Friends know me as the one who is always trying something new ... and it is usually has a business/monetary slant.
So this fall, I've started working for CSC, which many Hoosiers know as "those people in the red jackets and yellow shirts at the Colts game." Let's see, a job where I tell them when I want to work, and entails being friendly to people, checking their tickets and giving directions while I get to see a professional football game. What's not to like about that?
Apparently, my co-workers. In the first few events I covered, I met folks like Melvin, who has to be the happiest guy on the planet, and Andy, a construction worker by day who has helped guard the locker room area on game weekends for 5 years now. Last week, I spent the afternoon checking tickets in the suites alongside a couple married 50 years — which anyone could have guessed by the way she told him how to wear the pager system and the patient way he ignored her.
A good friend, on the other hand, kept running into strangers who bummed money off of her in the break room. I figured that was just bad luck of the draw for her.
But then there was Linda. She started out as a very considerate co-worker who even bought me a hot dog on her own initiative during her lunch break, and hesitated to accept my dollar in repayment, even though an earlier conversation had revealed money is tight for her right now.
It was a delicious hot dog, but I'll forever wonder what hers was laced with because after that meal break, Linda asked me out of the blue how long my fingernails were. Thank God I reverted to an old habit and chewed them down to the quick the night before, because if I'd had my usual claws, the next few minutes could have been even more uncomfortable.
It seems Linda had a hair on her chin line that was driving her crazy -- would I please pull it for her? I pleaded that my nails were too short. I told her I couldn't see it. And still she insisted. "Just feel it, right here. You don't have to see or anything. It's very rough, I'm sure you can get it."
Get outta here. Since when do I look like a pair of tweezers from CVS?
She pouted for a minute or two, then went back to a normal conversation. My mind was spinning with ways to excuse myself and find another post when a fellow CSC employee strolled by, spied the men's room door behind Linda's head, and asked if he could duck in. "Sure," she told him, "but you have to pull this hair out of my chin first."
He, too, tried to get out of it, but all I can guess is that the urge to piss finally won. This man reached out, felt up her face and yanked the hair out of its follicle just before he crashed through the bathroom door.
I think he'd have preferred that she hit him up for money.
Photography: anselm (Flickr)