I had not realised this would involve me being forced to cram my considerable norkage into a violent pink polyester t-shirt three sizes too small, but I put it on anyway, as a dear friend was having a bad day and I thought a photo of my comedy tits in a comedy shirt might cheer her up.*
My orders were to arrive early so I could be 'briefed'. Apparently it was not possible to partake of Funland without a 'briefing'. Despite arriving early, no briefing was forthcoming, I was just pointed in the direction of the Petting Zoo and told to take the money.
I had envisaged a Petting Zoo as being a collection of fluffy white clouds in a variety of sizes. Bunnies, and lambikins and miniature goats and other cute baby animals. Maybe some gambolling kittens and other cuddly shit. I was wrong.
The 'Petting' Zoo consisted of tarantulas and snakes and cockroaches and lizardy things and great big enormous fuck off dragon things. I recoiled at the entrance and declined the offers to Pet the Zoo. There was also a duck, but the duck could not be Petted as it was a Vicious Duck. I assume it was included in the Petting Zoo to attack Bad Children.
I survived the Zoo, without getting bitten by a tarantula or a duck, but was thoroughly savaged by the VIC when I was handing over to the next shift and it turned out I was supposed to charge the parents coming in as well as the children. My disgrace was now of epic proportions.
Due to the black cloud I was now under, when we came to set up for the dance in the evening, I was only entrusted with putting the posh soap and smelly stuff in the loos. I also commandeered the keys to the Bog Roll Cupboard, and cunningly hid a private stash to be distributed to chosen friends when the night wore on and the loos were bare. Then, as I was still deemed incompetent, I went to the kitchen and ate canapés and talked to the sexy chef till it was time to go home and get changed. The VIC was crosser than ever that she was now hot and sweaty and angry, and I was full of canapés and unchastened by my punishments.
The dance began gloriously. There were cocktails, and I found room for more canapés. I insulted the whippersnapper vet by calling him a whippersnapper, in one of those unfortunate scenarios when you only realise that the thing that is funny inside your head, is not funny outside your head, when it is already outside.
The VIC kept coming and shouting at us to mingle, so we did, we mingled right into a corner with a bottle of whisky we had found. Then we mingled back out again, and I told some very boring people that they were very boring, so now they will never talk to me again. Which is good, because I'd been trying to achieve that result through tactful means for years, and actually all I needed to do was drink whisky!
The piper vanished from his piping duties and was found in the broom cupboard with a lady who was not his wife. We lost the first band for a while as well, a pair of comely young wenches who were finally tracked down also chatting up my sexy chef.
I think there was an auction. I'm pretty sure that's why I spent half an hour holding a clipboard in a self important fashion anyway. It's possible I was just pissed and being a twat.
I suddenly became very popular around midnight when the bog roll ran out and word got around I had a private supply.
I lost my shoes. Several times. Each time, I found them with joy and declared we would never be parted again.
The next day it was discovered that after the dance, Youths had come out of their lairs and taken down all the Funland bunting around the village and wrapped it around various parked cars. Apparently this wasn't funny. The VIC stamped her tiny feet in Rumpelstilkskin-esque rage and burst into flames.
* Hope you appreciated it darling.
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