I’ve already told you about my pragmatic side (sleeping on the floor with two pairs of trousers for it to be softer) and also about my long journey with a-beyond-average-IQ-professor who inquired if he could test my IQ levels during the stand still of the train (I suppressed my vanity being tested on a full carriage). On that day apart from being late to my volunteer post at the documentary festival and ending up eating my home made sandwich while standing in front of the open toilet door and trying not to look into it, this was really just the first part of the day. Being late for work for an hour was a minor issue, actually it didn’t appear to be a problem at all. I guess I was blessed with the wonderful coordinators/supervisors.
The main issue on that day was rain or in truth - my ignorance (which was not bliss!) and not being prepared for that. The weather site is probably one of my most used web pages in general and I did check the weather forecast for the weekend before packing and setting off. It was made quite clear to me what was waiting ahead (unless people can have varied interpretations about the pictures of grey clouds with rain drops?) Additionally I knew that my post was based outside, but somehow I still managed to ignore the forecast and decided that the rain coat would not be necessary (after ten years of living on this island I have to admit I can be a slow learner).
To cut it short my newly received festival t-shirt got soaked by the end of day one. I was wet through and the tent floor where I’d left my jacket in a non-waterproof bag had been flooded, so my only jacket was also included to the list of ‘not the driest of my possessions’. Oh, to be clear my lovely supervisors didn’t really ask us to stand in the rain, it was really my own initiative that I helped some others (with coats!) outside during a heavy rainfall. Anyway I have nothing to complain about, I had a warm hotel room to go to and thanks for looking the way I did, I got quite a few sympathetic looks, was allowed to jump the queue when checking in to the hotel and “the wettest gets into the lift first” comment put even a smile on my face. I did have a set of dry clothes, apart from obviously the jacket and the shoes. The latter was a bit of a nuisance when I sat at the hotel restaurant, wet trainers covering my bare feet (as I thought what’s the point of making another pair of socks wet inside already wet trainers), the breeze came through the door by which I’d chosen to sit and I realized I needed to hurry up with my food to get back to the room and under the covers.
But the warm bed had to wait a bit longer as my white festival t-shirt had become slightly discoloured and dirty under the circumstances. So as an exemplary volunteer I washed it with a hand soap in the bathroom sink because reality was that I had to wear this shirt for two more days. After some rubbing and rinsing, it was all white and clean as new. Then I decided to iron the shirt to speed up the drying process, but oops! Bad luck! It appeared that the ironing board wasn’t the cleanliest either and had left some lovely black lines on my white top. Oh well, I sighed and swore, and washed it again!
And additionally on a similar ‘not giving up that easily’ note, but not related to the rain, but just on a journey to another big event years ago. One morning I was standing on the trolley bus on my way to the press centre at the Eurovision Song Contest held in Estonia, holding my dear rucksack in hand, my lovely Nokia 5110 inside the pocket of its shoulder strap. Suddenly on that bumpy ride I felt that something was missing and discovered that it was my phone (I guess its body weight might have given me a sign, as when it wasn’t in the pocket anymore, my bag must have felt much lighter). So my next moves were purely based on instincts (or so I’d like to think). I looked around, saw a bloke standing close by with a coat around his arm. I lifted his coat, spotted him holding the phone (didn’t have time to second-guess it if this actually did belong to me). Anyway, at that moment I was certain this was my phone he was holding, and as I said, I lifted the coat, spotted my missing item, took it off from him, grumbling “it’s my phone!” to the pickpocket and put the phone back into its place in my bag. No one had paid any attention to us but when I looked around and noticed his companion, I started staring at them intently keeping an eye on their every single move (I was obviously so empowered by my own actions). And it worked! In the next stop they didn’t have much choice than to leave the bus (unfortunately quite likely just to wait for the next one with new (potential) victims), but I got to the venue on time, with my phone safely in the pocket, like nothing ever happened!