Yesterday, the church's nearest ramp was on the opposite side of the gym from our trailers, so we had to haul everything uphill and around. The set up for kitchen crew is still new, so I don't know where to put everything to maximise the space. I spent hours just moving stuff around.
And I'm changing my name every night, I've decided, for variety. "Rachel, where does the.... Rachel, where do you want...... Rachel, what do I do now....?" I'm kitchen manager, so it's my job to organise set up, and repacking after the show. Then we have a dozen or so volunteers to help wash dishes. I wear a headscarf every show day (...and most others too. Saves on having to do my hair when I'm just going to put a wig on it.) , so I was being called "the little girl with the handkerchief." Makes me easy to identify. For some reason the church gentlemen who were scrubbing the pots found me in charge amusing. I think it's my stature...being 5'1"-ish has it's disadvantages. ( I may actually be 5'2" but people gave me such a hard time about partial inches I round down.) The counters were so high last night I couldn't see into the dish tubs without a major feat of athletics.
And the junior high kids who were serving called me ma'am. I know I'm in Texas, but ooh that hurt...then I did the math. I am almost twice their age. The big 25 is creeping closer. This year will be my second 24th birthday, since I seem to have mentally skipped my 23rd. Seriously. I even put it that way in my scrapbook. Is this what happens when you get old?
