2002: part 2

the continuation of my unedited (even when i really want to correct typos and bad grammar!) 2002 olympic experience recap:

The buses on the night-route are, at the very least, not easy. Tuesday evening was particularly difficult because…well, basically, I wasn't well-prepared, though I thought I was. The short of it, is that after standing outside waiting for a bus for over an hour on the `coldest night in Salt Lake in six years,' I finally called Aunt Shannon and begged her to come get me, which she did graciously.

On Tuesday, we had another SLOC briefing, at which several local media were in attendance, but no recognizable national reporters. I did get introduced to several members of the IOC staff, and since it has been pounded into our heads that this is the IOC's games, and we are only here to serve them, those introductions, were perhaps a little more nerve-wracking than necessary.

I took advantage of our on-site doctor today, who has been dispensing free flu shots and B-12 shots. I got both. I don't remember this from watching the games, but apparently, in Nagano, there was a rampant flu outbreak that affected huge numbers of people. As a result of that, our medical staff is striking preemptively, with the hopes that a similar situation will be entirely avoided.

On Thursday, we had our regular SLOC briefing, and the remainder of my time was spent putting out small fires, and continuing to familiarize myself with the venue and all its little intricacies.

Security, for me, has been a breeze—much to my surprise. They are still working out the kinks, and there have been some breaches, but it has never occurred to me to feel unsafe there. And as I've said before, if there were to be any attempts at an attack of any sort, I doubt the Media Center would be a target, since most nutjobs like to have their `work' publicized.

At any rate, it is still an adjustment for me to have Secret Service, regular police, and military guys with BIG guns, everywhere I go. Those guys with the big guns are also in the mag and bag tents (our playful nickname for the magnetometers and bag searches), so the idea of setting off the mag, brings on an entirely new fear. So far, I haven't done so, and know that it wouldn't really be that big a deal, yet the sooner I'm out of the tent and away from the Uzi's, the better!

For Dylan's sake, I'll mention here, that the Russians are crazy. I also mention it because they have been the surprise entertainment of my games so far. We have these nutty Russian translators—a man and woman, who always arrive in more fur than most animals have on them, and leaving us to wonder if, at 10:00am they have already started the daily vodka regimen. They like to sing Russian folk songs very loudly, if that paints any kind of picture for you. Today, another of our Russian guests—a reporter—had a heart attack, and refuses to go to the hospital. Word on the street is that he has a little thing with our rather busty, blonde, Russian translator, and is hesitant to leave the venue on that account. The even crazier thing is that I am not kidding.