2025 Is for Professionals Only

Tamie and I helped chaperone a youth church dance on New Year’s Eve. Don’t worry, our kids are all grown up and living in different states so we didn’t embarrass them to death by being old in public.

Since we hadn’t been preassigned a specific task, we showed up an hour early in case the event coordinator wanted us to teach The Electric Slide to less cultured parents. He didn’t. He also didn’t want us to DJ. Or to patrol the dance floor and shout “MAKE ROOM FOR JESUS!” to couples gravitating too close to one another during the slow songs. Instead, he put us in charge of watching a ladder.

You can imagine our surprise.

Of all the honorable jobs available, this certainly wasn’t the one we’d imagined for ourselves. Or for anyone else.

I informed the coordinator that neither of us had any formal training watching ladders, but he promised we’d be fine. All we had to do was hang out at the back of the gymnasium and make sure none of the kids attempted to climb it. We suspected he was just trying to keep us away from the dance floor and DJ station, but then went on to explain the ladder was positioned under the mechanism that’d be used to release 2,025 balloons at midnight and he wanted to ensure none of the kids could reach it. He also asked us to monitor the hallways in case anyone tried sneaking in through the side doors and we started wondering what type of kids go to this church but then remembered ours once did so we went ahead and constructed a barricade using folding tables and metal chairs.

It was practically impenetrable.

In fact, the coordinator was so impressed with our work that he entrusted us with *the* most important job of the night – releasing the balloons. I informed him that neither of us had any formal training in this field, but he promised we’d be fine. All we had to do was pull two strings, which he’d retrieve for us using the ladder, as the clock neared midnight. I (incorrectly) assumed a short, quick pull would somehow trigger the entire event. Like one of those ingenious little party poppers, but for 2,025 balloons.

Instead, each string was intricately woven through 50 feet of supportive netting below the balloons, meaning Tamie and I both needed to quickly pick a direction and run 50 feet to release them. If this doesn’t seem difficult it’s because you’re currently reading these words in a well-lit room that isn’t encumbered by a bunch of folding tables and metal chairs.

Next year we’re going to volunteer at a mosh pit in downtown Seattle, where it’s safe.