I am a little boss today! - Part 12
- Isabelle Morin
- Feb 17
- 4 min read
Updated: Feb 18
On February 15th, Dave and I headed out for our sixth shift at the Speed Skating Arena. After checking in, and because it was our eighth shift overall, we received another volunteer gift: a pin. At this point, you probably know the drill... We grabbed lunch, returned to the meeting room, and got our assignment: the same role as the last two shifts, but this time at the East Entrance.
There were two volunteer groups stationed there: the silver dots (my group) and the pink stars. When the paid supervisor asked, “Any silver dots want to be the response volunteer?”, I raised my hand. I figured I should try it at least once. Suddenly, I was “in charge” of coordinating 13 people (though “in charge” turned out to be a very generous term). I expected the supervisor to brief me so I could brief my team. Instead, he took the whole group himself, explained the setup, and described most of the roles on the spot. When he finished, he asked if I needed him to stay to help me with assignments. I joked, “I did 34 years in the Army—I think I can handle this!”
Our team acted as the “filtration system” before ticket scanning and security. Regular ticket holders went left; reduced‑mobility spectators, hospitality guests, and accredited personnel went right. Two volunteers had megaphones, three had giant foam hands, and four were positioned just before security to keep the flow moving and prevent bottlenecks. Every 15–20 minutes, I made rounds to check on everyone and offer rotations, but they were all happy where they were. At one point, I went to check on the four volunteers near security and didn’t recognize a single one...They’d all been swapped out by another response volunteer without anyone telling me. Not how I would run things, but everything was functioning smoothly, so I let it go.
The gates opened at 2 p.m. for the 4 p.m. competition. By 4:30, the hockey‑game crew arrived to replace us, and we were sent back to the meeting room. That’s where my brief career as “little boss” ended. The supervisor told us we could either stay to help with egress (i.e exit) or head home. Since Canadians were racing and we had no evening plans, Dave and I volunteered to stay.
We were brought inside the arena and told to watch the competition for 30 minutes before returning for our egress assignments. I watched all three Canadians race (no podiums, unfortunately) and then headed out. I couldn’t find anyone from my team, so I walked until I spotted two volunteers and security near what looked like a blocked exit. Oddly, spectators were slipping out through that same door. When I asked a volunteer whether the door was off‑limits, he said yes, then seemed surprised when I pointed out people were using it. He clearly needed backup, so I stayed to redirect spectators to the proper exit.
After the medal ceremony, a massive wave of people poured out. Many instinctively tried to leave through the door they had originally used to enter the arena (which wasn’t the designated exit). Every time I saw someone moving against the flow, I pointed them in the right direction: “Exit is this way—not the way you came in.” Ninety percent of them turned around immediately.
As usual, I got lots of questions about what to do if they had a hockey game (in the same complex) afterward. When asked that question by a lady dressed in red and blue, I told her that she had to exit like everyone else and, once outside, she could make her way back inside, through the escalators. She insisted that she had been told otherwise and that there was another exit for hockey spectators. I told her that it was not the case, that she had to go out the same way as everyone else. She was insisting so I told her " You can try to find another exit but I know that you will have to come back here" She said "No, I’m just gonna ask someone else" and ran away. I laughed and though to myself...Go ask as many people as you want, it won't affect me!
The crowd felt endless. At one point, I looked around and realized I was the only volunteer left controlling that entire corner. Not only was it not my assigned spot, but apparently the volunteers who were assigned there had already gathered for what looked like an end‑of‑shift meeting...while spectators were still streaming out. When a paid supervisor passed by and handed me a foam finger out of pity, I took it straight to the response volunteer (the same one who hugged me after my third shift) and said, “This isn’t my spot. I’m going back to my actual area. Someone needs to cover this corner.” He agreed, and I left.
Dave texted that he was outside at Door 13H, so I joined him and helped direct the last few spectators. Once the flow stopped, he closed the door and we headed inside to meet the rest of the team. Rachel was there, and so was Fernando. I hadn’t mentioned him yet, but we met on the metro on the way to shift #3. He’s from Spain, so I took the chance to practice my Spanish. I’m so glad I did that immersion program with Maximo Nivel in November; I can actually hold a basic conversation now. This was Fernando’s last shift, so we took pictures together.
I don’t regret volunteering to be the response volunteer, but I don’t think I’ll raise my hand again. Like anything in life, the job is what you make of it—and I made the most of it. But what truly makes these shifts special are the people. We’ve been lucky and interacted with amazing people so far. Étienne, Adriano (who, by the way, is dating a Spanish Olympic swimmer), and Fernando have all gone home now. Not everyone can take a month off work. I know how privileged I am to be here for the whole games, and more...
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