Magazine Drive 2

The magazine drive lasted a few weeks and the school kept a tally of the money raised. As more and more magazines were ordered, we as a school, moved closer to our goal. It was an exciting time even if I only contributed two subscriptions. In the back of my mind I had convinced myself that I had sold more and was going to receive one of the many lovely prizes. In truth, I would be most likely be awarded a sticker while others swam in the plethora of their winnings. Then the day finally arrived, P day I’ll call it, well prize day.

Just as we had in the beginning, all of the students in the school lined up outside their classrooms and headed to the gymnasium. And just like last time, the prizes lined the stage. Every kid seemed giddy, mostly because they had also convinced themselves that the gigantic, beautiful, battery driven prizes would accompany them home.

The reality of the situation was that a few lucky sons-of-guns would get the big prizes. Not many students were savvy enough to sell fifty magazine subscriptions. Actually, no students were that savvy, but some students had competitive parents who did the work for them. This is where I began to get pissed off.

This drive had nothing to do with the student’s effort it was the parents who were the ultimate target. The school needed money to fund their special programs and the parents were the people who could bring in the money. The school used students to get what they needed. Why not just say, “Hey parents, we have some great programs that need funding, how about donating some money?” Instead the school went about things in a back door fashion saying, “Hey kids, if your parents care for you at all, they will help you sell magazines or do it themselves just so you can have some stupid toy.” There it was my jealous anger coming through again. I would go from loving those prizes to hating them just as quickly.

So here we are in another pep fest, high fiving one another because we, as a school, have reached our goal. Then, the principal and the prize lady spoke again—getting us all riled up. We were one excited bunch of suckers…I mean kids.

Just before crossing that line between “riled up” and “riot,” it would be award time. By awards I mean the students who sold the most subscriptions got to collect their stupid prizes right in front of everyone. It’s just one more way to rub all of our noses in their glory. Their stupid, parent-purchased glory.

The largest prizes were ranked in multiples of ten. First, every student who sold ten subscriptions was called to the stage to collect their toy. Then, the students who sold twenty subscriptions then, thirty subscriptions made their way up to the stage. Keep in mind that if you sold thirty magazines, you collected the prize for ten, twenty and thirty subscriptions making you a three-time winner.

And guess who always got the largest prize; Maggie Spenser. Every year it was Maggie Spenser. I was so sick of hearing her name that it took the rest of the school year for my jealousy to fade.

She thought that she was so special. And really, she was just a girl who had a dad, who brought her order sheet to his work and threatened to fire people if they did not order a subscription. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating about that last part but it sure seemed like it happened that way. Every year we had to watch her stupid, smiling face get every large prize that was awarded. I despised Maggie Spenser…she thought she was so cool.

When the torturous pep fest finally ended and we were directed back into our classrooms, smaller prizes were handed out for students who commissioned less than ten magazines. That was where I was awarded my sticker; my no good, fifty-cent, dumb-ass sticker.