Suffering

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Suffering

"Come on, Josh, you have to suffer for your class!"

I showed up early for my shift, really early. Sarah was grateful to see me there at eleven twenty, or whenever it was. She had thought she’d be the only one getting dunked there until two. Of course, there was one girl signed up for one, but you can’t expect someone to take an hour shift just because you were stuck there longer. She’d already been up for some time, so I went up on the hot seat right away.

The first dunk is always the worst. You watch the kid throwing, or the target, or close your eyes and pray, trying to prepare yourself for the first drop and then, when you least expect it, you’re down in the murky, rusty water, nostrils filling with the stuff because in your surprise you inhaled as you hit the surface. Then it’s over. They laugh, you laugh, or cough, they can’t tell, and hop back up on the seat and wait for another lucky hit. Of course, there’s still that extra throw, and despite the odds, you’re in the brink again. The first worry is the bottom. You know that it’s there, but the position is fuzzy. You don’t want to go too far underwater, but crunching your toes on the bottom would be a bad idea as well. The next worry is the water, as brown and scuzzy as it was, I was almost certain each dunk was another five minutes off my life expectancy. The next worry was the sun. Being a difficult tanner and an easily burned person, I figured the time up in the sun would more than account for the beginnings of a burn, and later the desired tan, and calculated that it was, indeed, better to be burned the next day than have a farmer tan the whole summer.

My back is rather unhappy right now, as the tag on the back of my shirt is rubbing against it as I type. Both shoulders, the most badly burnt, are complaining most audibly about the hot shower I had to take to clean myself of the rusty water. I probably will not sleep well tonight, seeing as sleeping on my stomach requires I move my shoulders in a fashion they do not appreciate, sleeping on my side involves further shoulder crunching, and sleeping on my back crunches that whole burn, and curls it in such a way that the bruise on my lower back simply screams in protest.

They warned me about the seat, and told me how to avoid it, but sitting on a chair that could at any moment fall out from underneath me was more than enough to discourage me from leaning forward. Perhaps the first few dunks I was too surprised to feel it, but eventually the back of the chair hit my back as I was falling in, and it was all downhill from there. Katie Seamon came by later, but we didn’t let her stay up very long. She’d been up most of the day Friday and had developed a large and painful bruise on her back from the chair, which stung every time she went in.

Two boys were the first ones to try to dunk me. They were about eight or nine, and as such got a little closer to the target than the people we were really scared of. They liquidated four dollars on me, then ran back to their parents for more money. When they returned, it was in a barrage of younger customers, getting a kick out of how much I disliked being in the water. The kid in the black shirt was up first. At this point we knew there were a few technical problems with the dunking apparatus. It wasn’t until the fifth dunk in a row that was triggered by the ball hitting the canvas that they decided to fix it. A simple matter of tying it tighter so that the weight of the canvas was not on the trigger, and thus, another trigger. Having gone in 5 successive times, though, the twitch to get away from the back of the seat as ball contacted canvas was enough to throw off my balance and launch me into the water without the drop. They loved that. The third time they came, I was off the hot seat and handing out the balls, while the blonde kid asked me to get back up there so that he could dunk me. I smiled and stared down at him intimidatingly, saying only "you’re lucky you’re not related to me, kid." Fortunately, they lost the remainder of their money before my second shift.

Jenny showed up about fifteen minutes after one. I was up on my second shift and very grateful to see her as she came down the street. I explained that I’d be up again at 2 when all the people who knew I’d be getting dunked would show up just for me. She reluctantly agreed to go up as soon as she got there. A boy, most likely her brother, was first in line for the dunking. The first dunk is always the best, they don’t know what to expect.

The scariest customer came while Jenny was on the seat. He was a middle aged African-American with well-controlled dreadlocks and pitcher’s arms. He bought six balls at the outset, and went about throwing them from the furthest line. The first two were wild, but hit the canvas hard enough that Jenny twitched visibly. The third connected. Jenny was already nearing half an hour, and looking for an escape, and the man wanted to see someone else on the seat go down as well, so Katie, who had been dry so far, volunteered. She went down twice, both times hurting herself on the back of the chair. A few more boys showed up, and then Jenny hopped back in for Katie. About ten minutes later, it was two o’clock and Cindy had finally showed up so that we could do our shift.

Almost immediately, as promised, Ian and Jen showed up to dunk Cindy. After trying their best, they relinquished the floor to Jason. I sent him to the back line, partially because of age and partially because if Cindy was going to be dunked, I didn’t want him to be the one who did it. Then, of course, they insisted that I go up. Jason had been saving money for this for some time; I think he blew five dollars on me. Cindy wanted to go back up, and I was more than ready to leave, but Jason insisted on dunking me. I told him to "pay the man (Mr. Leutz) an extra dollar and I’ll stay up here." And so I heroically got my class another dollar and wasn’t even dunked in the process.

When Cindy and I were finished, I went with her to get some "homemade Russian bread" from Hennion, which first of all was not homemade and second, was French. Seeing as I needed a ride home anyway, I went with Cindy to help set up for Vircherinka, the Russian Club’s evening party. Jude was not happy. On no less than four occasions, she told Cindy that I should leave because I wasn’t part of the Russian Club and the members should be doing work instead of me. There was more than enough work to go around, and they were not just hanging around because they thought I would do it.

I wasn’t the only one working, mind you. Cindy was doing her fair share after being absent for two or three hours. Sarah was busy hanging up decorations and one of the middle school boys was putting tape on the back. Maria, Emily, and Rachel were setting up the tables while Will, Greg and Natalia tried to get the balloons under control. When the Russian flag went up, Will and Andrew and another boy argued about which side was on top while a ninth grade girl held it off the floor and Maria went to get some tape. I taped one tablecloth, the largest table, fixed the place settings (someone had been putting out serving spoons, we think it was Greg) put out a good half of the plates and generally tried to be helpful wherever I could. I guess it was a sort of penance for having done nothing with the Russian Club the year I took the language.

"This is my last Vircherinka," Cindy said. "And I know I am becoming a true Russian, because I’m going to miss the suffering next year."

Jude decided the best way to ditch me was to send me off to get Natalia’s dinner. "Why don’t you send Anya out to get it?" she suggested to Natalia. "Who?"
"My name in Niura," I responded only somewhat angrily. She would not forget that I had taken the language, that I knew these people and the hardships they went through in Russian class and some of the language, even. I was not some random person trying to get in for free (that could have been arranged much less obtrusively if that’s all I wanted) I just wanted to be helpful.

Josh and another guy from the senior class showed up in the middle of my second shift. My back hurt and I could feel my shoulders beginning to burn, and I would have liked to have a replacement. "Are you guys signed up?" Sarah Meyers asked. They shook their heads. Very few guys had signed up. Most years it was close to fifty-fifty, this year, more like 80-20. They said they had to get going, but maybe they’d dunk someone when they got back.

"Come on, Josh," I shouted from the hot seat, bruised and burned and wary of the clouds moving in that would soon downpour. "You have to suffer for your class."