Charity Fundraising - 8. Chapter 8 - Monsoon Party

Fortunately we were near the carnival entrance. I nearly keep up with Joe as he sprints back to the booths. Nice view, by the way.

“Look sharp guys, the big brothers are coming!”

Joe’s shout startled the half dozen folks in line at the time, but didn’t scare anyone off. I wasn’t worried for the guys because of my chat with Dan & George. Still, I owed them a good show and a good report to their big brothers. So . . . should I get to work real fast to show we are a team, or should I chill out and show that they are working so hard I don’t need to? Hmm. I compromise by turning around and checking out the Pi Iota Epsilon delegation which has just made the corner.

The pledge class appears to have been a statistically representative sample of the entire fraternity, if I recall my science terms correctly. The dozen or so guys coming over are hot. Okay, let’s not be so obvious!

I don’t have time to count the money, but I can run my fingers through it and sort of eyeball the take. By the time I look up, Dan, George and two swimmer types have advanced from the phalanx to approach me.

“How’s the cash flow?” George whispers in my ear. I follow his lead and whisper back.

“We’re more than half way.”

“Where can we set up but not be in the way?”

“If you stand behind the changing area you can still see most of what’s going on and supervise the costume changes.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Dan leans forward now. “If Dave & Dave work the tables," he nods at his entourage, "can you spare two pledges at a time?”

They have the same name. Now isn’t that precious? “Sure.”

“Great. Let me know if anyone, or anything we do, gets in the way of your fundraising.”

I nod. He nods back then points at the pie stand.

“Ray! FOLLOW ME!” Ray stands up and looks at me, his face completely white with foam. I shrug at him. Dave #1 walks over to the pie table and sends Peter from the table to the target area.

While George beckons the trunk bearers to the changing area, Dan turns and points at Joe. “YOU TOO, SCUM!”

Joe tries, and fails miserably, to look scared. He hangs his head and follows George & Dan to the changing area with a grin. Dave #2 heads over to the dunk tank table, letting Chuck shag balls.

Tiny is in the tank. He looks too big for it, but I notice he makes sure he goes all the way under when he falls. This happens a couple times while are waiting for the big reveal. John double-checks that the hose is on trickle because we definitely need to keep refilling the tank.

As Tiny climbs up again, Dan goes up to him and tells him to come all the way out. Then he walks forward and addresses the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. We have a special guest star for this attraction. Please join me in welcoming -- THE EASTER BUNNY!”

Sure enough, Joe comes out all pink and fluffy. His left fake ear is straight up but the right one is kind of bent half way. A green and yellow plastic basket hangs from the crook of his right arm. The mittens and tummy are white. The booties are pink miniature bunnies - complete with whiskers. He walks up to the crowd, bows, and then turns to me.

“You’ll shoot your eye out,” I tell him.

Joe doesn’t get it, but several members of the over-30-crowd in the audience do.

As Joe makes his way to the tank, Dan adds, “… and he is joined by his lovely assistant, from Easter Island - CAR-Man Me-RAYNdi!”

A bowl of fruit emerges from the changing area. Ray’s head follows, attached to it. He’s modeling an old grass skirt - very old, as you can see yellow through it in places. When he straightens, we can see the coconut bikini top. The contrast between the tan grass and the dark skin is striking. Bright red lipstick and dangling clip-on earrings complete the frightening picture. He strikes a “Y” pose with a big smile and his butt angled. Then he heads over to start shagging balls.

I think the crowd was too shocked to react when Joe came out, but now they are cheer loudly. The boys from the fraternity get in line. They’re a little ways back having let others line up before them.

A scan of the rest of my pledges reveals lots of wide eyes. It takes them a little bit to recover and get back to work. I scan the crowd. Quite a few are converting from spectators to players.

You know, I’m not sure Joe has made it back up to the tank since the first time this morning. He looks almost as nervous as he did then. I overhear George whispering to Chuck & Tiny, “You get to watch one dunk. Then come on back - you’re next.”

