ROTR - A day in the life

A Day in the Life

To give you a little better idea of what life on the road with the corps is REALLY like, a veteran corps volunteer (thanks Jim J.) shares a typical day in the life of a Colts cook.

What day is it? Where am I? It’s still dark – are we there? It’s difficult to describe a typical day on the road with the Colts, when you’re not really sure when one day ends and the next begins. Suddenly you realize that the van engine is shut off and you hear no buses idling. There are no gas station lights outside. We are here. It is a new day. It promises to be just like the day before, yet totally different.

You find your way to home base – the kitchen truck – to learn the plan. You’re told that the members and staff get two hours of rest on the floor, but the cooks must start preparing breakfast now. Things crank up slowly. Electricity and water are plugged in and turned on; items are removed from the freezer; ovens are turned on. Coffee and orange juice are made; breakfast cereal set out. The sun rises and signs of life begin to appear beyond the kitchen. Soon, sleepy corps members stumble by to stare at the schedule the drum major has written on the side of the truck. There are a few moans and grumbles, but they move on to cals. Before you know it, serving begins, and the area is lively with activity. Those same corps members who were sleepy and stumbly minutes before are now grateful and hungry, filing through the serving line before heading off to their day.

Following breakfast, some of the cook staff clean up while others begin immediate preparations for lunch, or even supper. The scene unfolds like a well-produced opera with a few technical glitches. People pass back and forth in the aisle, lifting food over and passing things under, chopping, mixing, counting, planning. For no apparent reason, an oven stops working. Contingency plans are made. The truck leans to one side where it is parked, so all of the cakes being baked end up thicker on one end. There is a minor medical emergency. Unexpectedly, the chicken for tonight’s meal is still frozen solid. Different plans are made. Each crisis is resolved with creativity, a can-do attitude, and a dose of humor.

Meanwhile, your job might be to pick up just a few items at the grocery store. You begin looking for a van to use while the grocery list grows longer. You find a van with nobody sleeping in it, and the grocery list is complete. You head off to the store, not realizing it’s closed on Sunday. You find another store and zip through the aisles finding the best bargains on all the required items. You grab an extra cart to accommodate all of the bread you’re buying, and you realize that you need five more loaves than the store has in stock. You take what you can, and the bakery manager mentions that you “should have called ahead to place an order.” Right – what city am I in, again? After checking out, you stop by yet another store to pick up that “must-have” personal item for a corps member and the other five loaves. While there, your cell phone rings. It’s someone at the truck, where they have realized what they forgot to put on the grocery list. If you are lucky, this store has the critical product.

You rush back to the housing site, where lunch is about to be served. A sudden storm has forced the crew to set up a makeshift serving line under a breezeway awning. You unload groceries in the rain before jumping into the serving line to help. Dozens of excited, tan, smiling faces file past. You begin to recognize more of them… What is that guy’s name? You vow to learn more names by the time you leave tour. You joke and laugh with members. Soon the rain stops and the humidity sets in.

Following lunch, you go into the walk-in refrigerator to mix drinks for the next meal while others re-stock the truck, inventory the refrigerator (while you crouch on the floor), and continue preparing the next meal. You wash dishes. And more dishes. And on it goes. The sound of the mellophone line rehearsing the same measure repeatedly, just yards away, begins to get on your nerves. But your spirits suddenly lift. The head cook says you should go get a shower. Yes! Unlike other sports, getting sent to the showers in drum corps is a good thing.

Soon, you’re back from the shower, snack is served, and you’re busy packing up the truck to go to the show site. Once there, you find yourself busy with final preparations for the evening meal. You never imagined that you would be cutting 180 pieces of lopsided cake while looking out over that wonderful view of a lake, or park, or freeway, or mountain, or crowded parking lot, or dumpster.

Suddenly it’s time to go see the show. You close up the truck and rush to the stadium, just in time to see the Red Team take the field. They are amazing! You love the music. You love the guard work. Hey – that’s a new drill move! They changed that percussion riff… You pick out that measure the mellophones were rehearsing, and realize how much better it sounds. As the show comes to a close, you’re on your feet yelling as you’re overcome with pride for a group of 135 young adults that you love like family.

On this day you’re lucky enough to get to watch two more corps before returning to the truck to serve dinner. A couple people are already working on breakfast for tomorrow. Serving begins and before you know it, the truck is being secured and locked up for travel to the next housing site, even though you’ve hardly had time to feed the last hungry face. You get your toothbrush from the van and brush your teeth using the spigot on the outside of the truck. You climb into the van and prepare for the night’s journey. What was the name of that town? Where are we going? Who knows…

You lay down in the van and think back over the day: that refreshingly cool moment you spent inside the refrigerator, that funny joke someone made before breakfast, trying to buy all that bread at the self-serve check out lane (never again!), an exchange with a polite corps member, the good food, the amazingly talented kids, the great show, and the feeling that you’re a vital part of making it all happen. You remember that guy’s name, and you think you know why you’re doing this.

You realize that once again the van is too cold, or too hot, but you are exhausted. Neither potholes, pit-stops, CB chatter, your aching feet, or the temperature can disturb your rest. Soon, you are fast asleep.