Royal Pains

Most Tuesday mornings I volunteer at Meijer Garden (http://www.meijergardens.org/), a really lovely hub where horticulture, fine arts, and education come together to play. It’s one of West Michigan’s best features, and I’m proud to be a (very small) part of the work that’s done there.

My job is as a bus buddy. Bus buddies meet the groups of school children who come to visit and/or participate in one of our many educational programs. Bus buddies hop on the buses as they pull in, remind the kids to use walking feet and inside voices and to NEVER EVER EVER climb on the statues, and then get the kids off the buses and to their destinations in an orderly fashion.

On the good days, it’s a simple job. On the good days, the teachers are organized and have remembered name tags and paperwork and payment and have organized all the lunches into boxes or baskets, and the chaperones listen to directions and pay attention to the kids instead of spending all of their time looking at their phones. On the good days, the weather is beautiful and the buses are well spaced and arrive as scheduled.

Of course, there are no perfect days. As bus buddies, we are used to all the things that don’t go as well as we would like them to, and we work around them. It’s our job. I’ll be the first to admit that I take the job a little too seriously and that I can get frustrated with some of the bumps, but I also try very hard not to let my irritation show with the kids, parents, and teachers. I want Meijer Garden to be a happy place for everyone.

Bus buddies generally work in teams of three, but for some reason Tuesdays are hard to fill, so Tuesdays have been handled by a two-person team. Lately I’ve worked with Susan, who might be my all-time favorite coworker in this job. We talk things over and know the plan, but we both know what to do and when to do it and have no problem scrapping the plan if necessary.

Some days, two bus buddies are not enough, even though we are really good. Fortunately, Rita is a trained bus buddy who works the information desk on Tuesdays, and she’s generally available to come out and help us over the hump.

A few months ago my dad mentioned that the king and queen of the Netherlands would be visiting West Michigan, and that they would make a stop at Meijer Garden. He thought about getting an invite or a ticket for himself but thought them a bit pricey. He wondered if, as a volunteer, I would be invited or might get a glimpse. I chuckled at the thought of me, a lowly bus buddy, amid the glitterati of West Michigan celebs and millionaires. This ain’t communion; it’s PR and politics. I knew I wouldn’t be invited, and I didn’t really give it a second thought.

One Tuesday a team of security people were onsite in preparation for the visit, reminding me that it must be coming up. That’s when I found out what lots of people already knew: the royals would be there the next Tuesday.

I knew that would mean tight security and changes in some of our procedures, but I wasn’t too worried. We were getting toward the end of the school year, so we had fewer and fewer groups, and I figured any groups would be scheduled to avoid a collision with the king and queen.

Then I got the schedule for school groups. Four large groups were scheduled to arrive all at EXACTLY the same time. We were expecting about 600 kids and chaperones at 9:45 and we wouldn’t be able to use about half of our usual drop-off space, couldn’t use our usual gathering spaces, had to bring the kids in through different doors, had to relocate all their lunches—the list of hoops was long.

I was not amused. In fact, I would have to say I was seriously pissed off. For the first time at the garden, I felt abused as a volunteer. I vented to anyone who would sit still: Bill (multiple times), my kids, my boss, my pastor. Such a schedule would have been chaos on a good day; what would it be like when we had to dance around the royals?

But the venting must have done some good, because that Tuesday morning I woke up a new woman. All my grumpiness had disappeared and I embraced my inner fangirl. I put on my freshly washed uniform shirt with pride, and although I took no more pains with my hair than usual (pony tail), I did put on a little lipstick and my orange jacket, since you never know when you might get picked up on some cameraman’s B roll. I reviewed the words of the Dutch national anthem and did just a little bit of research into the king and queen. I was ready for whatever came.

We were blessed with perfect weather. I got there early, and Jess, the staff person in charge of school groups, was already setting up. Then Rita and Susan showed up, and another bus buddy Rita had impressed into service. A few additional paid staff were on hand as well, and a bored docent who wanted to be part of the action wandered out, looking for something to do. I attempted to teach them a little Dutch while we prepared, demonstrating the proper amount of spit needed for each word.  

Then the buses began to arrive—10 total—and we used every single person we had. I can’t say it wasn’t chaotic, because it always is when you’re dealing with first graders (plus teachers, chaperones, and four times the normal number of greeters), but we managed to work around the media and the Secret Service and the Dutch ambassador and get everyone (and their lunches) where they needed to go.

After we got everything put away and my work was done, I loitered a bit, watching the wealthy, the politicians, and local celebrities arrive. I debated waiting until the royals arrived so I might catch a glimpse. I probably should have stayed…just to say I did. But decided to make my way out of there while I still could. Give the rest of the rubberneckers a chance.

It had been a great day, and a glimpse of royalty would not have changed or even enhanced that. Sometimes the preparation is more fun than the party. And some days I’m smart enough to realize it.