My first outside shift - Part 10

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For my fourth shift at the Speedskating Arena, the competition didn’t start until 19:00, so we only had to report at 15:30. Since we were getting supper instead of lunch, there was no “eat first and come back” this time, we were assigned tasks right away. Thankfully, the organizers had finally figured out a system for sorting volunteers: they had printed giant symbols on large sheets of paper that supervisors waved around like flags to gather their groups. Dave and I were both "grey dots" and ended up being mixed up with pink stars. Who had a pink star? Rachel (my American friend from my first shift)! I was really happy to get a chance to work with her again :). When our supervisor led our group past the staircase, down toward the arena, I knew my luck had run out: I was finally going to be stationed outside the stadium, at the West Entrance.

This is what the West entrance of the Rho Fiera Milano looks like

Honestly, I didn’t mind being outside. It was a sunny day, and I knew this moment would come eventually. Once at the West Entrance the supervisor asked who wanted to scan tickets. I’d never done it before, so I happily volunteered. To my delight, Rachel was assigned there too, along with Jenna from Winnipeg, a girl from Nijmegen, and two Italians. I was easily the oldest of the group, and it was a fantastic crew. By the time we reached our spots around 16:30, spectators were already lining up even though the gates wouldn’t open for another half hour.

When ticket scanning started, I realized how much of the “important information” you’re given when buying Olympic tickets is… well, not that important. The website insists: “Make sure the name on your ticket matches your official ID exactly, and bring your ID with you.” Let me tell you, there is absolutely no time for that. Tickets are scanned for validity, but no one checks IDs. I scanned hundreds of tickets that afternoon. My favorite moment was meeting the parents of David Larue and telling them I’d escorted their son to the bathroom during the Opening Ceremony. Not exactly something to brag about, but it definitely broke the ice.

Sabien from Nijmegen (Netherlands) at the West ticket control entrance. And in the bottom right corner, me showing you what the scanners look like.

If meeting David Larue’s parents was my favorite moment, the most entertaining one came when a man in a Czechia hockey jersey asked me where to go for the ice hockey game. We’d been briefed that there was no hockey at the Rho Arena that day, so if a game was happening, it was all the way across the city at Santa Giulia. The man, clearly impaired by alcohol, kept asking how to get there and how long it would take. It was at least a 45‑minute trip (and the game had already started). I have no idea how his story ended, but I sincerely doubt he saw any hockey that day. When I told another volunteer I felt bad for him, she looked at me and said, “Why? He’s the one who got drunk.” She wasn’t wrong. I just added, “If all the arenas were in only one place, he would’ve made it on time!” (My logic for feeling bad).

During that shift, it really struck me how much trust is placed in volunteers. We’re the only ones scanning tickets, and we do it with little to no supervision. It would be incredibly easy to let someone in without a valid ticket. I didn’t, of course, but I did have to use my judgment a couple of times. At one point, a couple from the Netherlands asked to go back to their car to get something. The rule is clear: No re‑entry; once your ticket is scanned, you’re not supposed to leave and come back. I wasn’t going to just wave them through, so I asked why they needed to go back. The man explained that he had forgotten his phone and absolutely needed it to take a picture with the King (Yes! The King of the Netherlands was there. Again!). I could see in his eyes how important it was to him, so I decided to escort him to his car myself to make sure no one denied him re‑entry. I don’t know how his story ended (whether he actually got his photo with the King), but I’m confident his day turned out better than the man from Czechia!

Once the races began at 17:00, things quieted down. They didn’t need six ticket scanners anymore, so Rachel, Sabien and me headed to dinner and grabbed Dave on the way (Dave was station just past security that day. The one with a giant foam finger that points where to go). After we ate, since one of the Dutch skaters was a favorite in that race, I told the Sabien I’d cover for her so she could watch the end of the race. She didn’t need to be told twice. Then Rachel mentioned an American was also favorite so Dave told her: “Just go. Isabelle and I will cover.” Off she went.

When we returned to the West Entrance, two supervisors were waiting. They’d moved some orange cones to guide spectators who would soon be exiting. They handed Dave and me giant traffic flashlights, the kind used to marshal airplanes, to guide people out of the facilities (it was dark out). The instructions were simple: people who needed to pay for parking should go left toward the machines; everyone else should go right—except those taking the Metro, which was over a kilometer away at the East Entrance. This led to some very discouraged spectators asking where the Metro was. Read the signs, I thought.

Rachel, who had stayed inside to watch the American skater in the final pair, rushed out to help us as instructed by a response volunteer. She was thrilled; the American had won! I told her she should’ve stayed for the medal ceremony, but she said she’d already seen the best part. A few minutes later, she got a text from a friend still inside the arena: “I’m with Snoop Dogg!” was the text. Rachel nearly exploded. Dave just said, “Go. Just go.” And she did.

What we hadn’t been briefed on was anything about the parking layout. We got questions like: Where is P1? Can I pay here if I’m parked in P2? How much is parking? All we could say was : “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” (Very Canadian of us, I know).

The hardest part was when people with disabilities asked where the shuttle for reduced mobility spectators was. We had no idea. At one point, a Dutch woman with a cane asked where the shuttle to the Metro was. I told her there wasn’t one at Rho Arena—only at Santa Giulia. She insisted she’d been told otherwise. Then, out of nowhere, a volunteer driver appeared, thick accent and all, asking where he was supposed to go. He’d been sent with almost no information (No surprise here...). Dave immediately told him to take the woman with the cane, and her husband, to the Metro. After our shift, we asked about the shuttle and were told, yes, there is indeed a shuttle, only for people with reduced mobility... That would have been really, really, useful to know. Thank goodness for that lost driver!

Overall, once again, it was a very satisfying shirt. And, did Rachel see Snoop Dogg? You bet she did! She also made it back inside just in time to hear her national anthem. She texted us: “I was crying.” Dave and I were very, very happy for her.

Link to Part 11