"OK you guys, listen up!"

Pete Zimmerman's attention focused on the Scoutmaster of Troop 36, Boy Scouts of America, which was meeting in the basement the Baptist Church. The meeting was just about over and Ron Brockman, colloquially known as "Brock" to all and sundry, was making his announcements in the vain hope that some of the boys would be listening and maybe even remember some of them.

Brock was a realist - there were handouts waiting to place in their grubby little hands as they left, maybe some of them would actually make it home to their parents.

"OK, there will be a Court of Honor in a few weeks, any of you who are ready to move up to the next rank had better make sure you have your requirements filled and your merit badges signed off. Talk to me if you need some help. I know it's still early spring, but our week at summer camp will be the third week of June. You have to have a signed permission slip if you want to go, so don't put it off if you're going. I have to know how many by May 15. Lastly, how many of you yahoos have done your good turn for the day?" he asked.

"Hey Brock! I mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges."

That was Edwards, always the first one to blow his own horn.

"That was no good turn," piped up Tony Matthews. "You only wanted to be sure you could see in Mary Jane's bedroom window."

"Matthews, I hope you did two good turns today or you're going to be making up for that smart crack for the next week. There may not be enough little old ladies in this town to help across the street if you dig yourself in any deeper."

"I didn't help her across the street," offered Tom Lewis, "but I did take out my neighbor's trash."

"Not a bad start," replied Brock. "I got an offer you can't refuse, boys. The church here is having its rummage sale and they need some help. You might have noticed the bags and boxes in the corner, well they need some help sorting and tagging and suchlike. That gives you all some opportunities to do a whole lot of good turns if you show up here next weekend and help out."

"Awww Brock!"

"Look at it this way - the Girl Scout troop will be here, too. It would be a lot more fun to do good turns for them than some little old lady."

"Now you're talkin', boss!"

"As long as you keep it to talk, get me?"

"Trustworthy, loyal, helpful… That's us!"

"Remember, you'll be in a church, you yahoos."

"Hey Pete!"

"Yeah?"

"You gonna help with the rummage sale?"

"I don't know, Dave. Too much like shopping."

"Yeah, right. Too much like work, you mean."

"That too."

"You know I have to help out, don't you? We go to the church and there's no way my folks would let this slide. I don't want to be stuck with all the goodie-goodies from church all day. I need you, man."

"My heart bleeds for you, man."

"Just think, Pete! We can go garage saleing all day and not leave the place. You might even find something worth taking home."

"As if…"

"The Girl Scouts are going to be helping, too. You never can tell what might happen."

"Dave, you're an idiot. If I want fantasy I'll read Terry Pratchett."

"Hey, what red-blooded eighteen year old boy couldn't take home a Girl Scout from a rummage sale?"

"Yeah, like I'm going to go up to one of them and ask 'How much do you cost?' "

"Not a good idea, Pete."

"Just like the whole rummage sale thing, Dave."

"Well, aren't you Mr Negative tonight. What happened to Trustworthy, Loyal, blah, blah, Cheerful, blah, blah, blah?"

"Mr Reality came by and kicked his cheerful butt."

"Careful or you're going to miss the Reverent part of the Scout Law."

"Give it a break, Dave. Natural Law says I ain't gonna be getting no girl to even look at me, let alone go out with me."

"Hey - someone's gonna want to run her fingers through your hair sometime, buddy. It's long enough."

"Cut it out! I get enough of that from my Grandma."

"Not your folks?"

"Nah. They're OK with whatever I want to do with my hair. Dad says if he didn't have a bald spot he'd wear his long, too."

"Your folks are pretty cool, they don't get all excited about little things like hair or whatever."

"Just as long as I do the dishes on my night and get the trash out before the truck comes."

"You do dishes?"

"I eat, therefore I wash."

"I mean, what about the dishwasher?"

"We don need no steenking deeshwasher, amigo."

"That's the worst Mexican accent I've ever heard."

"Tough."

"Tough to listen to. You really aren't going to help with the rummage sale?"

"I suppose I'll have to. Don't want Brock to get left hanging."

"Loyal, that's what I like. You might even hit all twelve if you keep this up."

"I might just hit you if you keep this up."

