registration (m)

My son and I have to register as Competitor and Chaperone.  The registration room is in the basement of the older part of the hotel, across the street.  Very elegant old hotel with lots of character.

I hobble across the street as my knee swelled considerably from the flight.

We get to the registration desk and notice the room is filled with senior citizens who are volunteering for the event.  It looks like a reunion of Wal*Mart "greeters."

The first step in the process is the photograph.  Ugh.  I step in line, take a seat before the camera and give it my best shot.  I think I look pretty good.  I had my hair done by my hairdresser and I have make-up on.  I am wearing nice clothes and a bright red cashmere scarf.  I practice a smile in the mirror and then flash it for the camera people (How many people does it take to take one photograph?  Apparently, two, if they are senior volunteers).  Poof!  The camera goes off.  The elders take a look at the photo.  There's a problem  "Let's try again," they say.  Suffering Jesus.  I try again.

After two more steps in the process, we get to the end and there's a "present" waiting for us.  A huge box of Washington State apples!  My first thought concerns lugging it back to the room; my second thought is this will be how I get my fruit in over the next few days.  In addition to the box, there's a bowl of the same type of apples and a bowl of chocolate truffles.  I am so hungry, even I am not tempted by the candy.  I want an apple.  Now.

I ask the woman guarding the apples if they have been washed.  She says they are "honey crisp apples."  I say, "Great, but do you happen to know if they have been washed already?"  She says they are "crispy and juicy."  I hear a man laughing behind me and he says "I have the same question, but I don't think we're going to get an answer." I turn to look and see that it is Brian Boitano, the Olympic and World Champion.

We agree to take one each and wash them before we eat them.