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Sandbagged
Bill and Jill have a large assortment of handmade
European dolls, too many to fit into the bungalow they hope eventually
to own. How natural to set up a booth at a doll and teddy bear show
and use that venue to downsize their household clutter and sell
books at the same time? Brilliant, Bill thought. |
original by
Elizabeth Pongratz
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original by
Joelle Lemasson
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Bill 's unique book-signing venue
Metropolitan Exhibiters 7th Annual
Doll/Teddy Bear/Collectibles Show
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In retrospect, maybe it should have been obvious
that people who go to doll and teddy bear shows are not the same
people who buy novels about computer attacks. Several visitors
to the booth actually picked up the book and examined it, their
faces lined in puzzlement. “What is it about?” they
asked, as if they had not just read the blurb on the back cover.
“It’s about a computer attack on the country,”
Bill would start with enthusiasm, and then watch the sparks of
curiosity flicker out. He didn’t sell any books, but one
person did request an autograph on his business card.
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Bill and Jill did finally get a chance to sell Jill’s spectacular
Swiss cookies, from a family recipe dating back to at least 1850. They’d
set out a bowl of free cookies, which met with great acclaim. The conference
host stopped by and savored a sample to her great satisfaction. Bill noted
that she could have a free pack if she bought one of the booth items.
“Packs? You have packs? How many do you have?” Bill pulled
back the cover on the large canister. “Why don’t you sell
them?” The lady asked and then insisted. Bill and Jill obliged.
“I’m tired of raising people,” the lady said as she
walked away, shaking her head. The great disappointment of the show was
that, although patrons uniformly loved the cookies, not a single one sprung
for a dollar to buy a small pack. This shattered Bill’s dream of
Jill becoming a female Famous Amos.
Sales progressed at a moderate rate, despite dreadful
weather--steady rain that followed close on a two-foot snowfall. All went
well until noon, when a water main broke, flooding the parking lot and
the hotel. A lake of inch-deep water emptied the hotel restaurant, closed
the kitchen and lounge, and lapped against the ballroom in which cowered
the doll show. Steadfast organizers used towels to “sandbag”
the walls and keep the water out of the ballroom. The maneuver succeeded,
but few customers chose to ford fifteen feet of flowing hallway to pay
their entrance fee and float into the show.
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Some vendors packed, even though only two hours had passed
of the six-hour show. Most vendors held firm, their faces determined
-- until a waterfall burst through the ceiling. Oh, there had been
drips in lots of places, as you would expect in a one-story, flat-roofed
building huddled under thick snow and waterlogged from two days
of steady rain. But when a ceiling tile gave way, the stream that
burst forth might have come from a fire hose.
A simultaneous water attack from below and above
told Bill and Jill that Mother Nature was not in a dolly mood. They
joined most of the vendors in packing, although some stubbornly
held tight, their faces grim, as though they would go down with
the ship. Bill and Jill drove to their neighborhood lounge, where
they spent their proceeds on a meal and drowned their sorrows in
wine. By the time they returned home to their three cats, they were
in fine spirits. Interesting how liquid on the inside can counter
liquid on the outside.
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Lake Doll
Show Entrance
wade in the waters |
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