"Now, now! That would screw up Friendly just 'cause I was trying to be Helpful."

"There's Dad. Just keep your mouth shut, will you?"

"Mmph mumble mumble."

The Friday night before the Rummage Sale

"Oh my aching back!"

"Yeah, if they're having the sale in the basement, why did they have to store the stuff upstairs? I tell you one thing, this sure ain't no stairway to heaven."

"Careful, Dave. Since we're headed down you know where that leads."

"Can you say 'hell' in a Baptist church and get away with it?" asked Pete.

"You just did. I'm gonna stay ten feet away from you just to be safe for the next little while. Of course you can say 'hell' in the church, the fire-and-brimstone types say it all the time. Hell, they scream it at the top of their lungs when they really get going."

"I think I'm gonna stay twenty feet from you, you just said 'hell' twice."

"Damned if I didn't. Want to go for the record?"

"Hey, we're Unitarians, it wouldn't count in my church. I'm still not sure just what we're supposed to believe."

"Well, I believe we need to get all this junk downstairs before someone yells at us for shirking."

"Yeah, yeah yeah…"

 

"Hey Pete - you look like you need something to do."

"Me, Mrs Wise? Don't I look busy enough?"

"Your hands are empty and you're sitting down."

"Oh."

"Tell you what, stay sitting down and I'll bring you over a box to start sorting."

"Just so long as I don't have to move it up or down another staircase."

"I think those steps get longer by about three paces every time I go up them," offered Dave.

"And I think every box I tote down them gains about twenty pounds per step."

"You poor thing. Could that be a new corollary to Einstein's theory of relativity - a moving box increases in mass in proportion to the number of steps it traverses?"

"Could be - but I really don't want to do any more experimentation to prove or disprove it tonight."

"And science suffers another blow. There! You can discover what unknown treasures lie in this box."

"What do I do with them?"

"Clothes and shoes in one pile, household goods in another, then Kitchen stuff. Just try to put similar items together so we can set up logical tables."

"Hey, the whole thing is full of garden junk. Even a gnome with a broken nose."

"There's a table already started for garden things in the back of the hall. Take it over there and try another one."

"OK."

 

Some time later…

"You need some help, Pete?"

"Hi Sheila. Sure, there seem to be an awful lot of boxes and bags. Too bad they didn't use clear bags so we could see what's in them without dumping the whole thing out."

Sheila was somehow related to Pete in an obscure fashion, so they'd known each other for as long as they'd both been around. Pete never was much into this 'how are we related' stuff, but she qualified as a kissing cousin. Not that he'd ever tried, but she was eminently worth kissing; tall, busty, (very busty, he and every other boy in sight had noticed) graceful and sure of herself. OK, maybe she was downright intimidating to a guy like Pete.

"What I want to know is why would anybody pay actual money for most of this crap?"

"One man's trash is another man's treasure, or at least according to the old song."

"And we'll have to pay the trash man to get rid of most of this when the sale is over."

"Maybe, but they said we can take anything that's left after they close the doors."

"Oh goodie."

Hey - there's a garden gnome with a broken nose that I have my eye on."

"What marvelous taste you have."

"So what's in your bag?"

"Ummm… Stuffed toys… old towels… and a wall hanging with a hole in it."

"Jackpot!"

"Smartass. What's in your box?"

"Kids' books… canning jars… some odd tools and… bingo! A Spiderman blow-up bop-doll!"

"Some people have all the luck. Blow it up and see if it leaks."

"I'm not sure a blow job is appropriate for a church basement."

"You are one sick puppy, Pete."

"You want to do it?"

"What's it worth?"

"Quite a bit when I tell Dave I actually went up to a Girl Scout tonight and asked how much she charged."

"I'm not sure I want to be near you, Pete."

"Just wait a minute. HEY DAVE! COME OVER HERE A SECOND!"

"Pete, everybody in the room is looking at us."

"Well, you're well worth looking at."

"That's not the point!"

"What ya want, Pete?" queried Dave."

"Hey Dave, did I or did I not talk about asking a Girl Scout how much she charged tonight?"

"To the best of my recollection, senator, you did just that as we came down the stairs."

"See, I told you, Sheila."

"The both of you are sick. Some talk for a church, you heathens."

