Episode 3: First Event

As you might guess, this episode discusses working my first event, a pre-season game between the Patriots and Titans. It was originally written on August 27, 2007. This is a great example of my style and mood in the early part of the series. I'm very descriptive, but in a cold, clinical way. I'm also utterly awestruck by small details. Rereading these now with countless events worked, and I can't help but laugh at how much of a newb I was. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and with less than half a clue as to what was really happening.


Friday was my first real day of work at Gillette Stadium as an usher. It was, to say the least, an interesting experience.


I didn’t really know what to expect. I left my house in Norwood (about 6 miles from the Stadium) at 2 PM. My report time was 4 PM. But Route 1 (the only road to Gillette) tends to back up on game days and I didn’t want to be late on my first day.


I hung out behind the Stadium at the employee’s entrance for about an hour before checking in. The place was a madhouse of activity. I was surprised by the number of State Police troopers there, and even more shocked by the number of police dogs. There were about 12 police cruisers, and the same number of dogs. An almost steady stream of employees flowed into the Stadium. There were also dozens of golf carts and fork lifts ferrying cargo in and out of the building. Even in the pre-season, an NFL game is a massive undertaking.


After checking in and waiting around for another hour, it became apparent that the supervisors were freaking out. I could overhear them saying things like “We’re fucked,” “How did this happen?,” and “so and so is wicked pissed that this happened.” Finally they told us what the problem was: there weren’t enough ticket takers to man the gates. There also weren’t enough female security workers to pat down female ticket holders. So they used all us ushers as ticket takers.


I wasn’t prepared to be a ticket taker, but I had been told it was the simplest job in the stadium. And it was. You point an oversized iPod kind of device at the ticket, scan it, and when it says “Go” you let the person in.


The gates opened at 6 PM, and a small number of people waiting there walked in with ease. Then almost nobody came in for about 45 minutes.


The skies were growing darker, and it was obvious it would rain soon. My supervisor said “Don’t worry, it isn’t supposed to rain down here.” On cue, the heavens opened and the rain fell. The ever vigilant police officers outside the gate soon found something better and drier to do inside the Stadium.


Then the lightning came, and the rain poured in buckets. Us ticket takers were underneath an overhang at the gate, so we were able to stay dry. But when the rain really picked up, everyone in the parking lots sprinted for the gates, and a tidal wave of people rushed us. I must have averaged scanning 50 tickets a minute. If ticket scanning were an Olympic sport, I’d probably win the silver medal behind some Norwegian savant. The problem was, my speed inspired people in other lines to hop over to mine, so I wasn‘t given any sort of respite from my ticket taking toil.
One thing I liked about ticket taking was that it was a thank-filled job. Everybody loves the guy who lets them into the stadium. 99% of people said “thank you,” and 90% of people engaged in some short conversation, joking about how wet they were or something.


I was scanning in one of the male lines (lines are divided by gender because only men can pat down men, and only women can pat down women). This kind of sucked, because a lot of nice looking females go to Patriots games, and they were all the way on the other side of the gate. And when it rained, there were a few thousand young women in white shirts entering the Stadium. Quite a show. But I had to deal exclusively with soggy and drunk men. Not that I’m gonna pick up a phone number from a girl or anything as a ticket taker, but something to entertain me while standing in the same place for 3 hours would have been nice.


At 8:30, I was sent on break. They provide us free dinner. Friday night it was a sausage in a bun, with a brownie dessert. Not exactly gourmet, but sausages on the concourse cost about $7.50.


The bowels of Gillette Stadium are the exact opposite of the colorful and vibrant public places you see on TV or when you go there. It’s basically a multi-storied basement with all the spare parts (including us) crammed wherever there is space. No windows, minimal lights, minimal ventilation, not even a TV to watch the game on.
I got “redeployed” as an usher and saw my very first football of the night with 4:26 left in the 2nd quarter. This didn’t bug me much because it was only a pre-season game. I saw the big goal line stand at the end of the first half. It was the only time the crowd really made some noise, apart from touchdowns.


I stood at the top of the seating sections, randomly checking tickets (then I just gave up on that). The primary job of the usher seems to be to keep people behind The Red Line. The Red Line is a few feet behind the seating section. There are 4,000 Standing Room Only tickets sold each game (SROs), and these people are the #1 enemy of the usher. They try to sneak into seating sections. They stand way over The Line. They wander about, drinking and causing problems. I really hate them now.


I experienced two incidents with drunken assholes. One was with a group of kids about 20 years old who gave me shit about The Red Line. I was polite and nice to them, and asked them to stand behind The Line. But some people are just mean, and think that an SRO ticket gives them immunity. They mocked me and danced on my Line. I turned and laughed at them, brushing it off and giving them a thumbs up, and they stopped.
Then some shirtless drunk guy asked me where Bob Kraft was. I talked to him for a while before he dropped his beer bottle, then he faceplanted into the concrete in an effort to pick it up.


Then I got relieved, and told that I could go home. Six hours at Gillette Stadium, five of those on my feet, an hour of watching football, three hours in the rain, and $54 in my pocket. Not bad, it was fun.


Just a few random notes:


The New England Patriots cheerleaders use the same entrance as us. They were wearing their warm ups (short shorts, and tight tops, it’s nice) when they entered the Stadium. And I really liked their new uniforms. Can anyone say USC? Very hot.


We get issued parking permits for the P1 entrance. People familiar with Gillette might know that this is a special entrance. It’s for employees, club members, and suite holders. In other words, the best of the best. And like those douche bag skiers and snowboarders who keep their lift tickets pinned to their coats all year long, I’ll be keeping my employee parking permit hanging on my rear view mirror for the next 2 weeks.


I saw Vince Young warming up before the game. I also was nearly run over by a former Patriots player (who I didn’t recognize) as he flashed his “All Access Pass” in my face, while refusing to slow down at the gate.


I also saw one of the best shirts ever. On the front it said: I Hate Peyton Manning. On the back, it said And Eli Sucks Too.


I’ve gotten a newfound respect for stadium workers. It’s a tough, and often thankless job, particularly in the security aspects. I’d say that 99.5% of Stadium patrons are cool, and some will even help you do your job (someone walked up to me and told me that someone was passed out in the bathroom). That other 0.5% are drunkards and assholes, mostly SROs, not the season ticket holders who know that any trouble and their tickets will be revoked.


All and all, a good day/night of work. An interesting one, too. Up next I have orientation for Boston College sporting events. Then I’m working the next home Patriots pre-season game on the 30th, and BC’s first football game on September 1st. I could have signed up for the Jimmy Buffett concert, but Jimmy Buffett sucks. You’d have to pay me at least $30 an hour to work a Jimmy Buffett concert.


Funny moment of the night: Standing outside the gate, taking tickets, in the pouring rain, one of my coworkers says “You couldn’t pay me to come to a pre-season game in this weather.” To which I replied: “But, someone is paying you to be here.”