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A little over a week ago, I worked as a Parade Marshal for Chicago’s Gay Pride Parade. I’d never been to the Pride parade before, and the floats and groups in the parade were AMAZING. Some of them made me cry, but I am a huge softy. It was a really hard job, and not one I’m eager to do again. There were too many people, and too many of them were drunk and belligerent. There were fist fights (although I didn’t witness any); people in apartments flanking the parade route threw glass bottles down onto the pavement (which was PACKED with people); someone in the parade was handing out cans of beer to people, including a minor; and the parade ended early because for some reason (miscommunication? general inconsideratenes?) a flood of people jumped the barricades and started walking down the middle of the street. I mean, I was stationed 2-3 blocks from the starting line and there were floats still lined up ready to go, and the street was filled with people. I don’t know if the human flood happened before or after the police tried to re-route the parade due to too many people being present.

Part of my job involved preventing people from jumping over the barricade and wandering into/crossing the street. People in the street is dangerous because at best it can hold up the parade because there’s a bunch of people in the street. At worse, it’s dangerous because vehicles pulling heavy parade floats can’t stop very quickly and a slow moving car that crashes into a person hurts an awful lot. I spent a lot of time running up an down the street yelling at people to get off the barricade, to get behind the barricade, etc. One woman drunkenly slurred out the query of whether or not I was aware my job was to be “a complete buzz kill bitch.” I think she may have been trying to insult me, but seriously, that was my job in a nutshell. I mean, do you have ANY IDEA how hard it is to find a job where you’re paid to be a complete buzz kill bitch? Very hard! Yet I managed to find one. Go me! Anyway, it kind of boggles my mind that telling someone they can’t wander in front of a multi-ton float is enough to kill their buzz. You are at the fucking Pride parade! How are you not having fun?

I made poor decisions while leaving that morning, and those poor decisions resulted in an incredibly horrific sunburn on my face, arms, and scalp. I haven’t had a burn this bad since… 1999?… when I was working landscaping and lost touch with reality and decided to work a full day in the beating sun with no sunscreen, no hat, and a tank top. I got blisters the size of quarters and should have gone to the hospital but didn’t. My back and shoulders are now covered with like reverse freckles, little spots of absolute white, with no pigment. It was foolish of me. I thought I’d learned my lesson, but apparently I didn’t! A week and a half later and I am still suffering. This too, however, shall pass. Assuming I don’t get melanoma cancer, a cancer that runs on both sides of my family.

I’m currently working a 2-month full-time gig at an institution I’ve worked at before, but in a different department than I’ve worked out. I am, once again, a place holder until a real full time employee can be found. Which means I’m getting paid to sit around and not do much. I answer the phone here and there, I helped a student worker organize the supply cabinet, but other than that? I’m playing with Google+ and getting some writing done. The first few days, actually, were utterly terrible because I had no computer and spent 8 hour shifts reading books. Which, you know, if you said “Brigid, how’d you like to spend 8 hours a day getting paid to read books?” I’d jump at that. But oh my LANDS it was so stultifying. I kept checking the time, thinking half an hour had passed, to find only five minutes had. Maybe if I had a comfortable chair it would have been different, I don’t know.

I’m in some serious trouble, though, because there’s a cafe on the first floor and they sell fancy coffee drinks. DUN. DUN. DUNNNNNNNNN.

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