Charity Fundraising - 1. Chapter 1 - Setting Up

It had been a dark and stormy night. Sorry for such a nearly cliché start, but I wasn’t feeling creative, positive, healthy, or anything good. The fact that the storm had blown over in the wee hours of the morning only helped a little. You would think that going to a carnival would be something to look forward to - even if I was working at it. But so much was riding on this one that I was just upset.

We had been trying to raise money for 3 months to qualify for a challenge grant. Our prospective sponsor had wanted us to raise $20,000.00 from other sources before he would release funds to us. If we could generate enough popular interest to raise that base amount, he would pay use $40,000.00, then become an advertiser to his network of other donors. The ledger showed a lot of donations and receipts. Nevertheless we were still $1,235.73 shy and only had today to make the difference before the deadline. With the loss of government funding, we needed to meet this challenge grant to have any hope of continuing operations. Right now, we only had enough in the bank to wind down over the next three weeks.

And then, Ben told me Thursday that everyone else had to go to a conference out of town, leaving me to work the carnival alone. Seriously? How could he do this? He needed the job more than I did. Not to mention those we were serving. And how on earth was I supposed to run two fundraising booths at the same time?

“They’re right next to each other?”

“But you need at least two people at each!”

“I have confidence in you!”

“Bullshit!”

“I don’t think we want any of that there - the smell will drive folks away.”

If looks could kill, Ben would have been in cardiac arrest at that point. Unfortunately, that cliché had no more power that the first one. Ben looks cute when he smirks like that, by the way. Thirty-two, 70’s bangs, shaggy mop hair. Brown eyes, strong nose & chin. Smooth neck . . . Umm-NO! Business!!!

“So, what am I supposed to do Saturday?”

“Gotcha covered. Just show up.”

“Ummmmm?”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said today, Scott. Keep that attitude and it will all work out fine. Gotcha covered.”

I didn’t speak to him the rest of that day.

Yesterday, he traded my Corolla for his F-150 with camper top. Banners, supplies, etc. were already loaded in the back. Ben knew better than to ask me help load. I was calming down a little, but the evil eye was still set to maim. When he handed me his keys he also gave me a small envelope. “Don’t open it until you get there.”

“Uh huh.”

That dimple sure doesn’t make it easy to keep the evil eye going. Nor does the t-shirt dotted with sweat. The tight white shirt. The partially wet, partially see-through, form-fitting . . . Umm-He’s doing it again!

“And, are you going to tell me how I’m going to do this by myself tomorrow?”

“Yeah, wearing sunscreen. We don’t want you getting skin cancer over the weekend.”

“Bullshit!”

So, here I was, driving to the carnival at 5:30am. I’m twenty-seven, lean, mean, about to save the world (or at least our charity), and scared shitless. I had two changes of shorts that I’d gotten from Goodwill, 5 changes of shirts, one old baseball cap from college, 3 towels, and the contents in the back of Ben’s truck. Oh, and the mystery envelope. With all that and $1.75 I could get a cup of coffee. I could see the sunrise, but it only made me more agitated.

Driving up to the volunteer check-in canopy I saw donuts and coffee. Okay, maybe this day wouldn’t be a total loss. The girl behind the table was cute. Not that I was interested, but I could still notice that much. She looked up at me and smiled.

“Group?”

“Youth Empowerment Center.”

“Oh, good. Sign here. Take this packet.” She pointed to a diagram of the carnival grounds. “Your booths are here, right next to each other. When are the rest of your people coming?”

“Good question.”

Her smile faltered. “Well, we open at 7:30, but don’t really expect the crowds until about 9. You’ll be ready by then?”

“Hope so. Can I drive the truck and park behind the booths? Most of our stuff is in the back.”

“As long as you get it there before 7 and you leave it parked there until after 3. We can’t have people driving around while others are walking. Insurance.”

“Got it. I’ll just grab some breakfast first. Thanks for having it there for us.”

“Spent all night slaving over a hot Krispy Kreme - just for you.”

I like her.

Sauntering over to the refreshments, I noticed a group of young guys making their way to the check-in. College-age. Various body shapes, but all cute. They wore khaki slacks, oxford shirts, bow ties, and beanies. Four of them they were carrying a huge military locker between them. As they got closer, I could see a crest with Pi Iota Epsilon on their shirts. Stickers with the same crest were plastered onto the locker as well. I could look at them all day. Not sure what they were doing so dressed up, though. Carnivals are hot and messy. Well, enjoy it while you can, Scott. You’ve got to get to work soon.

The girl behind the table looked like I felt. She was enjoying the view herself. It was only as the point man of the group reached the table that she remembered what she was there for.

“Group?”

“Youth Empowerment Center. We’re supposed to ask for Scott.”

You know, the sunrise was really beautiful that morning. The rain had made the grass green. Even the canopy over the volunteer table regained some of its color. The most extraordinarily beautiful woman was standing behind it pointing in my direction. And seven manly faces turned toward me as well. They started to move my way until she reminded them to sign in.

