of a 19-year-old boy, but i don’t care. i’m a roving bartender, developing relationships with people, making small talk, having fun, all while doing an intense, almost non-stop workout. roaming through the crowds carrying a ton of beer, and hundreds of dollars in cash. i’ve been punched, propositioned, groped, abused, but in a way that i feel completely in control somehow. i don’t take any shit from anyone; if anything, i give it right back. people try to push me around, but i don’t let them; i feel so strong, in such a position of power (despite the ridiculousness of the job!)
last night, two different people told me i wasn’t old enough to be serving beer. sweet! i turn 28 next month, and people think i’m 18?! whoa. one of those people was only 2 years older than me, and the other was a hairy trucker guy with his hairy trucker guy wife who told me i was cute and all, but not old enough. huh? last year, i was always coming home from shows, telling katie stories about being hit on, told i was cute or hot… this year, not so much. it’s a little worrisome… and last night, it was just the trucker guy. weird!
i don’t mind the whistles, the people who yell “beer guy!” “beer boy!” “beer man!” “hey you!” i ignore and avoid the people who are jerks, and i have fun with the people who are cool. i am constantly amazed at the generosity people show me with tips. last night, i made $47 just in tips, selling $9 buds and bud lights! i do save people the trip, the wait in line, and give them the coldest beer in the whole venue. but still, that means $20 for two bud lights. crazy. when i set that bucket full of ice and beer down, people can hear how heavy it is. they give me props… and dollar bills.
usually i have crazy stories… but the crue fest last night was relatively tame, for me at least. well, there was a ten-minute hailstorm that didn’t manage to puncture the heat, but did drench us all, and made those already smelly sweaty people even smellier. it hailed sideways. hard; it hurt. i kept getting hail in my ears. that’s a funny feeling.
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