Saturday Adventures

Fun fact about me: I am a baton twirler.

Yeah, it's sort of weird, but I like being able to do it because it's allowed me to perform all over in my town, as well as across the country! Of course, though, all of these trips and performances cost money, which is sometimes hard to come by. That's why last night, I was working at my baton studio's Spaghetti Dinner fundraiser.

I was scheduled to work from 4 to 8 pm, handing out breadsticks. I assumed that it would be a pretty easy job, low stress and such. I was right... sort of. As predicted, it wasn't a very taxing activity, but for those of you who have never worked at a Spaghetti Dinner, you don't know the distress one can feel after asking some six hundred people if they'd care for a breadstick.

It doesn't sound like it'd be bad, but saying the phrases, "Would you like a breadstick?" and "Yes, you can have two breadsticks" for four hours straight is mind numbing. My throat actually started going hoarse. Also, around the second hour, my legs and feet started to ache.

The area where the breadstick table was set up was right next to a wall that separated the gym I was in from the other gym, where an auction was taking place. I have never attended an auction, so I don't know how they work, but I have the slightest inclination to believe that the one going on next door was slightly unorthodox. They were blasting dance music, the kind that has an "unst unst unst" back beat that pounds in the background. Since I was right next to the dividing wall, I could hear the back beat all night. It started to make me go a little crazy, and it made me wonder if I was hearing things. To test my sanity, I pressed my palm up against the wall, and sure enough, it was vibrating in time with the music. It felt like the wall had a heart beat. Slightly perturbed, I just shook it off.

Fortunately, I managed to survive, and I was able to give back to people who have done so much for me over the years. It was rewarding being able to help out in the end, but all I'm going to say is that if I help out again next year, I am not serving breadsticks.