Soft fruit

6th August

Do Not Accept Soft Fruit

Tonight, as I slept, all I could see were red crosses, green ticks, and all I could hear was the official Olympic Stephen Fry voiceover.

For today I was a ticket scanner.

It left me with RSI in my right thumb and a sore jaw from smiling sweetly at chancers who had ‘accidentally’ turned up to the wrong event.

It had its perks, admittedly. A spectator gave me a strawberry. I was later hauled in front of a disciplinary panel for breaking Rule I of the Games maker manual- Do Not Accept Soft Fruit from Spectators- and a fat woman declared she ‘liked the look of me’ when deciding which ticket lane to go in.

We’ve had many different team leaders in our roles, and they fall broadly into one of five categories:

1)      The David Brent- my favourite, simply for comedy value. Expect high-fives and an offer that ‘we should all go for a drink’. I encountered a gem of a Brent at the campsite, who said that ‘if I walked, out, I’d take half the team with me, I’m sure.’

Also likes to remind you that he/she has run teams ‘fifty times bigger than this’ in the past.

2)      The Headmistress- polar opposite to Brent, will probably have her glasses on a string. Won’t engage in any chat, won’t keep you in the loop, will hate your guts but like everyone, will say how ‘fantastic’ it has been to work with you. Will call you by full name, no nicknames accepted.

3)      The Sergeant Major- SAYS EVERYTHING IN BLOCK CAPITALS. Tough nut to crack, but once you’ve earned his respect, expect a reassuring wink during pep talks. Woe betides any spectator who disrespects his/her team members.

4)      The Flapper- prone to breaking down and disappearing during peak times. Once his/her shift is finished, won’t offer any assistance to spectators as they will most likely be exhaling into a paper bag.

5)      The Great-Aunt- Gives out sweets on shift (Cadbury of course) and when she says she hopes to work with you again, you better believe it. Endeavours to learn your name and lets you clock off four hours early to make sure you get home in daylight. London is nasty, you know.