I felt myself starting blush as a feeling of embarrassment washed over me as I stepped out of the portable restroom and onto the hot tarmac. For the millionth time that morning I wondered what had I gotten myself into by volunteering to staff the Elk's Lodge dunking booth. And for the millionth time that morning I found myself giving myself the same old answer. That nobody would ever know it's me, and so slipping on a pair of matching red flip flops I started to make my way toward the attraction.
It took me ten or so minutes to travel the distance from the portable restroom to the dunking booth attraction. In that time I had passed a dozen or so tents that had popped up toadstools after an early spring shower. In the shade of these tents one could find tables, tables lined with all manner of goods. Wooden arts and crafts that included wooden toy swords and wooden shields. Second hand goods such as flora print sundresses, purses, shoes, and sunglasses. Some tents even offered second hand electronics for sale, items such as DVD players, MP3 players, video recorders, and all other kinds of entertainment goods.
Of course there were more than tents. I passed at least a dozen food trucks, these trucks sold all manner of fair foods, french fries, nacho chips loaded down with warm cheddar cheese sauce and topped with slices of green jalapeno peppers. Funnel cakes, warm from the fryer and topped with a good inch and a half of powdered sugar. Corn dogs, hot dogs, sausage dogs loaded down with grilled peppers, chicken wings, fried chicken tenders, and of course baskets of fried catfish. And let's not forget soda pop.
It was a veritable smorgasbord of food, entertainment, and shopping. And then I saw it, the queen of the fair, the main money maker of the whole thing, the dunking booth. Surrounding the dunking booth was a collection of girls, all dressed in light flora sundresses, some dressed in bathing suits.
In front of the booth I spotted those folding tables. A sign had been taped to the table and the sign read. “Dunk the Southern Belle. Five dollars, three balls or twenty dollars to press the button! All money raised goes to support the Elk's Lodge that supports many of the charities around Benton!” a person named. “William Potter” seemed to have written that message, because his name was at the bottom.
Sitting behind the table was a blonde hair girl that appeared to be around eight to nineteen years old. Was sitting behind the table on a folding metal chair. She wore a white and blue flora pattern sundress. She had the air about her of somebody who was used to giving commands and having those commands obeyed. Right now she was flipping through the newest issue of Sassy magazine. Though after a moment she noticed I was standing in front of the table. Without saying a word she closed her magazine and tossed it down on the card table and peered at me.
“About time you showed up.” She said with a sigh, She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. “The booth was supposed to be open for business at ten, it's ten fifteen right now.” She said, sighing. “You're fifteen minutes late for your shift.” She paused as she looked me up and down.
“Anyway.” The blonde girl said. “We've just finished filling the tank. So you're not too late. And I'm sorry to break it to you. But the girl who was supposed to relieve you is not going to show. She is sick or something. So you gotta work a double shift.” She paused. “You might even have to work three shifts. Three the max though. I can't work you more than three one hour shifts.” She paused. “But we'll just have to see what the day brings.”
She then stepped aside and nodded her head toward the tank.
“Anyway, I need you to climb up and sit on that seat.” I could sense a bit of leadership in her voice. I could also sense a bit of an attitude in her tone of voice. Like she could be a nice person and most likely she was a nice person. But she was a bit self-centered and a bit arrogant. I took a deep breath though and pushed those thoughts away from me.
And with that I turned my full attention toward the dunking booth. The dunking booth was a round tank that held around three hundred gallons of water. It was deep too, from the bottom of the tank to the top was a good six feet. Located in the front was a sheet of clear plastic glass that would allow you to view the person who was just dunked. Located at the top of the length of cyclone fencing and finally there was a drop seat. What would happen would be simple enough. Somebody would drop five dollars for three balls, they would then step up to the throw line, that was a white line somebody had spray painted onto the tarmac just behind the table. They would then take a deep breath and toss the ball at the metal target. If they hit the target, and the target was the size of an elephant so nobody could really miss, unless they wanted to. So once they hit the target, the seat would drop and I would go dropping down into the three hundred gallons of ice cold water.
Anyway she had to go on. And so with my heart fluttering I started to climb the old metal ladder, I soon reached the top and steeling myself I inched my bottom toward the edge of the plank. Once I was at the edge, I squared my shoulders, stuck out my developing chest, brought my knees together and folded my hands in my lap. I felt put on, and in fact I was, I was put on display, a pretty Southern Belle from the upper echelons of southern society was now putting her dignity on the line by volunteering for the town's dunking booth in order to raise money for a worthy cause.
Oh boy, to have a mind like mine is a real curse and a blessing at times. But the moment I eased my bottom down on the drop seat and inched my way toward the edge was the moment I felt an overpowering sense of embarrassment and anxiety come over me. My feet were a good two foot from the surface of the water. And already dozens of people and dozens of people were starting to gather around the booth now that somebody was sitting on the seat.
I carefully surveyed the crowd of people that started gathering around the tank. Most people who made up the crowds were people who came to town once a week. Hill farmers who worked small holding of land out in the country. There had to be at least a thousand and one small farms, and I mean small farms. Most of them just had enough to farm a garden that would hold them over from one frost to another.
The farmers were dressed in what I'll call their “Going to Church” clothes. And by “Going to Church” clothes I mean many of the men were dressed in denim overalls, heavy leather workbooks that for the other six days of the week were caked with mud and had been scrubbed clean with Joy dishwashing liquid till they shone like new money. A cap sporting some popular logo from some tractor dealership normally sat on their head to hide a head of balding hair.
Their wife's were dressed in a similar country fashion. Simple, plain looking dresses, all of them cotton, all of them short sleeved, all of them stopping just below the knees. Now the city folks were dressed more casual, in a style I like to call “Country Club Causal” the men for the most part wore plaid Bermuda shorts, Arnie Palmer golf shirts, golfing shoes. Sometimes they switched the shorts for pleated slacks and white button down shirts. Their wife's also wore dresses, but in a more urban fashion.
“Attention everybody!” Called the blonde hair girl. “The dunking booth is now open for business. For five dollars.” She said holding up a five dollar bill. She then placed the bill into a metal box. “You get three balls.” She said holding up three yellow and white covered tennis balls. “You throw these balls at that target.” She added as she pointed toward the target. “If you hit the target, then that seat that pretty girl is sitting on goes bye-bye and she gets a nice cold bath!”
“If you don't want to take a risk, or if you don't trust your aim. Or you don't want to go through all the hassle of trying to hit the target. You can just pay twenty dollars to cross over the line and push the target in. Just give the target a good ol' push and that seat would drop and you'll be giving this lovely little lady a nice cold bath!”
And with that being said the crowd started to move on in. And I felt myself starting to brace, and for the billionth time that late sunny morning, what in the world had I gotten myself into. Okay it was really afternoon because just as the crowds started to surge forward you could hear the bell in city hall tolling. It tolled twelve times as the big iron hands aligned at straight up noon.
And so it began.
End of Chapter I
