I was a volunteer this past weekend at Portland’s Wordstock festival. It was my way of connecting to the writing community.
I arrived, bright-eyed, at 7:30am and received my training.
I was assigned to the author check-in table. My job was to check names off a list, pass out name tags, and escort presenters to the author’s lounge in preparation for their event.
By 10:00am, I was feeling great. My face was friendly, my wit was sharp. I led author’s to the third floor VIP room. There was a view of an exhibit hall and some half eaten muffins on a table. As I crossed the path of another volunteer on the elevator, and was puzzled as to why she was referring to the fourth floor as the author’s lounge.
I found someone with the words “Boss Lady” on her name tag to make an inquiry. To my horror, I discovered I’d been leading authors to the wrong room for two hours.
Mea culpa. I bolted to the third floor, herded my authors into the elevator, and brought them to the room with fresh muffins and coffee.
The Wordstock staff was extraordinarily gracious in the face of my error. Still, I wouldn’t blame them for putting a line through my name for next year.
So much for networking!