I just got stood up for an interview I’ve been trying to book since I got here 2 weeks (2 weeks?!) ago. His reason? “I… oh my gosh… I totally forgot to set my alarm.” Ummmm… did I mention it’s 2pm here? He continued on with, “… well I didn’t get in ‘til 7:30 this morning. There’s this big place here that Budweiser sponsors…” Yeah, you can stop right there buddy. I’m familiar with “Club Bud.” And yet I still manage to awaken myself before nightfall the following day after an outing there.

When I was chatting with Phelps before our interview (you like how I just throw that in there like it happens everyday, “So then the biggest Olympic name in history and I were hangin’ the other night…” How annoying am I?) he was saying how now is the most fun time in the Village because as people finish up competitions it becomes par-tay central. But that’s neither here, nor there… and I’m actually not that mad at my little no-show. He’s done with his event and he’s enjoying himself at the Olympics. Who am I to judge?
But in the interest of making (insert Chinese delicacy here) out of chop suey, I decided to blog about the spot where we were supposed to meet. I certainly had had plenty of time to get to know it while I looked for him all over the building. Sooo… allow me to introduce you to the “Bank of America Hometown Hopefuls Family Center:”

Olympic athletes are pretty much the only ones allowed inside the Village for the most part, so aside from being just a cool-looking facility, the HHFC is the one private-ish spot in which our U.S. athletes can hang with the friends and family members who traveled halfway across the world to see them compete in the Games. They’ve got several constant food buffets going, TVs everywhere showing competitions in real-time, an internet lounge, and even a full-time masseuse. Aahhh the life of an Olympian. Or even a friend of an Olympian…
My favorite part of being there though, is listening to all the conversations going on among the family members. Most of the people are totally down to earth and cool, but there are those select few who you know got kicked out of at least one game per season that their kid was playing in for yelling too much. They’re fairly tame at the HHFC because there’s no actual competition taking place at the time, but overhearing some of the conversations is like what I imagine it would be to sit in the waiting room of a baby food commercial with 200 stage moms. “And then little Johnny sat up on his own when he was just 2 weeks old. 2 weeks, can you imagine?!” “Oh that’s nothing; my Susie could recite the Pythagorean Theorem before her 2nd birthday. And her Russian pronunciation skills are just so dead-on… don’t even get me started.” But for these people they’re instead talking about how their kid could out-run Carl Lewis by his freshman year of high school, or put Mia Hamm to shame on the soccer field with her eyes closed. I just want to pull everybody aside and say, “Pssst, you’re at the Olympics. Everybody’s kid is that good. You’re not impressing anyone.” Unless, of course, you’re Debbie Phelps, in which case you can say whatever the heck you want.
I have to admit though; it is kind of cool though to see the parents of the Olympians. I mean, these are people who produced some of the best athletes in the entire world. They themselves often look like they just walked out of an extras shoot for “Conan the Barbarian.” Several of them struck up conversations with me at the buffet line, asking what sport I played. I’ve never felt like more of a disappointment in my life. Instead of continuing to explain that “well, I used to play softball. I played my freshman year at UNC, but I never really loved the sport…. and I… uh…well…” I should have just ended it with “am nowhere near as impressive as your freakishly athletic child.” I opted instead for the more quick and to-the-point, “What a waste of 6 feet, huh?” Oh and by the way, I just got stood up for an interview I’ve been trying to get for the past 2 weeks. Yeah, you guys have a great day too.