volunteer lyfe #3

Last week I helped the local Dress for Success set up for a sale.

When I say we have inventory: for three hours, with music blasting, a dozen of us moved boxes and crates, swept and organized and stashed, hiding the bras and boring suits and displaying sequinned tops and immaculate jumpsuits on velvet hangers. Another volunteer and I swapped out work shoes for sale shoes, arranging towering heels and swanky boots by size and shape.

Young sorority women came in for the day, the first group torn between helping out and trying on sale items to purchase later. One rocked a pair of white cowboy boots, each of us hooting and wow’ed as she sashayed through the shop. Another modeled the latest in Gen Z style, an eyelet festival skirt with a crop top and Chucks.

My co-volunteer found at least six cute work dresses, two blazers and some strappy gold sandals for less than a hundred bucks.

There’s nothing like the power of fashion.

volunteer lyfe #2

One of the joys of volunteering is, it’s never the same experience twice.

I arrived early for my final festival shift, hustling to get out of the rain before the sandy track turned muddy. My driver wore a fresh white track suit, sparkly sunglasses, chic boots and a crisp hat. She had drinks and snacks close at hand (my misophonia brain quailed) and as we joined the queue, proceeded to give me a PhD-level class in people management.

Direct report #1 was me. When I said hi to an acquaintance and offered to stow their bag, she scolded me (never touch their things). After I took pity on a rain-drenched trio and asked if they were headed to a stage, she scolded me again (that’s not our job).

We chauffeured little kids and brass bands, tipsy hangers-on, a handsome bass player late for the stage and a host of beautifully-costumed singers and performers. I saw her deftly manage thirsty men, bossy folks, and head off inappropriateness with a comment or a smile. In between we developed a running commentary on life, men, travel, jobs and the festival. By the end of my shift, she was gently ribbing me, grabbing my elbow. Don’t leave me, both of us cracking up.

In the end, we said affectionate goodbyes, and as I signed out, the supervisor handed me extra snacks, dished about online shopping and their Barbie obsession, even gave me a hug. And I made peace with a frenemy from the spring.

It’s interesting how you go somewhere for one thing (volunteering! free music!) and end up with new and mended relationships, a cool t-shirt, and hope for next year.