Rhythm

All the buildup, the planning, the flights and hotels, they culminate in a moment whose sights, sounds and smells all feel so familiar, yet never the same. Each event has a rhythm, a feel and a tune, that undulates slowly as you walk in the room. The doors open slowly, the event hall is filled with booths, vendors, and tables in various states of setup and build. One by one people enter and join in the flow, each a part of river down which all will go.

The truck door slides up and the forklifts roll past as one by one items are carted from the first to the last. Each team with its tasks to sort, stack, and display, all getting ready for tomorrow’s opening day. The work is demanding, but community is built as piece by piece comes together to prepare. By the end of the night bodies are tired and worn, but the room is in order and ready to go. The morrow will bring crowds that will flock in and open the show.

The morning’s quiet anticipation lingers over rows upon rows of perfectly set chairs and tables adorned with crisp tablecloths and neatly placed table numbers. No dice on the floor, no smells in the air, no movement at all. The air handlers humming softly in preparation for the rush that is to come. Standing on the stage and looking out over the place, quietly envisioning the crowds and the chaos that will soon fill the space.

Slowly few by few the staff trickles in, most are excited and eager to begin. Some sore from setup, some tired from flights, some feeling the effect of the previous night. Greetings are exchanged, many hugs, many laughs. Shirts are changed and pockets are stuffed with notebooks and pens. The players arrive and tournaments begin.

In clumps and teams judges take to the floor guiding the players and flipping the rounds. Throughout the day laughter abounds as they interact with one another as friends asking and answering helping and herding. The events rise and fall like waves in the sea, one following another overlapping a bit. Each one changes the landscape subtly as it comes and it goes and when it’s gone it leaves no traces, only memories.

As evening draws to a close the events wrap up. The staff rolls out in small groups seeking dinner and rest. The tables show clutter, their cloths sit askew. Tired chairs are pushed in, but not quite as neat and you can see on the floor where food had met feet. The printers fall silent, the scorekeepers wrap up, and alone on the stage once more you see silence.

The next mornings the same tune plays again as slower and slower the judges roll in. Anticipation is waning by the very end, but show up they do and begin all again. Each day like the last with clipboards and slips, the events one by one called from the announcer’s lips.

The final evening brings one of the best parts: dismantling the show and reloading the carts. Hand trucks and dollies, forklifts and flight cases each of the items in their assigned spaces. Dropping the banners, trashing one time use signage, tablecloth folding, and pallet wrapping - each task assigned and completed with ease. Everyone tired and ready to leave. One last thing the closing the truck, no sound is as nice as that door banging shut. Locking the lock and driving away, so sad yet satisfying, at the end of a day.