In the spirit of the Christmas season, I decorated my hatchback car like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Toyota.
It seemed like a good idea until my daughter announced her school was having a bottle drive fundraiser throughout December and January. My car was about to become the empties wagon, red nose and all.
The fundraiser was the idea of my friend on the school’s parent council whom I affectionately call Yoga Mommy. She is beautiful and grounded in her yoga practice, which I admire and mock her for regularly. Our daughters are good friends but on opposing school teams and that meant the competition was two generations of girl-power deep. When I got the newsletter from the school that the bottle drive was official, I sent Yoga Mommy a text that said “It is on.”
I was behind before I even started. Yoga Mommy is popular. I’m not suggesting her friends are party people [ahem], but let’s just say I knew I was in trouble. I know her crowd. At the end of week one, Yoga Mommy had close to $200 in empties.
In desperation, I got on my email contact list and sent a plea to everyone in a certain radius of my house begging for beer and liquor bottles. I was even bold enough to suggest some friends were lushes who surely had garages stockpiled with empties and offered a pick-up service for express collection. Let’s say I was promoting responsible drinking.
It worked. My reindeer Toyota and I loaded up. Some people dropped bottles off right to my door. I was ecstatic. My friends were drinking for a good cause. Unfortunately, my schedule was preventing me from returning the bottles fast enough for the Carpenter’s liking. Our carport looked like a frat house. The neighbours were speculating about my “problem.” The Carpenter, unimpressed by my competitive nature declined to participate in the fundraiser beyond loading the reindeer vehicle. I was on my own. I didn’t even know how to return the bottles.
I pulled into the Beer Store parking lot with antlers on my car windows and a big red, plush nose stuck on the front grill, with about 14 cases of beer and six boxes of empty wine bottles jingling around, wreaking of stale alcohol. You could smell my car before you could see it. Gross. I backed into a prime parking spot, but ended up crooked. I didn’t care. I just wanted this over.
People smiled at me wearingly, watching me load a steel cart with stack upon stack of beer cases, haphazardly balancing boxes of green and brown bottles on top of them. I know customers were hoping I would move slowly enough that they wouldn’t be stuck behind me in line while the clerk counted all my bottles.
Then, to my horror, someone recognized me as “that woman in the paper” and winked at me, saying, “looks like you had a good weekend.” There’s nothing like a first impression. Despite my insistence these bottles were not mine, the gentleman tipped his hat and said, “enjoy the next cases.” Ugh.
Thus far, I am nearing Yoga Mommy’s total. Drink up, people. I have $100 to go and less than a month to win … uh, I mean, to raise funds in support of a good school. This is for the children after all. Cheers.