Worked the Vikings game yesterday. Nothing too stressful. At first blush, in fact, I turned to the guy next to me and, after noting all the camaraderie and bonhomie around the truck, said, "This is the least stressful truck I've ever worked in."
Whoops. Should not have said that. Not only did it come back to bite me, but in retrospect there were many signs that the work environment wasn't copasetic. The thing that really happened was this dick, this real dick, who told us not to go through some other part of the truck when we were coming back from a task. In all my years working Vikes games I have never had someone pull such a diva move like that. I have had people scream and yell at me before, but to be so dismissive of me, of us? Never.
Looking back, this guy was a prick. He never really talked to any of us. Well, besides this one time he ordered another of us guys to either sit on one side of this partition or the other. Because his job was so important that he couldn't bothered by such things as movement. I think he was watching porn during the game.
Whatever. We went around like he "requested." That's when another person from the truck complained never to open up the truck door while they were broadcast ever again. It was cold, but not Minnesota cold; temperatures were in the twenties and falling -- cold hell for outsiders, but for Minnesotans it was nothing. However, the door opens right up to the TVs, and once before on Sunday she was complaining of both the cold and the glare whenever one of us opened up the door, which was right behind her.
But thing was, that was the reason we went across the truck -- so as not to bother her. And that's when we crossed that dick over there. My co-worker told her that, to which she replied, "Well then, don't come in until a commercial break." Oh, so we're supposed to keep track of the game from outside the stadium now? How in the fuck are we going to tell? You tell me. Wow, the entitlement of this crew.
The last straw came after the end of the game. Another of my co-workers said there was a box of stuff we could take free swag from, and we could help ourselves. So (and remember that this is after the broadcast was over) I helped myself, like my co-worker said. I had to go to the box, but I didn't know exactly where it was. So I look back-and-forth across the table ... and then I see one of the guys look at me. He continued to stare at me, like, "What the fuck are you doing?" I finally found the box, but again, this is the first time someone from a production gave me this look of puzzlement and ridicule -- like I wasn't supposed to be doing that, like I wasn't even supposed to be there.
Come to think of it, that was the total vibe this truck was giving me. I just didn't see it because, when they were talking to each other, they were all buddy-buddy and shit. I thought I was part of this group. That was my mistake; I wasn't. We were just the help to them, silent unless spoken to, told what to do and promptly, yelled at for even the slightest perceived mistake.
The money's too good to give up, especially since I didn't do anything. But I hope I don't see this crew again.
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