I am just now waking up... 2:45 on a Sunday afternoon is not normal, people, and I have my reasons. Both Friday night and last night I worked as a VIP coat-checker at two different high-roller Superbowl parties... who just does that? A couple weeks ago, my sorority received a mass e-mail from an event planning company that was in charge of the Black Eyed Peas/David Guetta party on Friday as well as P Diddy's party (oh, the irony) on Saturday night, and they needed volunteers to fill spots as random worker bees at a venue in downtown Dallas. Knowing that getting paid was not an option, a group of my friends and I decided we were going to do it for the possible chance of celebrity sightings (yipeeee!) Friday night we quickly learned that being assigned to "VIP" coat check was no special treat--the A-listers had an entrance all their own--isn't that a bit much for a party where the main entertainment is a live performance that everyone will be watching? Anyways, little did we know that our friends at the coat check would be such lovely tippers! Now there's a little extrinsic motivation for ya. In the beginning of the night, there were six of us working the coat check, and with hundreds of guests, things were getting a little hectic. At the end of the night, our coat-checking friends began stumbling out of the party, cash in hand, searching for a tip jar. We quickly threw some make-shift cardboard boxes on the table and decided to split all tips between the six of us. As soon as the tips began rolling in, our fellow SMU volunteers began bee-lining over with dollar signs plastered over their eyes. Look who wanted to help all of a sudden, when chaos had been ensuing since the beginning of the night! Surprise? I think not. The physical appearance of money is one of the most dangerous of all extrinsic motivators (which in turn hinders uninhibited creativity), and even the promise of monetary reward for a task can turn into trouble, as we saw firsthand the following night. Granted, this is an extreme analysis of a situation that really had no creative bearings whatsoever, but it was the implication that extrinsic motivation had over our co-workers' ability to lend a hand that drove the point home for me. We were in dire need of help, but not by 20 other people, eying the tip boxes the entire time. Let me tell you, it was a pretty uncomfortable situation at the end of the night, divvying out the tips to everyone who helped.
The next night, everything was much more organized (a product of it being Diddy's party, I'm sure) and yet again, I was assigned to the "VIP" coat check, this time along with seven other girls, making the grand total of coat-checking extraordinaires eight. Saturday night also had a different vibe, due to the fact that our "bosses" for the night gathered us for a meeting before the party, and told us that we were each receiving $100 at the end of the night, no exceptions. This changed the mood of the crowd, and everyone was much more fruitful in their labors, not surprising. After the party, at the glorious hour of 3, maybe 4am, we found ourselves waiting around for the big boss who had promised us a paycheck. Some people wanted to leave, others were really counting on the cash, and the dancers that had been hired for the night were beginning to grumble. We all had a feeling that some bad news was headed our way, so it was no surprise when big boss man perched himself on a table, demanded our full attention, and announced that no one was getting paid. Uproar ensued. He was blaming the head of the corporation, the dancers were screaming (well-deserved) obscenities at Mr. Boss Man, and we all felt deflated. Had money not been "guaranteed," this entire situation could have been avoided, and we would have all left, content with our Cameron Diaz and Jersey Shore crew sightings. Let me tell you, extrinsic motivation is a scary thing.
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