As a means of crossing another item off of my mighty life list, I looked into some volunteer opportunities for the Pride celebration/festival/excuse for lots of men to wear assless chaps. These gigs were surprisingly hard to come by – either there were too many eager volunteers or I went through all the wrong channels. When I finally spoke to someone on the phone and was like, “you don’t understand, I have this list,” they directed me to a beverage contact and within a few days I was to appear somewhere near Robertson and Santa Monica to check in for a five hour shift.
During the long drive, I talked myself out of the idea completely. I have a way of hyping things up to be much more than they are and I live a life full of disappointments that only I am responsible for. As I paid the atrocious parking rate, I settled into the belief that the day would be shit and my couch wanted my company more than these celebratory gay people wanted beer.
I was so, so wrong.
An all too quiet fellow volunteer and I were led to an empty bar adjacent to the Real L Word promotional area and given basic instructions on pouring draft beer with little to no head (“these men like head but not this kind and they can be some queeny bitches if you fuck that shit up”) and checking IDs. Two more volunteers joined us before we were really moving. We had a designated ID checker to give out the wristbands and a designated ticket-tearer to shred the drink tickets. He became my spotter, as I could not remember to check for wristbands. He stayed close and monitored every customer I poured for and gave me drink orders to pass forward. Myself and the other female volunteer worked the shit outta the taps and premade mixes.
Overall, we made tip money and spent a lot of time talking and laughing, with each other and with our few hundred thirsty friends. My feet were killing me when the second shift arrived but I would have gladly stayed to work with them.
We all finished, took off our volunteer shirts and poured our one complimentary beverage. The Real L Word area was marketing the show by dolling people up in boas and tiaras and taking pictures of them that they immediately printed and handed out. It was pretty silly but seemed like the best way to remember my volunteer friends.
I can’t wait for next year.
- volunteer my time in the name of equality
For now, this one stays on the list. Being the middle (wo)man in someone’s quest to get drunk doesn’t do much in the name of equality. So this morning I sent a message over to GLSEN for some more, less booze related opportunities.
-CJ
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