Happy ComFest
Most of Saturday was spent sitting at the FreeGeek Columbus booth, spreading the word about what we do. We didn't have quite as much interest this year as last, but there was still a sufficient flow of traffic to make having the booth worthwhile.
I was scheduled to start my shift at the Jazz Bar at 8 PM, but I decided to get to show up at 7:30. I was put to work refilling tokens for the cashiers. The basic workflow was this: customers exchange cash for tokens at one end of the tent, then get back in line to buy beer. Customers give their tokens to the bartenders who in turn place them in big buckets. It was my task to empty these buckets, sort them by color, and redistribute them back to the cashiers, to ultimately go to new customers (and back to the bartenders; repeat ad infinitum). After several hectic iterations of this, I was put on one of the taps and started serving. I served beer almost non-stop for the next three hours.
As with last year, the line nearly evaporated around 11 PM, and then surged again right before we closed up at 11:30. Unlike last year, I didn't have any trouble with any of the customers. Everyone was in good spirits, patient, and very understanding of our need to double-check IDs. Last year I got a lot of grief for checking people's IDs just after they'd been checked when they purchased tokens. No one really complained, or was unpleasant in any way, and everyone smiled broadly when I exclaimed "Happy ComFest!" as I handed them their drinks.
There were four taps on each block: one specialty beer (Columbus Pale Ale, where I was), one tap for Labatt's Blue Light, and two taps for Labatt's Blue. During the busiest times, all four would be in use. We often ended up playing Twister, reaching over, under, and around one another to reach a vacant tap to keep the beer flowing. The most interesting pour of the night for me was when a young woman presented me with four mugs at once. I was able to grasp, and then fill, all four using only one hand, which surprised several of my coworkers.
My coworkers on Saturday night were a mixed bunch. One fellow and I got into a very comfortable rhythm, communicating effectively about what we were doing so that we could either get out of one another's way, or help expedite their pour by leaving a tap on, for example. There were two women working in my section, too, and they had trouble all night long getting a decent pour. At first, they seemed terrified to spill any beer, despite the constant slopping of foam and beer going on all around them. Then they couldn't grasp the concept of tipping the cup or mug as they poured, despite repeated reminders. Then they complained frequently about the CO2 mix. The first time it was a valid complaint, as the beer was pouring very, very slowly. After that, though, they complained that it was too high, and causing too much foam. At several points I offered to pour for them, just to get them out of my way.
The only real ruckus that occurred happened early in the evening: while pouring a beer, I heard indistinct but raised voices behind me. I turned around to see a lot of people speaking toward one fellow at the front of the line. He claimed to have dropped his tokens while his friends were ordering, and wanted to scoot to the head of the line in order to get his beer right after them. The folks nearby all yelled that he was jumping the line. The police officer on duty next to me told me the story, but was unable to say whether this guy did, in fact, ditch. Thankfully, one of the cashiers was able to confirm that the guy did ditch, so I politely refused his beer and sent him to the back of the line. The crowd erupted in cheers, and several customers offered me high-fives.
Late in the evening one of the shift supervisors approached me and said "See me, after that pour." I was immediately overcome with fear. Had I served a minor? Was there a problem? What did I do? As it turned out, the supervisor wanted me to stand at the end of the line of people buying tokens to close it off. I was charged with turning away folks who wanted to buy tokens, so that the cashiers could close up. Again, to my surprise, no one was particularly agitated about being denied. They weren't happy, but no one caused any trouble.
It's a lot of fun to work the late shift. It might be fun serving an afternoon shift at a beer tent, but I think I'll stick with the late shift: the cool evening breeze helps a lot, most of the people aren't miserable from having stood in line in direct sunlight for ten minutes, and many of the people have reached that comfortable buzz that keeps them in good spirits. I barely heard the bands, playing not more than 100 feet away, but I still had a great time.
Sunday afternoon Carina and I went back down to enjoy a last ComFest beer for the weekend. We found Lisa and Jeff, and spent several hours milling around, chatting comfortably. I saw several of the shift supervisors I'd worked with the previous days, and they all invited (or nearly begged, in one case) me to volunteer again next year. There's no question about it: as long as I'm in town, I'll be volunteering at ComFest 2008!
