Not Everyone LOVES a Parade...

This entry should be read at some points like the book, “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,"  you’ll see when.

Last weekend, I talked my parents into participating in a parade in Des Moines.  It was  just a mile route, close to home, mild weather predicted on a Saturday afternoon.  What could possibly go wrong?  The company I work for has had a presence in Des Moines WA since 1947, when our main building was constructed.  The group decided to echo the era of our origins and dress in 50s style, have a couple of vintage cars for some residents to ride in and make it an event.

First stop was every thrift store in my zip code to find 50s styling threads to mix and match.  If you’re going to dress 50s, you’re going to need polka dots, and polka dots require cat-eye glasses, which then require stick-on rhinestones.  Capris and cardigans, then need chunky jewelry, net scarves and fabulous leopard print bags.   The piece de resistance was a $2 tube of bright red lipstick to complete the look.  Attempts at winged eyeliner were less than successful, and had to be scrapped.  With a boss outfit true to the decade down to my bobby socks, and filling a backpack with phone, chargers and speakers to give us 50s tunes to groove to as we strolled down the street, I was ready to rock and roll, daddy-o.  What’s that about best laid plans?

 

The first issue was getting coordinated and to the staging areas for the parade, 2 hours before the start.  Vintage cars heat up quickly even in the shade and aren’t equipped with modern-day cooling systems to prevent overheating.  When the parade started and we had about 12 folks walking in front of the cars so that we didn’t get exhaust fumes… that means the cars were running at 2-3 mph behind the people.

If you take a car from the 50s out in 80 degree weather and run it at 3 mph for any length of time, it’s going to form vapor lock (carburetor overheating). If it forms vapor lock, the engine shuts down to prevent the engine from overheating.  When the engine shuts down, you have no power to steer OR brake.  When you have no power to steer or brake, mom’s eyes get as wide as saucers and she looks like she wants to bail.  When mom gets a startled look, dad is oblivious – as are the passengers waving from the cars.  

I’m off on the side of the road trying to get the music system to work; no luck.  Mom comes by and lets me know she’s in neutral, car off and has no control.  SLIGHT sense of panic here – just a little bit.  I shuffle up to dad’s car and let him know mom’s predicament. 

He says, "And what can I do about it NOW?" 

Me:“Nothing, just letting you know she’s probably going to pull off before we head up the next hill.” 

The rest of the parade went great - candy was distributed, waves were given, whoops and hollers were received and my partner in crime didn't even hit on the Seafair pirates.

So, I now have one irritated parent, one slightly panicked parent and four aging residents to handle. Our banner is resisting the slight wind and a backpack full of sound equipment that doesn’t work getting progressively heavier...  Happy camper? NOT SO MUCH.

When we get to the end of the parade, both cars are overheated, not running and Dad is ready to post FOR SALE – CHEAP signs on both windshields. As I cross the street to connect with the parents, get the Wesley passengers home and devise a recovery plan, my LEAST favorite aspect of the parade is barreling down the street towards me.   

The pirates in the Moby Duck come blasting their cannon in my general direction.  Some history about me and Seafair Pirates… NOT A FAN.  They scared the crap out of me dragging their swords at age 2 and the sticker they gave me DID NOT make it better.  A staunch hater of loud noises and even more so in my general proximity caused a 3-minute cussing jag to make a sailor blush. And I’m standing next to a retired Methodist pastor.  He has a new view of my colorful personality complete with vivid vocabulary. Bless you, Uncle Butch – a whole ‘nother story there. 

Once we got the cars and tempers cooled down, running rough, blowing smoke and proceeded gingerly back home, parked them and adjourned to Black Angus for some well-deserved libations and cow flesh.  It took 2 weak gin and tonics and a rib eye steak to mellow Dad’s mood.  Needless to say, the folks are not eager to participate in a parade again any time soon.