The Campbell Sweatshop
This is what I apparently opened in my living room. According to James. The family sweatshop.
It all starts with an event. A big one. My freelance work. Events that include seating for hundreds, programs, goodie bags, the works. And only one little me.
So I somewhat dillusionally think I can do more than my nimble little fingers can. My friend Lacey realizes the inevitable downfall and offers to help. We have wine and tie ribbons on 350 t-shirts- and that's not all of them. But Lacey inevitably has to go home to her husband and her full time event planning job. Who does that leave me to press into service? Ahhh hello husband.
So with the most cheerful attitude ever James folds, stuffs, collates, assembles and stickers everything with me. What a guy! And running on next to no sleep for a week doesn't make me the most chipper of wives. There was a lot of caffeine involved.
We are in the home stretch- nametags have been printed and assembled, seating charts have been poured over and checked and then.... the banquet manager changes the seating chart to allow for a last minute new camera addition. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Now this may not seem like a big deal but that screwed up at least 2 hours of work and then cost me another 2 hours of work to fix it all. And this was late at night. Sigh. I wanted to cut her. Did I mention this was the night before the event? Right. But with the help of my trusty indentured servant I finished.
The actual event went as smoothly as possible if you don't count a misprinted program that had to have a correct stuffed in it as guests were arriving. Thank goodness for volunteers. I apparently made a bad shoe decision though. I had on my sassy working girl dress with some cute slingbacks that had been proven reliable in the past. But when you actually have to run in said heels and lug boxes in said heels for over 9 hours- reliable just doesn't cut it. By the end of the event my feet were bleeding- seriously bleeding from popped blisters. I could barely limp home. I can still hardly stand today. I have 5 blisters on one foot and 6 on the other. Soooo I'll be bringing some flats to the next one. At least for part of it. I look too short without heels among the suits. It also puts me at armpit level. Very dangerous.
So after a good nights rest I have begun to disassemble my sweatshop in the living room. James is starting to breath easier already. I also might visit that ellusive place called the grocery store sometime.
It all starts with an event. A big one. My freelance work. Events that include seating for hundreds, programs, goodie bags, the works. And only one little me.
So I somewhat dillusionally think I can do more than my nimble little fingers can. My friend Lacey realizes the inevitable downfall and offers to help. We have wine and tie ribbons on 350 t-shirts- and that's not all of them. But Lacey inevitably has to go home to her husband and her full time event planning job. Who does that leave me to press into service? Ahhh hello husband.
So with the most cheerful attitude ever James folds, stuffs, collates, assembles and stickers everything with me. What a guy! And running on next to no sleep for a week doesn't make me the most chipper of wives. There was a lot of caffeine involved.
We are in the home stretch- nametags have been printed and assembled, seating charts have been poured over and checked and then.... the banquet manager changes the seating chart to allow for a last minute new camera addition. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Now this may not seem like a big deal but that screwed up at least 2 hours of work and then cost me another 2 hours of work to fix it all. And this was late at night. Sigh. I wanted to cut her. Did I mention this was the night before the event? Right. But with the help of my trusty indentured servant I finished.
The actual event went as smoothly as possible if you don't count a misprinted program that had to have a correct stuffed in it as guests were arriving. Thank goodness for volunteers. I apparently made a bad shoe decision though. I had on my sassy working girl dress with some cute slingbacks that had been proven reliable in the past. But when you actually have to run in said heels and lug boxes in said heels for over 9 hours- reliable just doesn't cut it. By the end of the event my feet were bleeding- seriously bleeding from popped blisters. I could barely limp home. I can still hardly stand today. I have 5 blisters on one foot and 6 on the other. Soooo I'll be bringing some flats to the next one. At least for part of it. I look too short without heels among the suits. It also puts me at armpit level. Very dangerous.
So after a good nights rest I have begun to disassemble my sweatshop in the living room. James is starting to breath easier already. I also might visit that ellusive place called the grocery store sometime.
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