When I decided to work for the Seattle International Film Festival a few years back, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I’m sure there are those individuals that enjoy working at a low-paying high-stress seasonal job that includes waiting on a constant stream of confused and irritated customers, but I’m not one of them. Although I do at times get a weird pleasure out of a demanding work environment, that “I can take it” attitude of mine only lasts me so long before I can’t take it anymore. However, it was only a few days into the job before I realized what it was that enticed people into signing up for the three-week-long ticket-selling boot camp extravaganza: the perks, baby, the perks! And by perks I’m talking free movies, free events and free parties. And by free parties I’m talking free food and free booze!
At the time I thought about how cool it was that Skyy Vodka and Red Bull were both sponsors of the festival. I haven’t touched either since. I soon found out that where free alcohol is involved, I am much like a dairy cow that will continue to gorge itself until it dies. Luckily, my partner at the time was there to make sure that a) I didn’t die, and b) I actually made it out of the party and back to somewhere safe. I remember having fun at the party for the most part. I also remember singing “Regulate” by Warren G at the top of my voice on the car ride home.
Once the car was parked, I realized that I couldn’t move my arms to unbuckle the seatbelt, and yet I was amazingly alert. I not only needed help out of the car—I also needed to be carried into the house and up the stairs where my guy had been renting a room. I started to suffer from waves of nausea that could only be soothed by cool fresh air. I ended up falling asleep in my bra with my head out the window, waking every few minutes to vomit down two stories. My dreams that night consisted of me with a garden hose washing off the walls.
The next morning I had a hangover that, although fairly gruesome, was amazingly mild considering how I had been feeling earlier. I also had red welts where my arms crossed over the windowsill. Oh well, at least I didn’t make a fool out of myself in front of a bunch of strangers. At least I wasn’t walking around crying with a bottle of wine in my hand singing alternate lyrics to “Taking Care of Business” to anyone within my line of sight. No, that was the closing night party, and that’s another story…
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