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I picked up my t-shirt last night. The one I’m supposed to wear for this year’s Bash on Wabash. Every year I pick one up because I volunteer every year to sell beer. They always have us volunteers pick up our shirts at a local business, most often on that little strip of little businesses on 16^th, just west of Michigan. And they serve a little snack, whether or not it’s a restaurant or a clothing store or a spa. This time all I saw was wine and layer cake with very rich frosting at the Three Peas Art Lounge where the shirts were piled high on coffee tables in the bright modern space.

This year, I’m selling corn. The beer vendor is going to sell the beer on his own behalf. My t-shirt even has a nice looking piece of corn on it.

I used to know exactly how many years I volunteered for the Bash--held in the middle of Wabash just south of 13^th--because I had a favorite potter who had a booth there who sold little concrete stepping stones with ceramic designs encased in the middle. I only had to go into my side yard and count the little works of art she made--I bought one every year for five bucks--to know how many times I volunteered at the Bash. But, alas, a few years ago, she stopped being one of the vendors--and I lost track of the times I sold beer.

One year I invited several girlfriends to sell beer with me. And they all accepted. (I think it’s because all of us probably miss our misspent youth when we had part time jobs as bartenders in dive bars.) The beer spigots embedded in the beer truck--the kegs are hidden inside the truck, which converts into a booth--always malfunction, and that year we all started blaming each other (instead of the machinery) for glasses full of foam that we were selling for five bucks each.

One year, on my own time, I spent an inordinate amount of time in a huge booth that was like a big comfortable house, and which was dedicated to cat paraphernalia that could be purchased for the kitties at home. They were never invited back because everyone spent too much time relaxing in there, instead of patronizing the vendors and buying beer.

During Bash, a little piece of Wabash is closed off and it costs money to walk down the street--unless you live there, of course. The gate fee helps the Greater South Loop Association keep going.

In any case, it will be fun this year to listen to the loud Indie bands, eat whatever stuff they are selling--and sell corn. And figure out exactly how many times I really have volunteered for the Bash.

I guess I could count my t-shirts.

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