For Charity's Sake

Twice a year the students emerge from their PSP-induced cocoons to throw a charity fair. The students flood the two cafeterias, set up booths, and guilt or blackmail friends and teachers into purchasing anything they could smuggle from their parents’ homes.

The primary school and middle school each hosted their own charity fair yesterday in separate cafeterias. Each fair was distinctly different in the selling prowess and hawking techniques of the participants.

Armed with the merchandise of the average corner convenience store (plus some terrified hamsters), the primary school students were ruthless when it came to turning those innocently hopeful faces up to the approaching teacher with a handful of smashed brownies bits that were decidedly larger five hours ago when Mom sent them in a neatly packaged container in the morning. The only escape to be found was in the fourth grade corner, where the youngest students were too preoccupied eating the treats meant for selling while playing with the toys meant for selling to notice some out-of-breath teachers with half-eaten rice candy and bits of Indonesian noodles stuck to their clothes.

Occasionally, a small proportion of parents actually excavate the crinkled beyond recognition announcement flyer from the bottom of their child’s book bag (among gorged and leaking pens and half-chewed Hi-Chews). These altruistic parents participate, and suddenly the primary school charity fair develops a new miraculous element called the Samosa Stand.

Surrounding the small scattering of parent-assisted food booths were swarms of selling-piranhas in little kid form. They create a formable minefield of puppy dog eyes and pouty lips, requesting the purchase of one of their slightly wet, slightly used notepads. The Littlest Match Girl might have reached a very different fate if she had taken lessons from these miniature moguls-in-training.

The middle school kids were too cool for parental guidance and so disasters ensued, which is actually just a standard day for me. At one in every half dozen booths, the students actually discovered the secrets to food vendor-ship. Forsaking fashion, a group of boys wore facemasks and surgical gloves when pouring generous glasses of home-mixed Lipton ice tea. Other booths were not as successful like the group of girls that had yet to cook a batch of pancakes on their little hibachi grill without batter implosion for the entire time I waded through the charity fair.

After purchasing cookies and cream ice cream that I had to eat with a toothpick, a postage stamp size rice crispy treat, and a bubble tea that was suspiciously low on bubbles, I felt my charity fair contribution soundly fulfilled and headed back into the school building, where I knew, regardless of how overzealous of sales associate, no student would willingly follow.