It's the end of a game and people are going home. It's pouring. Like, biblically pouring. That happens in the South: sometimes the sky just opens up and dumps buckets without warning.
Since our first rain delay, we've learned a few things. We line up our staff with umbrellas, and they take turns walking fans to their cars in the parking lot. They always hold the umbrella directly over the fans, getting wet in the process. Then, it's a race back to the gate to pick up another fan.
Laura, an intern just two weeks in, is approached by an older gentleman, and the amble away. After thirty minutes, I suddenly realize she's still gone and think, Whoa, where is she? Just as I'm about to rally the troops, Laura walks up.
She's drenched.
Where have you been?" I ask, grateful she's okay (if a little wet).
"I walked a guy all the way home to his doorstep," Laura says. "He told me he lived right down the road and had walked to the game." As it turned out, "right down the road" translated to a mile down the road. Suffice to say, Laura got her steps in for the day.
I'm speechless, which is rare for me. Then Laura looks up at me. "Fans first, right?"
Right. Now that's going the extra mile to keep Fans First.
