Riding the exciting perks of being a columnist

Being a columnist definitely has its perks. To some it may even seem a job filled with fame and glory. This is a lie, of course.

Perks include amazing experiences I’ve had because I’m a member of the press. I am talking about a plethora of free tickets, interviews with interesting and famous people, and various other life-changing experiences. OK, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I’ve never done anything exciting because I’ve been a member of the press. I don’t even have a press pass.

But, I did get to ride in a press truck last week.

It all happened last Sunday morning. I was awakened at 7 a.m. by a couple of my very fit and quite mad friends who had decided that they were in the mood to run a half marathon in New Bedford, Mass. Being the self-proclaimed track mom, I was roped into driving them an hour and a half into a very shady and seedy area of the state so that they could run 13 miles at lightening speed because they had nothing else better to do.

While my friends stood at the front of the starting line, eating peanut M’M’s, drinking Coke, wearing metallic T-shirts and tights and making fun of the guys who wore short shorts, shaved their legs and consumed mass quantities of Power Gel, I wandered around looking for something to entertain me for an hour and 15 minutes. I soon realized that unless I was looking for a heroin fix or a $20 quickie in the backseat of an ’85 Buick with a crack whore, there was little entertainment to be found on the street corners of New Bedford.

Then, I heard it. An announcement that changed my life forever. It was like the voice of God (it was actually a volunteer named Ted with a bullhorn).

“Last call for the press truck.”

Eureka! Something to entertain me for an hour. I thought to myself — this is better than heroin — not only would I be able to ride in front of the lead runners and watch the entire race unfold, but also, I would be in the presence of real reporters and photojournalists, whose genius and professionalism would undoubtedly inspire me. And maybe there would be free food.

So I sauntered up to the press truck and introduced myself.

It sort of went like this: “Hi, my name is Denise Spellman. I’m an opinion columnist with Boston University’s Daily Free Press. I have no credentials whatsoever, and I rarely write about anything but myself. Can I ride along?”

The driver looked me up and down and then helped me into the truck.

I was in. I was surrounded by reporters, photographers, news people and even an Olympian. Okay, well there was a reporter, who was also the photographer. And the cameraman and newsman resembled Wayne’s World rejects and spent half the race trying to figure out where the “on” button was on the camera.

The Olympian spent the entire race boasting of his glory days back when running shoes weren’t invented and runners were chased by dinosaurs. Then he invited me back to his place for a little post race jacuzzing.

So I wasn’t exactly inspired. Nevertheless, I think I am going to stick with this journalism thing. And even when my stint as a columnist comes to an end after this semester, I am thinking of applying to be an editor at The Daily Free Press (those poor bastards won’t be able to get rid of me). Unfortunately, however, most applicants are supposed to have “work related experience,” some sort of editorial skill and a degree of professionalism — all of which I am lacking, unless you can count my editing experience at the school yearbook — which lasted a day before the teacher in charge fired me for sniffing the rubber cement.