Volunteer Failure

My oldest daughter is in Kindergarten.  Her school recently had a spring carnival to raise money.  As usual with any PTA and school event, the flyers, notices and even phone calls came home.

Volunteer your time!  Donate goods for our theme!  Purchase your tickets early!

I will not pretend that I enjoy these things.  They are for the kids and they are for the school.  I understand that and respect it.  I just don’t particularly find them appealing.

Yet after reading the third sheet sent home two weeks prior to the event, I finally caved in.

Well, it’s a Saturday.  I don’t have any excuse not to help out.  I don’t work on that day. I’ll choose the first time slot. Then I can leave before the crowd comes. 

So I signed up for the 9:00 a.m. set up time.

Days later more notices came home about still needing beach items for decorations – towels, flip flops, sunglasses, etc.  Geez, I don’t have any of that to spare.  I didn’t want to shop at the store for them either.

I should do something though, I thought to myself.  After all, I tossed out the coupon booklet and ignored the girls’ scout cookie sale too.

So I reached into my wallet.  I’ll just donate $10 and tell the room mother to go buy what she still needs.  Easy.  Done.

Two days before the carnival, the organizer of our class carnival booth called me.

Class volunteer: “Can you still help out?  We need you at either 11:00 a.m. or 12:00 p.m. for an hour?”  ”
Me: “I thought I signed up for the first time slot, 9:00 a.m.”
Class volunteer: “Oh, I’m sorry.  Those are all filled up.  We really need people for the later times.  Can you still do it?  We’ll have you helping out with face-painting.”
Me: “Wait, I’m not crafty at all.  I’m not real good at drawing or painting.  Can I help in some other way?”
Class volunteer: “Don’t worry, we’ll have stencils.  You don’t need artistic talent.  It will be easy.  See you at noon.  Thanks!”
Me: “Umm, sure….okay then!” (insert sucker sticker on my forehead)

Fast forward to the day of the event.  I walk up to the class booth and see my name typed out and printed across the billboard sign.  “Personal Donation by Mandy _____”

What?!

Why is my name up there like that??   That is just weird and kind of creepy.

I spot my friend and her two girls nearby.  She laughs and points to the sign.
“Geez, how much did you give?”
“Just ten dollars,” I respond.  “I have no idea why they’d put my name up there like that.”

Instead of feeling proud, I felt kind of goofy. Thank goodness hardly anyone knows me.

I sit down in the chair to begin face-painting.  I try to smile and make small talk with each child.  I act like I know what I’m doing.

By the second or third kid, I was regretting my decision to volunteer.  Perhaps Lady Gaga would have approved my artistic abilities but those kids wanted artwork that actually resembled butterflies, dogs, flowers and dolphins.  Not a bleeding beast.

I kept looking at my watch, waiting for the minutes to go by.  The line just kept forming.

One tween wanted a seahorse.  I used the stencil and applied the colors she desired.  I must have used too much paint or had too much water because it smudged.  It resembled an amoeba instead of a cute sea creature.

Even her mom couldn’t hide her disappointment.  “Could you just wipe it off?” she asked me.
“Sure, I understand,” I said.

Volunteer failure!

After that, I somehow managed to complete a skull on one kid’s arm.  I ended my hour about fifteen minutes early after I smeared an Indian chief.   I looked around the tent with the other women creating full face paint tigers and zebras on the boys and girls.  Why couldn’t I have been working in the “toss the ball” booth where I just hand footballs to each child?

I wanted to tear down that billboard with my name on it, tucking it behind my legs.

Instead I located my daughter to see if she was having fun.  She was.  She had no idea of my face painting failure and just wanted cotton candy and more prizes.

We walked around the carnival and made the best of the last hour’s festivities.

Perhaps next year I’ll just make an anonymous donation.  That way there would be no names, no volunteer hours in the tent, and no face painting disappointed parents and children.

Best of all, there would be no more guilt (for any of us).