Do you ever get too big for your britches?
I live a quiet, reserved little life, but there are moments when someone gives me a little free reign and for a while I am sky high. Then I fly too close to the sun and I crash and burn.
So last week I was helping my friend with a 5k race in Brooklyn, New York.
What was my job you ask?
My job was to get a few runners, well let’s just say 8,000 runners, pumped up before the start of the race.
Now I am a very quiet and reserved person, so the idea of getting in front of a large crowd scared me to death. But I didn't want to let my friend down so I agreed to the task.
When he handed me the microphone to start my “pumping up” extravaganza, I felt like I was going to have explosive diarrhea, and friends that wasn't going to help anyone get pumped up.
Admittedly, since I grew up in the 90’s I fell back to what I heard VJ’s say on MTV. Such things as, “You go girl” and “Gurl, you are workin’ that head band.”
But after some initial awkwardness, and 8000 weird looks from my friends in Brooklyn I was flying high. I had those runners in the palm of my hand. I was throwing out swag. They were dancing. I was rapping. It
was a beautiful thing.
And then it happened…
Now keep in mind we were in Brooklyn, New York. Now, Brooklyn is not known for the niceness of their people. This is where people die. I knew most runners at the race were packing heat in their lycra spandex and sports bras. So I was trying to do my best not to anger my friends in Brooklyn.
But friends as the time past, I got a too little excited, and forgot to think before I opened my mouth.
Again keep in mind I am in Brooklyn, New York in front of 8,000 people.
Here is what I said,
Me: “We are so excited to be here with you beautiful people in the BRONX!”
Runners: (A very loud silence)
Me: Come on my friends from the BRONX. Show me how excited you are to be here today!
Runner: And then a child’s voice, simple and clear rang out over the awkward silence, “We are from BROOKLYN.”
“OH, Dang” thought I, as I saw hands reaching into their lycra spandex and sports bras.
What do I do here? There was no place to run. No words or witty comments that could smooth over the damage that had been done. No amount of knee high socks or fanny packs I could throw out that could heal the damage of mixing up the name of their fair city.
So I did what any sane person would do. I pulled out my gun and started the race, and yelled, “Have a good race Brooklyn!” and started the race 15 minutes early.
I think I handled the situation really well. A gun shot can erase a lot of bad memories from people’s minds, I have found.
Although, uh, I didn’t get an invitation to attend next year’s race.