I felt pretty bad. It was minutes before kickoff of “Monday Night Football” in Charlotte, and the guy just wanted to buy a beer. His craggy face put him well past 21, probably in his early 40s. He pulled out his Canadian driver’s license as proof.
“Sorry,” I said. “Do you have a passport? We can’t accept your driver’s license.” The guy slumped. No passport. “Eh, you’re kidding me,” he said, shaking his head. He walked away, thirst unquenched.
I could feel his pain, but I was only doing my job as a volunteer working concessions at Bank of America Stadium.
Under North Carolina state law, U.S. citizens wishing to buy alcohol can present one of four forms of identification, but for non-U.S. residents, passports are required. I learned that in my short stint as a volunteer. And per team policy, we ID everybody, even the “Queen of England,” according to the handwritten message on the name tag worn by Tina, my co-worker at the beer trough.
 |
Facilities writer Don Muret works the beer trough at an NFL game.
Photo by: HUNTLEY PATON
|
The backstory: My daughter Maddie plays trumpet in the band at Charlotte’s Providence High School. Parents and students alike work stadium concessions to help defray the costs of renting instruments and travel, among other things. I thought it would be cool to volunteer and write about the experience. I knew about the part volunteers play in the sports concessions business from covering the SportsBusiness Journal facilities beat, and I’d always wondered how it worked. And, I could slash $55 off Maddie’s instrument rental for the school year.
I signed up online for the Panthers’ early November game against the Colts. I would help run the beer trough on the lower concourse near Section 116.
After entering the stadium at a loading dock underneath the building and going through security, I found my section and was directed to a tiny commissary to check in with Meryl, the group leader. For volunteers, it’s mostly on-the-job training after signing paperwork and quickly reviewing some of the do’s and don’ts of serving alcohol. I put on the yellow volunteer vest and fastened badges listing prices for beer and snacks. I wrote my name on the smaller white tag and pinned it to my vest. The black Providence Pride ballcap identifying our group finished the look.
Thankfully, Tina, the veteran volunteer, ran the high-tech cash register. It’s a new Micros tablet system programmed with beer selections, plus peanuts and Cracker Jack. The touch-screen process for completing a sale is not difficult, and it accepts credit and debit cards, but in a rush, I didn’t want to take the chance of making a mistake and holding up the line. Plus, I’m bad at math, and the heavy rains that night would have the late-arriving crowd in a hurry to grab a beer and find their seats before kickoff.
My job was to take orders, check IDs, collect money, open beers and hand the cans to customers. Nothing too complicated, which was fine with me. Volunteers got free pizza, hot dogs, bottled water and soft drinks. Shortly after halftime, I scarfed down a personal pepperoni behind the trough.
On a nasty night, many fans dug through their rain gear for driver’s licenses. Some kept their wallets in plastic bags tucked in their clothes. They were all wet. For repeat customers, I’m sure the last thing they wanted was to be told to show their ID again.
Most understood our policy. Some comments were funny. “My beard is 21 years old!” was clever. “I’m older than you” was a common refrain. OK, I thought, so you’re about 60? A third retort: “You’re the only stadium that does this. They don’t do it in [Santa Clara].” Highly doubtful, I muttered.
One guy approached our trough with an empty plastic beer glass in his hand. But he had no ID and walked away angry. Nice try, buddy.
Concessionaire Sportservice, in conjunction with the Panthers, also restricts customers to two beers per purchase, which means if somebody wants to buy more than two at a time, two people have to show us IDs. It got a bit tricky the few times a group came up wanting to buy six beers, but I got it figured out.
Beer sales are cut off after the third quarter, which came about 10:45 p.m. A timeout with 14 seconds left in the quarter enabled one woman to sneak in the final purchase. Based on the leftovers we boxed up, we sold about $2,500 worth of Miller Lite, Coors and Coors Light. Large beers cost $7.50 and small Miller Lites were $5.50, so I’m guessing we sold well over 300 cans (I can handle long division).
We had two small metal buckets set up as tip jars and collected a decent amount of cash. Groups keep 100 percent of those “donations.” One fan gave us a $20 bill for one beer and walked away.
Easy money? My feet ached after standing on bare concrete for six hours, skin peeling from my index finger worn raw by opening dozens of aluminum cans. But I had it easy. On a night when it poured rain during most of the game, I stayed dry under cover on the concourse. The poor Providence kids vending pizza and soft drinks in the seating bowl got soaked, their Papa John’s boxes turning to mush.
At the end of my shift, I went back to the commissary and returned my vest, hat and badges. Meryl asked me how it went and whether I’d be interested in volunteering for more Panthers games. It was fun, but thinking of my couch and 55-inch television, plus my financial commitment to NFL Sunday Ticket to watch Bears games out-of-market, I gave her a noncommittal answer. No offense.
By the time I got home, it was midnight and the game had gone into overtime. I watched the Panthers beat the Colts, took some Tylenol for my aching feet and crashed. Volunteering is tough work.
