How my self-defense training almost came in handy really prematurely. Sort of. Work with me here.

Once upon a time, typically referred to as my freshman year, I worked selling concessions at BYU football games. This was fairly successful, definitely the most fun job I've ever had, so I figured I would do it again this year. And so I am. Apart from the fact that I became a class ditcher before school even really started, this went off without a snag. So I show up at the game, receive my fancy official hat and apron, and go to check in. The man asks me if I'm a cash handler. I figure, I work the cash register, therefore I handle cash. Right? Right. So I tell him yes, in a slightly unsure, questioning manner. He checks the list, and confirms, yes I am. So then, without warning, he points out my station on the map, and then tells me to head to the police station/ office thingy to pick up the money. I give him a blank, slightly panicked look. He sends me on my merry way.

So, lugging my enormous backpack, (I didn't have time to go home after class) with a million things in my pockets, clutching my apron and hat, and holding my paper map in front of me like a sad, sad tourist, I amble off in the general direction I was pointed. I actually found it without much difficulty, though I did have to walk through several rooms full of cops and security people. I reach the office, and tell them that I need money, apparently. They are unable to find me on their list, but they give me the money anyway. Make of that what you will. By this point I'd figured out that I was almost certainly not really a cash handler, but they'd already given me official forms and stuff at the front, so I figured it was probably too late to do anything about it. So they pack me up with 900 dollars worth of change and stuff for my station, and I move on to the next leg of my journey. You would think that the hard part would not be over. You would be wrong.

After ten or fifteen minutes of wandering around attempting to follow my map, I concluded that I was almost definitely lost. And I was lost with 900 dollars of possibly slightly stolen money, which made it both funnier and a lot more panic inducing. I started asking various stations if they knew where I was going. Some admitted that they had no clue, others pointed me in a general direction. Several of these instructions conflicted. It took probably another ten minutes before I finally reached the stand I was supposed to be working at. I then happily handed over my pouch of money and moved on to more important matters. Like counting churros, and stuff. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I have finally sorted out my priorities.