Breathe.

Again.

Ben’s smirk comes back to me. I think I’m going to kiss it next time I see him.

I still have half a donut in my hand and a quarter of one in my mouth when they approach me. The same guy is on point, obviously something of a leader. Blue eyes, auburn hair - clashes gloriously with his red beanie and blue shirt. He says something and raises his hand to shake mine.

I cough.

I swallow.

“Sorry?”

He smiles. “I’m Joe. We’re part of the pledge class of Pi Iota Epsilon at Big State University. Are you Scott from the Youth Empowerment Center?” He must be a wrestler. I take his hand expecting to get mine crushed; his handshake was firm but gentle.

“Yes.”

“Apparently we are your slaves for the next 12 hours.”

“Oh?”

“Umm, you were expecting us, right?”

“I was expecting a surprise. But the boss likes to keep me in the dark sometimes.”

“Yeah?” He turned back to the others and they all grinned and took turns looking at their feet. “We’re getting used to that too. Pledging can be a bitch sometimes.”

Okay, so I am starting to notice that there is still a world out there beyond me and my new “slaves.” We seem to be blocking other volunteers from getting to the donuts. “So, umm, that’s my truck,” I say, pointing, “at least for today it is. If you want some breakfast why don’t you grab it and meet me over there.”

Fortunately, they were all starving students. It gave me a few moments to compose my thoughts before they accosted me again. It was great that I had help, but they did seem rather over-dressed. Surely they had plenty energy - must all be freshmen at BSU if they were pledging. But this could still go sour. I needed to figure out what’s going on and make sure they also knew. So, how to start?

“Well, did they tell you what you were going to be doing here?” I addressed Joe, because they were all still following him. But they all answered in unison.

“We are here to help the Youth Empowerment Center. The YEC is a safe place for teens to hang out and express their sexual identity - without being harassed. It provides activities, counseling, tutoring, and referrals for other social services. The YEC is a non-profit 501(c)(3) organization, but is struggling from a loss of government funding.”

“They made us memorize that before we came,” Joe added.

Good, so far. Perhaps they weren’t going to run away screaming after all.

“So, how many of you are gay.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked that question. They all look at each other. The leader resumed his role.

“None of us. And those who are won’t tell you. But we are all okay with it. This is only one-third of the pledge class, and we all agreed to come here. Are you gay?”

“Umm, yeah. Sorry to be so forward. I just wanted to make sure y’all were all okay with this before we go any further. I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about it. The brothers are going to be coming by to make sure we pledges are all working. I’m the lead on this project, so let me know if we aren’t doing what we are supposed to. We all want a good review from this.”

That’s comforting. I continue. “Cool. But I’m going to ask again, did they tell you what you were going to do?”

“Naw, they just said to show up in our pledge uniforms and bring this locker.”

“What’s in the locker?”

“We don’t know, its locked.”

“Do you have a key?”

“It takes a combination - they said you would have it.”

Hmmmmm.

Think, think, think, thi……Ahaaaaaaaaaaa: the mystery envelope. “Just a moment.”

I open the driver’s door of the truck and reach onto the dashboard. This is starting to feel like Christmas. I open the envelope and unfold the note inside.

“Scott, I still have connections at the old Fraternity and they are sending you some plebes. Don’t molest any of them as I have vouched for your character and gentlemanliness. Enjoy yourself. It’s the least I could do while we are going to the coast for training without you. 15-21-35. Ben”

I tell Joe the combination. It hadn’t occurred to anyone to put the locker down yet, so the four pall bearers do now. Joe fiddled with the combination and finally got it open. He pocketed the lock and opened the locker.

Inside we saw lots of clothes and towels and a clear plastic bag with colorful fabric inside. Joe pulled out the plastic bag and opened it. It contained what appeared to be used Speedos. He pulled at the clothes, which appeared to consist mostly of used intramural t-shirts and shorts - all bearing the fraternity name or crest. Now I was wearing Ben’s smirk. The faces of the pledges ranged from befuddled to shocked.

Joe looked up at me quizzically. “So, ummm, what are we doing here?”

“You mean, besides supporting a worthwhile charity?”

Joe stood up and looked me directly in the eyes. I could see some grey in his blue irises. “Yes.”

“Well, we have to raise $1,235.73 to meet a challenge grant. And they have assigned us two booths to work to do it.”

“And what are those two booths?”

“A dunk tank and a pie throw.”

Joe paused. Joe rolled his eyes. Everyone else looked at the back of Joe’s head - their eyebrows raised. Joe turned around, raising his left shoulder in the international sign for “question mark.”

One by one the rest started grinning at him.

Joe turned back around, looked at the ground, scuffed the grass, then scoffed at the mud he had gotten on his dress shoe. Then he looked back up at me brightly. “What the fuck - where do we change?”

This was going to be a great day.