- December 20, 2024
-
-
Loading
Loading
OK, first thing’s first. You want to plan the perfect 10-year high school reunion? Then you better stop pussyfooting and lock down a clown.
I don’t care how you do it: Make him sign a contract, throw down a deposit, deliver veiled threats — just get him to commit.
Next, the magician. No reunion is complete without a magic show. The more bunnies pulled from top hats, the better — and hey, I know it’s racy, but school’s out, babycakes. We’re not kids anymore.
These, though, are just the first few things off the top of my head. Having a say at all in this process came as sort of a surprise, actually — I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a “social butterfly” in high school. In fact, I worked tirelessly my entire school career to be utterly forgettable (which explains why I didn’t get a single date between the ages of 14 and 18; if anybody asks, that’s the reason why, OK?).
No student council. No sports. No clubs. Believe me: Doing that much nothing gets exhausting.
But my efforts were in vain. After attending a grand total of zero football games, skipping out on prom and exercising a strict never-socialize-with-anyone-ever policy for four years, I was asked last week to help plan this shindig.
“Wait, wait, wait — you sure you’re talking to the right person?” I asked the classmate who recruited me.
“Of course!” she said.
“Mike ... Cavaliere?” I asked.
“Uh huh!” she said.
“Free tonight for a date?”
“Not a chance.”
Some things never change.
But me, I'm the type of guy who, if he does something, he does it right. So after the clown and magician were a lock, my next call was to the Bounce House Rental Emporium. After that, Chick Fil-A for catering.
See — most of you probably wouldn’t “get” this, not being party planners and all — but as a reunion organizer, you’ve got to think outside the box, be one with the ever-changing global marketplace. You don’t just blindly buy (except for the clown — money’s no object with the clown). You shop around.
Take the venue. I checked out a few beachside decks, with bars and fire pits and plenty of room to stay up late reminiscing. But — then I heard that a local assisted-living facility rents out its rec room for two hours every Sunday afternoon. A quarter of the price.
That’s called fiscal responsibility — ever heard of it? With the extra cash, I invested in a few more cases of RC Cola. (Bring a D.D.)
The rest of the details aren’t set just yet, but we’ll need a motivational speaker. For décor: photos of the party organizers, printed into wallpaper. Oh, and incense, lots of incense.
The secret to planning any party is trusting your gut. And right now, my gut’s telling me we’ll also need a ball pit.
It’s true: I didn’t ask for this job and, frankly, I could do without organizing a bash for a bunch of jerks who wrote, “Who’s this? Enjoy summer. Don’t call me” in my yearbook. But now, the job is mine, and I can’t wait to show my classmates just how wrong they were about me.
Also, this is the year I’ll finally get that first date — I can feel it! I mean, really, what did you think all that incense was for?
BY MIKE CAVALIERE | ASSOCIATE EDITOR
CLICK HERE to read more from Common Nonsense.
