Bouncers

I'll be the first person to admit that a "mid-singles conference" sounds like the sort of event that attracts freaks like moths to a bug zapper. Last year they needed volunteers, and it sounded like there was going to be a lot of good food. I decided to sign up to help out with registration. I figured that way I could get a good look at all the material as it came through the door, and decide whether or not I wanted to continue on with the experience. I decided to stay, and wound up having a good time, despite the fact that I signed up late, and was stuck going to the Aquarium of the Pacific with a gay dentist (he had to have been gay, no self-respecting straight man walks like that) for the Saturday activity. The little petting pools really salvaged the experience. Although I did get shouted at by an aquarium staff person for shouldering some little kid out of the way to reach down and pet the little sharks with my whole hand. I guess you're only supposed to use a "two finger touch."

Since the registration bit was actually a pretty great time last year, I decided to repeat the experience this year, and I even roped Lynn into coming with me. First of all, when they told us to be there an hour before registration started, and there were already people in line for registration when I arrived, I found myself itching to just say "folks, this needy and desperate approach is what landed you at this conference in the first place. Work on that and come back at a normal time next year." I'm not really in a position to be pointing fingers though, so I kept it to myself.

Anyway, Lynn and I got assigned to stand at the front of the line, greet people as they arrived and direct them to an open person at the registration table who could check them in. In essence we were line control to keep everyone from rushing the registration table all at once. I kind of loved the part where all the registration people would be assisting someone, so we'd get to just stick out an arm in front of the next person in line and say something like "ummm...I think we're going to have you just stop right there." The concerned, confused, even slightly panicked looks we got from the person were a source of endless amusement. The people in line kept asking us if we were the bouncers. Out of all the people helping out, they picked Lynn and I to be the bouncers? I'm so sure... Perhaps if I were to get a running start and hurl myself with full force at an averaged sized man I might be able to knock the wind out of him. That's about all that could be hoped for out of me in the way of bouncing. A number of men did invite us to frisk them.

About an hour into it Jim Wakeham ruined my fun and decided that it would be more efficient if we just directed people through the line to him, and he would line people up in front of the registrars. After that we just stood there instructing people to "please follow the man in the teal checkers, he'll show you where you need to be." It was admittedly a lot more efficient, and a lot less interesting too.

Today was only slightly less entertaining. We signed up to take a little cruise around Newport Harbor on a yacht that one of the guys out here owns. After tactlessly telling the yacht owner that his instructions to the slip sucked (I didn't realize he was the one that wrote them...I guess we need not wonder why I find myself attending a mid-singles conference), we got our little harbor cruise under way. I have to say there are a lot worse ways to spend a Saturday then cruising around in the water listening to John Denver and Shakira. I was encouraged by a number of other passengers to please stand on the front of the boat and sing Annie's song at the top of my lungs for everyone. However, no one was actually willing to pay to see me go through with it, and a performance like that isn't going to be free. All the same, it was good times.

Tonight was a dance, and speed dating. The great thing about the speed dating is that it was being held in a tent with clear plastic sides, allowing everyone not participating the option of standing outside of the tent and watching. I had no idea there were so many hand talkers out there. There were a few guys leaned so far forward in their seats, that the woman across from him was plastered to the back of hers.

Five minutes after arriving at the dance I saw a man who had to have been pushing forty walk in wearing some very small, obscenely tight, red shorts. He started bouncing around on the dance floor, and I could tell the evening was headed south. Another trip outside to spend an additional few minutes peering at the speed daters through the plastic tent siding and I felt pretty good about heading home to watch a tivoed episode of LOST.

Who knows what fun the conference may produce for me tomorrow.