At the altar of the Rollergirl gods

Okay, so, rundown of last night’s Philly Rollergirls fresh meat tryouts:

We got there, realized we were a handful of people who didn’t already own skates, filled out a bunch of paperwork, which included the requisite “tell us about yourself” and “why do you want to be a rollergirl?” (I included ‘I’ve been hit nine times by cars, getting hit by girls doesn’t scare me. In fact, I look forward to it.’) and then went out and rolled around.

They had us skate five times around the track, looking for speed and style (I sucked ass, and was probably slow as all get out), skate between cones, slalom-style (I actually said, ‘Whee!” while doing it, which could either work in my favor or put me out of the running entirely), running start on the toe stops (essentially balancing on this little nubs of worn rubber at the end of your toes, defying gravity and the gods and making you look like a cross between a chicken and an epileptic sneaking around), and an in-person interview.

That part was particularly grueling as it was about this point the caffeine and wine combo I’d employed at home to simultaneously mellow me out and get me moving fast kicked in, causing me to talk far too fast, sweat profusely, act like I was still in third grade and twitch, although the latter bit I think I disguised by spinning around in circles until I almost threw up.

When we were done doing all those things they sent us away, with nothing more than the promise that the few selected (10 tops, and there were probably 50 people trying out) would be contacted at the end of the week.

For the rest of us, there’s the sorrow of knowing that we weren’t good enough. Yet.

I’m driving to Delaware as soon as I can find the time to buy my own pair of skates. And yes, I’m gonna put pom-poms on them, just like when I was 12!

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