I am a bad person. I went to help a friend at the Opening Ceremony for the Special Olympics. We were wo-manning the canteen and giving out the food. I know the Special Olympics epitomizes many great things and I totally support the ideals and all of its goals. BUT
– I was not moved by the sight of the multitude of volunteers who give of their time to help the athletes. No. I was too busy being mad at those who kept harassing us for soda and hotdogs…but were nowhere in sight when it was time to clean up. Pick up spit covered chicken bones on the floor and half-gnawed sausage rolls off the seats.
– I was not humbled by the comittment and sacrifice of the parents of those with Special Needs. Because I was too busy fighting the panic as i was trampled by the aforementioned parents of the athletes who were shoving, jostling, standing on my toes, clawing at my arm so they could grab FOUR cans of coke and a handful of sandwiches for their ONE child. It was a madhouse out there. I wanted to slap people’s greedy hands and snap ‘SAY PLEASE! SAY THANK YOU!’
– I was not awed by all the hard working organizers who had put together a truly spectacular event because I was too busy being majorly TICKED OFF at the one woman in a fancy puletasi who came up to me at the end to DEMAND a plate of food for an ‘honored guest’ who didnt get one. And got peeved when i told her there was NO MORE. Like she didnt believe me. And she thought maybe i was squirreling away caches of bounty under the table or up my shirt? I had to repeat several times like the wicked supervisor in Oliver…NO MORE i said, THERE’S NO MORE! What is with people and food? I lust for a good meal just like everyone else( dont ever try to get between me and red jello with vanilla ice cream) – but must the sight of a free feed transform us into raging, salivating rioters without rhyme or reason?!
And then when the night was over, I did NOT go home filled with a gentle, warm glow of happiness that one gets when one has given generously and unflinchingly of their service. Nope. I went home muttering darkly. Complaining. Feeling slightly murderous towards women in fancy puletasis who want to fight me for a plate of food. And I was DYING for hand-sanitizer, all over sterizing bodywash and a clean change of clothes.
Like I said. I’m a bad woman. And bad women should NOT go help at Special Olympics.