[various pictures from the event - some by me, some by others]

Bear with me, this story is going to take a little build up.

Not long ago I shared with you that a few years back I got to be a grunt amongst a sea of other grunts for what was dubbed as America’s 400th Anniversary – the commemoration of the founding of Jamestown, VA back in 1607.

It was a huge multi-event undertaking that would span the course of a year and took 10 years of planning to pull-off. As for me, I joined the ranks in the last 2 years.

There were several key events early on that were to help promote what was to be “the Big Show” – the actual anniversary weekend.

The weekend was a 3-day multi-location festival complete with a few famous-name artists, a 400 piece orchestra, a 1,607 piece choir, multiple stages – all with their own scheduled events & performers, talent shipped in from all across the country – as well as England & Africa, amazing fireworks, an F-16 flyover, a time capsule…and then President George W. Bush…with Laura, too.

So suffice it to say, this was not your average town, little-bitty summer festival.

And to say stress levels were through the roof would be the understatement of the year.

We were working ungodly hours, running on little to no sleep, cramming catered food down our throats any time we got the chance, racing around in golf carts to get from one side of the event area to the other, dealing with all the last minute issues that inevitably come up no matter how much you plan ahead….heck, let me put it this way.

In the span of 7 days – that’s 168 hours, I worked over 120 of them. That would be 3 full 40-hour work weeks into 1.

I was tired & extremely cranky. Co-workers were exhausted & pushed past the point of clear thought. Everyone was sleep deprived and as the final day of the event came around, the day POTUS was to arrive, we were all on edge.

POTUS: President of the United States. And if you think that’s a funny acronym, try FLOTUS.

This had to go well. No mistakes. This was it.

So let me just say, when you deal with that many layers of local officials, state officials, federal government officials & military reps…keeping track of who’s actually calling the shots – security-wise, that is – can be difficult.

There we were…last day of the event at oh-god-it’s-early-thirty in the dark of night…pulling into the one & only entrance set aside for staff that day.

Only to be halted by Secret Service, Homeland Security, FBI, State Troopers & who-knows-who-else…told we weren’t allowed to park there (irregardless of our parking passes, multiple credentials & bright red event team shirts) & to go drive clear to the other side of the event area where public parking was available.

Did I mention that same entrance was to be used by 30-odd buses of performers to come through security sweeps in roughly 30 minutes before taking the main stage?

And that if we didn’t get them all inside before the POTUS bubble locked down, they wouldn’t get in at all?…No?…Hmm, thought for sure I had mentioned that.

And that’s all it took.

One by one I watched my fellow event staff around me burst into defiant shouts, plaintive cries & numerous explicatives trying to convince them they had received the wrong information & that they needed…no, they MUST…let us through.

And that’s all it took for the Secret Service.

So here’s a fun tip! Never….never….never-never-ever…NEV-VER…tell the Secret Service what to do. Believe me Baby, it don’t work.

And one by one I watched the event staff pile back into the shared vehicles & spin-out in a full blaze of sleep-deprived righteous glory, racing off to the other side of the event.

Where was I?…

I stood there.

It was my station for the day. It was my job to ensure every single 30-odd bus came through on time, made it through security without incident & point them to the holding area. Come hell or high water…or quite possibly handcuffs…I wasn’t budgin’.

Stern cold faces stared down at me…as if willing me to get back in my car & drive off…and I sheepishly grinned back. I had two choices:

• face them, or
• face my boss.

So in my best Texas accent, I very gently mentioned how horrible it was to have such a big miscommunication at such a crucial time…and by all means, they were in the right. But just in case, let me call my boss & see if there’s been a change in plan we didn’t know about.

[wink, wink]

I called my boss. The Secret Service man called his boss.

I was told to stay put – she was on her way. He was told to hang on, more information would be forth-coming.

The next thing I knew…there was my boss & someone else…bounding down the gravel road, golf cart at full speed…heading straight for us.

It skidded to a stop as both passengers jumped out – cell phones on each ear, radios going off…it was your classic shit storm.

I recognized the man…he was “the guy” – as in “THE TOP SECURITY GUY”, in charge of everything.

Next thing I knew my boss with arm extended pointed to me & adamantly shouted,

“HER!”

At which point Mr. TSG (Top Security Guy) quickly gathered everyone’s attention, pointed at me & shouted,

“EVERYONE LISTEN TO HER! SHE’S CALLING THE SHOTS!”

Then they both hopped back in the golf cart & sped away to deal with who-knows-what-other last-minute issues that were happening.

And then all eyes turned to me.

And I stood there – stock still – timidly grinning.

[oh crap]

So I’m going to end this story here to pick up tomorrow because I didn’t realize how much of a story it was. But suffice it to say, it’s a good one.

[I know you're there...and you know where this is going.]