After a quiet morning spent with my friends in the 20th arrondissement, I set off for the Olympic Village at 12:30 PM. According to my own calculations, I would reach my destination an hour before my mission was set to begin. In reality, I manage to walk right past the village entrance at the metro station and continue strolling cheerfully down the street.
I enjoy watching the people going about their Parisian activities on this sunny Saturday morning and take pleasure in the walk until the distance seems long, and I reluctantly open the Maps app.
From being overly punctual, I become just in time. The metro itself offers so many people to observe that the journey passes quickly. I’ll definitely get used to this soon.
My phone keeps vying for my attention. It’s the volunteer app informing me about the vague complaints and problems of my fellow volunteers. I start ignoring the notifications.
My first stop is the office responsible for all volunteers. There, I have the procedure on my phone explained to me again so I can confirm my presence and qualify for a meal. After that, I head to the NOC office to pick up instructions. I’m informed that my Bahamas team isn’t expected until the following morning at 11 AM. I’m handed a form to fill out regarding my driver’s license so I can use one of the Olympic vehicles. Then I’m told I can wait here until I’m needed, which sounds more like “Do whatever you want.” I sit at a table with other volunteers in the same boat for a while but then decide to contact Maria. Maria is the team leader of the NOC at the German House, and I met her during our training here in the village. Since then, we’ve exchanged messages a few times via Webex, and she suggests I come over to her. I’m more than happy to, as I feel like a six-year-old child whose mother hasn’t picked them up.
I spend a day as a fifth wheel, as I’m not really needed here either. Most of the athletes are still expected, and the preparatory work is largely completed. The volunteers on-site are practically begging the Germans for tasks. For only about an hour do I feel genuinely useful when we load boxes intended for the German shooters, which are to be taken to Chateauroux. Otherwise, I spend most of my time with charming young ladies who kindly tolerate me but are very nice to me. When I offer to repair a printer in the entrance hall, I quickly enlist the help of a Canadian, as the important information is in English. She initially resists, claiming she’s not technically savvy and others have already tried to get the machine working. But those who can read are at an advantage, and minutes later, the device spits out a photo. The future is female.
In between, a few South American ladies wander in, just as lost as I am, because their team arrives the next day. They discreetly let me know that they are from Belarus. I prefer to suppress the thought that we’re back in the Cold War.
Around 7 PM, we go to the canteen together, and afterward, I head to the office in search of news. It was supposed to be staffed until 11 PM, but it’s not. So, at 9 PM, I decide to make my way home, taking my time again.
Let’s see what the next day brings.
