Last weekend I got to do something that I've always wanted to do: direct traffic with one of those orange flags. I'm not talking about those blistered and miserable-looking people who have to hold a caution sign for hours. Rather, I stood in gorgeous 40-degree weather warning people not to drive down a road because it was closed at the end. Why was I doing this? Because I care about the local urban cross-country ski race (for which the 40-degree day was not so much a blessing). The best part was that if people blew off my warning and screamed past me, they were stuck having to turn around and slink back to my intersection, where I'd coolly glance over and give them the Look. [It might be helpful for readers to know that I was a Patrol Captain in 4th grade. Not only did my bright orange sash have a metal police-like badge pinned to it, but I got to leave class before lunch to escort the afternoon kindergarteners. In the winter we were allowed to help ourselves to cocoa from the staff lounge, where we discovered the golden ratio that is 4 parts cocoa powder to 1 part water].
This is why I volunteer - where else do you get to do fabulous things like watch famous athletes pee and wear reflective orange vests?
In other not-so-glamorous volunteering, I also worked two hours at our church's nursery. Wise of them, putting six teeny-tinys (I'd give you the ages, but I have no idea) in the care of a person who has never changed a diaper and who left a co-worker's very small child unattended in a wooden-armed office chair.
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