Joe is still dry after the third patron turns around disappointed. But there is a little kid second in line now, so I know that won’t last long. I see Missy walking up past the lines. She is walking straight at me, but she’s looking straight at Joe. I cough at her to avoid a collision.

“Oh, sorry. Weather message, but it can wait a minute, I think.”

“Fine,” I say. We both look back at the rabbit. My heart plummets at her words; then Joe plummets at a clank. We didn’t have to wait for the kid after all.

Surprisingly, I was just as entertained watching all that fur as I had been when he was nearly nude. He flails some trying to stand up. Then he has to adjust his grip half-way through the climb. The newly wet costume must weight almost as much as he does. So much water is pouring out of it. . .

It’s Missy’s turn to cough.

John edges over to listen, and so does George.

“There’s a thunderstorm warning in the next county. We’ll be closing the carnival sometime in the next hour or two. You can shut down now if you like, or you can keep going until you get the order from the fire department.”

“Got it. Thanks.” You don’t shoot the messenger, right?

“Oh, and what’s the cute bunny’s real name?”

I look back at her suspiciously. She blushes. John beats me to it.

“Joe, but if you want to really get his attention call him Josephus. Just don’t tell him I said so.”

That man is just full of surprises.

She thanks John and reluctantly goes on to the next booth. Perhaps I should give Joe her card when I’m done with it…?

John looks at me. “I’ll pass the word around.” He tries to say something else but isn’t quite sure how. I look at him and try my most encouraging expression. Finally, he spits it out. “Boxers or briefs?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, which are you wearing?”

“Umm, boxers. Why?”

He leans into my ear. “I’m not supposed to say anything, and it wasn’t my idea, but you might want to change into one of those speedos. Just in case.”

I consider this while John jogs off to spread the word about the weather. Then I nonchalantly make my way over to the changing area. Whistling would be too obvious, I suppose.

I had forgotten that two of my volunteers were already here. But as I apologize and try to leave they wave me in.

Chuck has on a cheerleader top from Big State U. He’s still just holding the matching skirt. Dan is trying to get his short hair into pony tails. Tiny is already in a BSU dance team uniform.

“We’ll stop if this is taking too much time,” Dan assures me.

“Naw, I think its helping. I just wanted a sneak peak at what else you had planned.”

“Feel free. If you’ve got any suggestions, pull them out. We won’t be able to go through them all, what with the weather.”

Perfect cover. “Thanks.”

Cowboy. Cowgirl. Police Officer. Campus Security. Hippie. Nazi. Sailor. Flapper. And that was just one of the lockers. I palm a small strip of green cloth while pulling out a costume.

“I know this is tame, but I’m partial to these and bet John would look great in it.” I hand Dan a pirate outfit. Seriously, I am into those jagged hems.

“Got it. He’ll be next.” Dan goes back to work on the pony tails.

On the way out, I wave to John. “Be right back - pit stop.” He nods while I make my way to the port-o-johns.

I take a little longer than I should in the “bathroom.”

My route back includes a detour to the truck to drop off the extra boxers and change into a slightly older shirt. I also text a quick update to Ben. When I get back, John is standing behind the pie booth in a holey shirt, jagged red-striped pants, and eye patch. He hasn’t been hit yet but I see kids at the front of the line.

George sidles up to me, pointing at John. “I heard he hadn’t been there yet. Hope you don’t mind.”

“As long as he doesn’t, it’s fine with me,” I reply.

“He said he guessed it was his turn, so I think he is.”

I nod. The pledges had all metamorphosed by now. The Easter Bunny was taking money for the tank and barking about how the fruit needed to be washed. The spirit “ladies” were taking money at the pie booth. The cowgirl (Mike) was next to the pirate. Peter was shagging balls in his black thong. I admire his map of the country as I walk up to him. When he stands up he can see the question mark in my eyebrows.

“They say I’m Michael Phelps.”

“Uh, huh?”

“The Olympics are G-rated, right?” He looks a little concerned.

I shake my head and make a “W” with my thumbs and forefingers.

Turning a 360, I survey domain. It’s marvelous - simply marvelous.

Then, I hear rolling thunder.