They actually were quite nice to me. Then again, I learned my lesson in trying to buddy up to them and I decided to spend most of my time outside. It wasn't as cold as it is now. In fact, even though I don't remember the exact temperatures, this was before that first snowstorm and the ensuing deep freeze came in, so it felt quite nice to stand outside and watch over the food. What helped was something I had never experienced before: The fans of one of the production trucks blowing out very seasonal air. It felt very nice to just stand in front of those fans and feel snug, even warm.
I kept my contact with them to a minimum, both days. It helped that, like the time before, I was sent all over the metro area to get stuff. The few times I went into the truck I only spoke -- I only locked eyes on -- one guy, the man who hired me. He was cool, but just to make sure, I also didn't do my chit-chatting with him. Hope he didn't take offense.
The only time I spoke with them was on Sunday -- one because I had to, one because of, um, circumstances I guess. One of them -- who seemed preoccupied, like his mind was on something else, evidenced by a phone call he took with, for lack of better description, a lot of intensity -- asked me to get some drinks down to the cameramen on the field. The other controls the sign-in sheet, and so I had to speak to him, if even for a few seconds ... which is just about the time it took to sign my name on that sheet.
However, for once this guy was ... professional towards me. I was told to talk to him, so I forthrightly looked me in the eye and announced myself. He told me I needed to sign in, he handed me the sign-in sheet ... and he then gave me a pen. Gently. Nicely. Maybe he remembered how he was a dick to me when I asked to borrow his pen. So I said thank you when I handed both items back to him. Then I bumped fists with the guy who hired me, and off I went to my assignment for the game, running in the broadcast booth -- way the hell away from the truck. That could have been by design, and if that was the case, well, I have to admit it was a smart move.
OK, that was ... a vast improvement from last time. Still going to stay away from them next time they come into town to work, just in case.
---
You know what else helped? There was a second runner helping out that weekend. And this guy wasn't even from the area. He's associated with games in the Atlanta area, and he was in town because he has a friend ... in Iowa. I kind of think that the guy who hired me also hired him either because 1) he really wanted to use his largess and get a second runner for all the stuff he believes the crew will want, or 2) he thought I was incompetent the last time and he wanted someone smarter/better.
And I have to admit: This guy is smarter and better. Totally cool with me from the start. And a few hours before the start of the game on Sunday, at least an hour before I usually do it, he wanted to hang up the banners. I would have ran from the Dome in order not to do it, but he exuded so much confidence from the times I spoke to him the day before that I felt good trusting him. Hell, this was the first time he was in the Metrodome and I was following his lead.
My issue with the banners are two-fold: Where to hang them up and how to secure them. Like a grizzled veteran, he took a few seconds from the other end of the field to size up the best place to put up the network banners so they were conspicuous while avoiding any advertisements. Also, he brought rope with him. Let me repeat: He brought rope with him. He didn't ask this from the crew; he's helped out in games for so long that he knows that rope comes in handy for jobs like this. And it did; he had enough rope that we could hang up the banners and be able to secure them to something feet away. We couldn't do that without rope. Oh, and afterwards he showed me how to do a trucker's knot. He's like a fucking MacGuyver.
One other thing: He's in the middle of fighting brain cancer. He was so fit that you would never have even suspected he was sick. God Bless him, I hope the experimental treatment works.
---
As much as he helped, there was one other godsend. In some places on the plastic tarp hanging over the front row seats at both ends of the Metrodome field are some rectangular swatches of velcro. I never noticed them beyond the fact that they probably were placed there by someone else who has a dedicated spot to put their banners. But the guy I was with said that at this particular side of the field, the area where these velcro strips were permanently stuck to was the perfect place for our banners to hang.
Enter some guy, who may have been part of our crew or was with some other media entity and was setting up for them. He noticed us and asked, "Do you need some velcro strips?"
Velcro strips? Is that a thing? Yes, it's a thing -- and that also changes everything!!! These little strips have a backing you can peel off and stick to the other side of our banners. All we need to do is find the right place on the back of our banners, line that up with the permanent velcro hanging on the front row seats, and it's secure! And this guy just gave us several of them for our banners! Damn, where were these things when I was bitching and moaning about the banners the last time I had to hang them up?! God bless this blue collar stranger for introducing me to a tool that turned banner-hanging from a burden to a breeze!
---
Yesterday I finally got the check for this weekend I'm talking about. The time before, when these people put me through hell, I got a check that just about matches what I make as a flu biller for the entire week. But this time around it was smaller -- a lot smaller. Like, two-thirds smaller.
What the fuck? I thought he was cool, dude! Did he just shovel me a shitload of money the game before because he saw me being bullied and disrespected, and he decided his co-workers were behaving OK so I'm back to being paid what I just got paid? Or is there another reason, one that totally eludes me? Or did he forget? Or does he not care?
I just don't understand how the work I put in both times I've worked for him this year, responsibilities that essentially are equal, were paid vastly different amounts. I don't understand why I can't get the same paycheck if I'm doing the same thing for games. Hell, if I'm just a stats person for the game day, I'm fine, so long as it's consistent. Now I'm expecting a $300 check when I get one for $100 instead, even though I worked two days both times and did a lot in each day both times.
Is he just fucking with me?
---
Oh, I should add this too: His "rock star" statistician was working again and doing stats again. When this crew comes around, it looks like he's on stats from now on. I used to be on stats until ... I don't know what happened.
He worked last week's Vikings game, too -- and he brought a couple tagalong friends with him. They seem to be great, just great. But while I was walking back to the production bay after breakfast, I saw all three of them huddled around a table looking at a notepad. This is the statisticians meeting we usually have before each game, divvying out who tabulates what. They were getting into splitting up the duties while I was just hanging out before I eventually had to ask him, "Mind if I play?"
He's always been cordial with me. But with the way he took over the meeting on Sunday (albeit with his friends whom he helped to get hired with this network), it's apparent that he sees himself as the heir apparent to day player statistician. Which means I'm permanently sidelined.
No comments:
Post a Comment