Roving Mellow
Last night's shift as roving safety was an informative, and enjoyable, experience.
I was partnered with Richard, a Vietnam veteran who had attended all but one ComFest. He signed us up for the Gazebo shift, because he wanted to hear Willie Phoenix play at 8 PM. The territory we had to cover spanned from the Park St. Street Fair west to the Live Arts stage, and from Buttles Ave. south to the main park walkway. It was a pretty broad space, and it was divided almost cleanly into two types of people: those who were there for ComFest, and those who were there because of ComFest.
The former group were what I started calling "the professionals". They brought blankets and chairs and coolers, and took care to be respectful and mellow. Most of them had their own plastic mugs (almost always a ComFest mug from a previous year), and if they had brought their own booze into the park they all poured it into their plastic mugs. The bulk of these people were clustered around the gazebo stage, and were clearly there for the music and events of the evening. These folks were friendly, and almost everyone smiled at Richard and I as we walked past them.
The latter group, who I quickly dubbed "the amateurs," sat on the sloping lawn to the west of the pond. There were several small clutches of trees there, and people would sit in small circles. These were mostly teenagers, and they almost all sat rigidly upright when Richard and I strolled through their midst. They tried -- lamely, I thought -- to hide their pipes and bongs. Several groups had gigantic hookahs out. It was in this group that we found the most people drinking from bottles or cans, and to whom we distributed plastic cups. The conversations I had with these people was repeated so frequently that you might think it was scripted: I would approach a group of people drinking out of bottles or cans. Some of them would try to hide it; I don't know whether it was because they might be underage or because they didn't want to get caught with BYOB. I would say, quietly and politely, "Hey guys. The park rules don't let us have bottles or cans. Could you please pour your drinks into these cups?" I'd hand them a few plastic cups, and they'd say thank you. Richard would say "Please remember to recycle those bottles and cans!" We would start to walk away and then one of the kids would call to us "Hey, can I have some more cups?" This happened the same way almost every single time I approached someone. It got to be the running joke between Richard and I.
One kid I approached resolutely denounced that the can of Bud Light sitting next to him was his. I offered to recycle the can for him, and picked it up. It was nearly full. I can't be sure, but I think a look of sadness crossed over the young fellow's face. We walked off toward the nearest recycling station, at which I emptied out the beer. When Richard saw how long it was taking me to pour it out, he observed "That was that kids' beer!"
Our entire shift was quiet and easy-going. Richard and I engaged in the kind of story-telling that happens when two strangers are passing time together. He was a great partner to have, and I wasn't bored at all during my shift. We had only one altercation, and one false alarm. While walking around the "amateurs" by the pond, we heard a scuffle behind us. Turning, we saw a couple of guys posturing and yelling at one another. Richard calmly walked up and settled everyone down. One of the fellows decided he just couldn't make it to a Port-O-Potty, so he urinated on the side of one of the trees. The other fellow decided this was a disgusting thing to do, so he spit upon the first guy. As we got involved, both of them surprised me by quickly saying they weren't trying to screw up the Festival, and they both loved ComFest so much, and they'd be happy to just walk away from one another. We made a point to pay extra attention to that section over the rest of our shift, but nothing else ever happened. I spied the guy who spit on the other guy several times, and he was always calm and well-behaved, hanging out with his group of friends.
While chatting with one of the roving supervisors, we heard a distress call on the walkie-talkie that Richard was carrying. "Crowd control emergency at the gazebo!" The roving supervisor took off running toward the gazebo. Since it was within our territory, I quickly followed, with Richard right behind me. When we got there, no one could tell us what the emergency was -- everything looked completely under control! As we later learned, some of the folks in the front row wanted to dance on the stage, and were encroaching on the band's space. One of the ComFest volunteers panicked and called in the emergency without coordinating with the stage manager. Everything was well under control, and we ended up wandering off to resume our roving safety duty.
I'm glad I signed up for the early evening shift. The weather was superb, the crowd was pleasant and not yet drunk, and the route was nicely varied in terms of landscape and demographic. I don't think I'd want to do roving safety at night, when people are more likely to be out of control, and when you can't see as much of what's going on. All in all, I think I did a pretty good job of maintaining the mellow!