"Sheila," grinned Dave, "I swear the conversation was entirely innocent. I was speculating on his chances of going home with a Girl Scout when we were through."

"You dirty sexist pig! Some Boy Scout you are - objectifying women."

"I wasn't objectifying anyone! sniffed Dave. "I was simply quantifying the chances of my buddy here of getting any girl to go on a date with him, let alone a Girl Scout. After all, Girl Scouts promise to respect themselves and others, and how could any self-respecting girl go on a date with Pete?"

"Thanks, buddy! I might remind you that as a Boy Scout I am always prepared. In this case I'm prepared to knock your block off."

"Children, play nice," growled Sheila. You're in a church. Is this your way of asking me for a date, Pete"

"Huh?"

"Always prepared are you, old buddy? The answer would be 'yes' or 'no.' "

"Uh, yes?"

"Good answer!" crowed Sheila. "Now we have that settled we have a couple of dozen more boxes to sort. Since you're here, Pete…"

"Slave Driver."

"I think I found a toy whip a while back. Should I get it just for you?"

"No another box will do, cousin."

"Please! I don't want that to get out in public, cousin. Go get some more junk and start sorting."

 

"Hey cool!" exclaimed Dave. "A a whole bag of Scout uniforms."

"That's great. We ought to set them aside for Brock," said Pete."

"Uh, not these. They're Girl Scout uniforms."

"Oh."

"Why not, you'd look cute as a girl scout, Pete." laughed Sheila.

"Keep it up and I'm gonna have to reconsider about asking for a date."

"Hey - you never actually asked, Pete."

"Oh. You wanna go out with me?"

"Oh Pete!" she swooned dramatically. "You're so romantic how could I resist."

"You're so sarcastic it would be easy."

"Too bad, sucker. You asked and I'm saying 'yes', so you're stuck."

"Careful, Sheila, or we could become the subject of a steamy romance novel. I got to look through a few dozen a while back. Didn't see any of the heroines on the cover wearing a Girl Scout uniform, though."

"What, they didn't have Passion at Summer Camp?"

"Nah, unless they have a summer camp by some old castle on a hill. Whoever donated them had a thing for castles and women in lace-up dresses. You really want to go out with me?"

"Why not? You look kinda cute when you blush."

"Now who's objectifying people?"

"Not me. You turned a lovely shade of rose when I told you you'd be cute in uniform. We woman just love a man in uniform, you know. So what's your phone number, Pete?"

He recited it and the next thing he knew a light was blinding him.

"Jeez, what'd you do that for?"

"Now your smiling face is in my contacts. I'm calling you so you have my number."

Flash! Turnabout was fair play.

"Don't you dare save that picture!" she cried.

"Too bad. I kind of like the way your eyes are shining."

"My face, too, I'll bet. I don't have any makeup on!"

"Neither do I."

"You're going to need lots of concealer, you creep."

"Concealer?"

"To hide the bruises when I punch you in the face for taking that picture."

"Can we get back to doing what we're supposed to be doing?" asked Dave.

"I suppose so…"

 

"Oh shit!"

"Language, Petey, language." scolded Sheila.

"This box is full of underwear."

"So? People do outgrow their underwear before they wear it out. I hope they washed it first, though."

"Looks clean, but I'm not sure our customers would want me pawing through their bras and such before they bought it."

"Well, somebody has to sort it - sizes and such, you know. How are they going to know a lowly man did the sorting. Or are you too big and masculine to pick up a bra and read the tags?"

"Ugh! Me tough!" growled Pete. "Real man snap bra, not read tag!"

"Try that with me and you won't get a second date, buster!"

"Hey, I have to sort my sister's and my mom's stuff when it's my turn to do laundry - I'm not a complete newbie. But I know who belongs to what in the family. I'd need a microscope to read the tags on some of these panties."

"Damn! Do me a favor, Pete. Set aside those nightgowns, I want them for me!"

"Oh, the fantasies that are invading my brain. You'd really wear something like that?"

"Not while you're around."

"Oh, darn."

"At least not before our date. Then you can have your fantasy if you're up to it."

"Hey you two!" interjected Dave. "Get a room or get through the last boxes. It's almost time to go."

"If you insist."

To be continued