Seattle Tacoma International Airport is an embarrassment of islands connected by an underground train system. All trains terminate at the main island. It's the only way to get out. I imagine they are separate for a reason. I don't know why. Once outside, a shuttle is required to get to a rental car area, and a car is required to get to Seattle. You could take a cab, but that costs around 70 bucks. I wouldn't recommend it.
Orchestrating an event can be shipping labels, asset creation, social media buys, vendor walk through's, facilities meetings, receipt of goods, unloading's, zoning checks, e-mail blasts, promises, introductions, and waiting. But it can be more than that, sometimes. I prefer the setup of an event to the actual event itself. Between buildup and arrival the space feels like a an amusement park in the morning.
Our booth girls show up, we chat for a bit, go over the guidelines, and they head off to change into uniform. The event starts. Lines, handshakes, cameras, product sells, music. The booth girls stand for pictures. The customer puts his hand on the small of her back, near the crest of the mini-skirt. She smiles straight ahead, next. The customer puts his hand on the small of her back, she smiles straight ahead, next. Must be hundreds. Sometimes the patron nods, or says thank you shyly, sometimes the customer walks away, as if she were a plaque, or a bridge.
Breaking down an event can be shipping labels, asset collection, social media data aggregation, vendor walk through's, facilities meetings, receipt of goods, loading's, zoning checks, e-mail blasts, reassurances, goodbyes, and rushing. But it can be more than that, sometimes.
After the event everyone on the team heads to a bar. We drink, and yell, and laugh like any proper survivors of a battle should do. I ask one of the booth girls what all those photos, all those eyes, all those hands feel like. She says she is usually thinking about what she is going to eat later, or about her class homework. She tells me most times it feels like nothing, feels like work.
At the bar my DT co-conspirator Skype's me in on the latest fallout involving a video game maker and a video he, and she, and I, support. She says they found where Anita lives, and she has gone into hiding. She says girls get to safely assume there is a high statistical chance one of the commenters is physically dangerous, and would act out those threats in real life given the chance. I agree, and take a drink.
I tell her Seattle is ripe with the issue. I have already lost a few industry friends over how they stand, and I will doubtlessly loose more. I sit and watch the table take a collective breath but can't stop thinking about something Leigh said a ways back.
I imagine if I stay quiet enough that one day I will wind up in a back office of a game company. That back office has always been my goal, everything I do from the time I wake up has been toward that end. As long as I work hard, laugh at the jokes i hate, agree with the comments I disagree with, and execute the actions that keep me up at night, there is a high statistical chance I can reach this goal.Then I think about what I don't wan't, and who I never want to be. I take another drink, excuse myself from the table, and head back to the hotel. Another event starts early tomorrow.
I hope information get's a bunch of touchdowns or whatever. Fantasy Football is basically a pen and paper adventure, or a strat game. Nothing wrong with that. Also, more jobs to be had, hit me up. I heard I was hard to find in real life, so not true. Is it? Am I? Shit, let me know how to get better at that and I will do that thing you say. Also JERBZ.
The Protoculture Mixtape v.X Issue : People : Painburgers
