This Dance Needs To Be Over Soon

It's been a while since I've mentioned the fundraising dance we're having on Saturday. That is because I'm too freaked out and am trying to pretend that it isn’t really happening. Here's the thing. About 6 months ago, P.T. (one of the preschool teachers at our school) said that our usual fundraisers are kind of elitist. She wanted to plan an event that would be inexpensive enough that our students and their families could come. They could help us raise a little money for projects and equipment. What about a dance? Maybe ten dollars a ticket? I liked the idea. My students love to dance, and they'd like the idea of an affordable fundraiser that would allow them to make a contribution to the school. So I offered to help. P.T. is Latina and goes out to dances a lot, so she's the provider of the inspiration. I'm the un-cool gringa who last saw the inside of a dance club in 1988; but I’m good at making to-do lists, calling people, following up. I supply the perspiration.

Things that are ready:
1. Fliers are circulating throughout the universe;
2. Tickets are made, cut, and available for sale.
3. The dance hall at the Mexican Civic Center is booked, contracted and paid for ($1,000);
4. The DJ is signed up for 8:00 - 10:00 ($300);
5. The Norteño band is contracted from 10:00 - 12:00 ($400);
6. My one-way ticket to Siberia is waiting, in case we don’t make enough money to cover our expenses.

Things that ware still giving me fits:
1. Drinks (Soft drinks? Lemonade? What kind of lemonade? How much? Sell or give away? Cups? How many?)
2. Since we didn’t get a beer license, people are asking me about spiking the lemonade, bringing 12-packs, tailgating, etc…, causing me to put my fingers in my ears and go, "LALALALA". The little angel sits on my shoulder and says, “What if there were an accident? Huh? Guadalupe could get sued! What if the cops come?” The little devil on my other shoulder says, “Just find out who’s bringing the tequila.”
3. The lead singer for Norteños Valle is sick. He needs to get better, PRONTO.
4. I still don't know how to salsa. Or cumbia. I can sort of do a marengue-type thing.
5. Did I mention that we are almost $2,000 in the red?

Best Case Scenario. Picture this:
The place is dark. Packed. Sweaty. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. The DJ is (despite the idiotic moniker "DJ Dan") amazing. People are blowing off a night clubbing at Caramba or Mariposa to come down to the Civic Center for our dance. My feet are killing me. My students are all pestering me for dances. I have to put them off for a minute so I can run to the ladies' room and wash my hands. They are filthy from handling such obscene amounts of money all night. Two volunteers and I are raking it in as fast as we can. I make a trip to the safe every ten minutes or so. Security comes to find me and says that they are going to have to rope off the door, as the hall is at capacity (500). People will have to wait to go in until it empties out a little.

Worst Case Scenario. Picture this:
The empty gymnasium echoes with the endless “oompah, oompah” of one stodgy tune after another. The lead singer of Norteños Valle can barely make a sound. He and his accordion wheeze together. Twenty people are there, but half of them are slumped at tables, picking at stale chips and salsa. People come up to me all evening and say, "Hey, can I give you a little feedback that may be helpful if you guys are ever dumb enough to do this again? Get a beer license! Get a decent band! Get a cool DJ instead of this goof-ball DJ Dan!" My boss appears at my elbow with her eyebrows raised. “How much have we made?” "Uh, about $200." "I see. And how much do you have to make to cover expenses?" "Uh, ten times that much?" Everybody’s getting drunk out in the parking lot, which is more fun than coming into the dance, anyway. Still, there is plenty of puke on the bathroom floor when I drag the mop in there are 1:00 AM.