Training for Stadium of Fire was my first training as a supervisor. East gates, in case anyone was wondering. That means I had taken Brian's spot. He was a weird kid. I never really knew what to think of him. He is one of those people who you feel like is nice because they want something from you. That is what happens when you work at the Marriott Center--everyone starts to want things from you. Then they get insanely angry when you can't accommodate them because they aren't really deaf or don't use a wheelchair, or were simply too late for those Hannah Montana tickets. Too bad, better luck next time. But how do you express all that at training? You don't. That's just one of those life lessons that you have to learn on your own.
It wasn't until after training that I heard about Mike.
"He had a brain aneurism and he really likes Brooks and Dunn. I originally had him in the south end, but I'm afraid he's one of those people who really isn't going to do anything. I shouldn't have hired him, but I'm not going to fire him the day before, so I'm putting him with you as security, and just try to...I don't know, keep him out of the way."
Sure, Suzanne. Piece of cake, right?
She scheduled him for security all right, but not at gate 6 like I expected. She stuck him between 6 and 7 to make sure people aren't passing things through the fence.
Mike was about 40, but had the mentality of an 8 or 9 year old. He smoked and was overweight, and was growing a mustache like Brooks...or Dunn. He had big blue eyes that seemed to take in everything and yet missed it at the same time. I bet that if I had given him a holographic sticker he would have been entertained for more than half of the 6 hour shift.
When he got to his spot, he knew he was being put out of the way. I faced him and his clear disappointment, suddenly regretting having accepted the responsibility. In a sudden move to salvage my own humanity, I moved him to gate 7, telling him that he was to periodically move between gates 7 through 10 and help out the security already stationed there.
Boy was he a whiner. He needed a cigarette break, he was hot, he was tired, he wanted to watch the show, but he never told me any of that unless I asked. But I had to ask because I had already asked everyone else. "How are you?" I asked them all.
"Tired." "Fine." "Hot--by the way, Corbin Bleu asked for extra security detail so he wouldn't get mobbed when he left."
"When is he leaving?"
"I don't know, but can we do it?"
"No, but I'll pass your request on to Suzanne." Easy. Easy easy. But when Mike came up to me to ask for his third break, what could I say other than "sure"?
Suzanne checked on me, pointing out that Mike wasn't where he was supposed to be. I told her he was, and that he never went anywhere without letting me know first in the form of a question. "Send him home when you cut your first round of security" she advised. I nodded. It was protocol. It happens every game. Besides, he was hot and tired. He should have wanted to go home.
But when I asked him to, he almost cried.
"Mike, did you not want to go home?"
He looked at me, fear and despair reeking in his posture and expression. "All my family is here watching the show."
"You can go watch it with them."
"I....I don't know where they are!" The tears were coming. It was like waiting for a dam to break. The pressure of being sent home was almost overwhelming for him. No, I told myself. Suzanne said to send him home. Send him home.
"The ticket office can tell you. Go ask Suzanne and she can help you."
"Okay" he agreed, turning to go. His shoulders were slumped and his head hung. He stopped after three steps and turned, timidly, almost like he was afraid. He kept his head down, looking at me in stolen glances. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, you did everything I asked you to do" I answered. I tried to smile but I don't think it came out right. He was unconvinced, I knew. I could see it. "We have more people than we need. We do this every game, all the time. We just don't need you here anymore." The words made me bleed. I almost winced at the sound of them, hoping he took them as gently as he could. Whether he did or not, I don't really know. He straightened a little and I told him where he could find Suzanne, and he walked away with the elation of being free from his taskless bondage easing everything that told me he was upset.
I hoped he found his family. I hoped the rest of the shift, then the walk home. His despair at the notion of failing so entirely at his one day $9 per hour job pushed against me as I lay in bed. I finally picked up my phone and went to sit on my front porch, which was loaded with furniture that my roommates hadn't wanted in the living room. I sat down and called home.
"Hello" a deep, playful voice answered on the second ring, almost singing. Pink Floyd played in the background, and I detachedly wondered how my dad was getting away with his music so loud at 3 in the morning.
"Daddy!" I cried as I let everything go, my story and tears flowing freely from me.
My dad's usual thinking look...and civilian shirt...and sunglasses.
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