Welcome to Joel's Place, Jay.

Our newest employee is Jay Byam.  He is a college student and musician who holds the unofficial title of "Floater" at Joel's Place.  He helps at the front desk, the Red Room, outside or wherever else the kids are.  For his first Monthly Report he sent me this story which I felt I should share.  Sometimes this job is just fun.

A Story:

At about 8:20 on a Sunday night, 40 minutes until closing, Kelli asked two very fine young men, S and I, to do something.  The task was to empty the huge freezer that was in front of the sound booth, move the heavy and awkward freezer outside and fill it back up with what we removed. 

Initially excited, we retrieved the key from Kelli and opened the freezer lid.  Much to our dismay, the container was packed to the brim with everything from hot dog buns to 20 pound roasts to Reese's ice cream cakes.  

Our discouragement did not last long, however, as my brain began to formulate a genius ploy.  "You toss stuff to me and I'll put it in a pile on the ground over here.  It'll go lots faster,"  I suggested.  "Okay," was all that came out of S.

We began at what would be considered a normal speed for such a job, but S soon realized that I became quite flustered if he threw me the next item before I had placed the previous one down safely.  This epiphany led to a frantic race to see who could do their job faster than the other.  Our heart rates raced as we stopped only a few times to either make fun of the other's mishaps or catch our breaths.  This continued for a surprisingly short amount of time and the freezer was emptied.

Then next part of the job was getting the freezer outside.  We discovered just how good we were at waddling while a heavy object, with no handles might I add, slowly slipped out of our grasps.  Despite these setbacks, the bulky unit was in place outside, plugged in.

The activity that ensued will be faithfully denied by all who were involved.  I mean, of course, this never happened.  I stood at the back doorway, about 25 feet away from the pile we had made where S took his position.  With very few words the process began, differently than before.  We didn't gradually reach a ridiculous pace; we achieved it immediately.  S would either underhand toss things very slowly as if they were a bowling ball, side-arm fling the objects on a laser beam path or catapult the items much like a soldier with a grenade.  There was no in-between.  My body was the only thing stopping the projectiles from matching the destruction of the objects they resembled as they flew through the red room air.  My job was simple.  I was to absorb the impact of the things of differing masses and varying velocities, often with only one free hand, and toss them into the freezer around the corner, in some sort of order, in time to catch the next projectile, which was normally in the air long before I turned the corner.  When the smoke cleared and all body parts were accounted for, two young men with goofy grins on their faces stood over a fully completed task. Or, so we thought. 

Our grateful leader came outside and saw how happy we were to have done such an outstanding job.  Having had enough, she spoke the words that pierced our vulnerable souls.

"Actually, boys, I need it over there…"