Everything’s Not Just Ducky

Written by Laird Long, Published on 5/15/2009

The County Fair was just getting going for the day when Connor and his best friend, Tim, checked in for duty at the Duck Race tent.

“Well, look who’s here,” Bethany drawled, tossing her golden-blonde hair back and wrinkling her button nose at Connor. “Finally scrounged up enough money to fix your bike, did you?”

Bethany and Connor had been a couple, before Connor had broken up with her for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which was that while his parents were poor, Bethany’s were rich, meaning he just couldn’t keep up with his classmate’s expensive tastes.

“Hi, Bethany,” he mumbled, looking sheepish. “No, Tim’s mom gave us a ride.” He glanced over at the other girl standing off to the side, and said, “Hi, Emma.”

Emma barely nodded her head, her skinny arms folded across the front of her black t-shirt, her pale face reflecting disinterest and boredom as befitted her goth status.

“OK, good, everyone’s finally here,” Milton Siegfried said, glancing nervously at his watch. He was the adult in charge of operating the ‘Duck Stand’ from nine ‘til noon. And although he had plenty of experience handling money (being a bookkeeper by trade), he had little experience handling teenagers.

He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his bony nose, nervously surveying the four thirteen-year-olds. Then he said, “I’m going to give each of you a tub containing 50 rubber ducks and a cashbox containing 50 tickets and a twenty-dollar ‘change float’.

“Each duck has been pre-numbered, corresponding to a matching ticket number. The ducks sell for $5.00 each. So, when a customer gives you the money to buy a duck, you give them the duck and the half of the ticket that matches up with the number on the duck, placing the other ticket-half back in the cashbox. Along with the money, of course.”

The teenagers nodded, trying not to look too confused.

“The ducks have been prearranged in the tubs to correspond to the numerical order of the tickets in the cashboxes – to make it easier for you … kids.” He smiled proudly. It was a foolproof system he’d personally invented for the event. “But make sure you always visually match up the duck and the ticket number before you hand them over to a customer, just to make sure.”

Emma sighed, and stuck her hand halfway up into the air.

“Uh, yes, Emma?”

“What’re we getting paid for doing all this?”

Bethany laughed.

“Nobody’s getting paid,” Milton responded, his face turning red. “We’re all volunteers, as you know. If we sell all 10,000 rubber ducks during the course of the fair, we’ll raise $40,000 for the Children’s Hospital. The other $10,000 going to the owner of the duck that crosses the finish line first – after they’re all dumped into the river on Sunday. Yes, Tim?”

“We gettin’ any lunch?” Tim was large for his age, and getting larger every day.

“You’re free to purchase food from the various concession stands on the Fair Grounds.”

Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. She slumped out of her black backpack. Bethany smugly patted the shiny pink purse looped over her shoulder.

“Lucky I came prepared,” Tim grinned. He pulled a large paper sack out from under his sweatshirt and shook it happily.

The tent was small, green and stuffy, even with the flaps open at the front. Across the front of the tent was a long wooden table, which is where the four teenagers took up their duck-selling stations – Emma on the far left end, and then Bethany, Tim and Connor. And as it was already fast-approaching 9:00 a.m., Milton quickly distributed one cashbox and one tub of ducks to each of his four fellow volunteers. The cashboxes went on top of the table, the tubs underneath.

Milton then retreated to the card table he’d set up for himself at the back of the tent. On it was a laptop computer, tickets, deposit books and bank bags. The extra tubs of ducks were stacked in behind and to the sides, in precise order.

When all the ducks in a tub had been sold, the seller was to come back to Milton and give him the cashbox and tub. The man would then take out and count the money and the tickets, which would add up to $270 along with 50 tickets, respectively. He would then replenish the cashbox with the change float and a fresh set of tickets, giving out the corresponding tub of ducks to be sold.

The system worked fine. And the rubber ducks sold steadily, if not spectacularly.

“Sheesh!” Tim exhaled, wiping his brow with a beefy hand. “This is hot, hard work. I sure am hungry.”

Connor looked around his friend’s bulk. He saw Emma kicking an empty tub towards Mr. Siegfried, while Bethany played with her new cellphone. “Cover me,” he whispered to Tim. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“But it’s almost noon!” Tim protested.

“When you gotta go …” Conner grinned. He latched and patted his cashbox. He then waved at his friend and slipped around the right-hand edge of the table, around the open tent flap.

With no one to talk to, Tim scooped up his paper sack full of snacks from under the table. And the overloaded feedbag promptly burst open at the bottom, spilling candy, chocolate bars, and canned drinks all over the ground.

“Oops!” the husky teenager gulped, diving down under the table to retrieve his eats.

He was just brushing the grass off the knees of his sweatpants when Connor returned. Connor shook his head and grinned at his friend, then unlatched his cashbox.

“Hey!” he yelped.

The cashbox was empty of money, just unsold tickets left.

Milton Siegfried’s bony head shot up from the tub of ducks he’d been counting, which he was about to hand to Emma. He hurried over to Connor at the front of the tent, and anxiously asked, “What happened?”

The teenager grimaced. “Someone stole all the bills and coins out of my cashbox … when I went to the bathroom. I wasn’t gone more than a couple of minutes.”

Sweat pimpled Milton’s tall forehead. He rifled through the remaining duck tickets in the otherwise empty cashbox, counting 24. Then he stared, panic-stricken, at Connor, Tim, Bethany and Emma.

Connor sheepishly turned out the pockets of his patched-up shorts and shrugged his shoulders, plucking at his worn-thin-through-washing t-shirt.

“I didn’t see any customers go near Connor’s cashbox,” Tim offered, chewing on a chocolate bar … “I would have seen their legs out front from under the table.”

Bethany tossed her head back and smirked, “And I certainly don’t need any measly hundred-and-fifty dollars or whatever.”

“I guess someone can afford to repair their bike now,” Emma commented laconically.

Milton licked his lips. His voice squeaked when he said, “I, uh, guess I’ll just have to search everyone’s belongings and … persons – to determine who took the money.”

Bethany giggled, and Milton’s face turned red.

Emma kicked her backpack further under the table. “Unless you got a search warrant, beanpole,” she said defiantly, “you aren’t going through my backpack – or person.”

Milton stared blankly at his four charges – that he was responsible for – thinking about the missing money that he was also responsible for. And then, suddenly, a gleam of light shone in his pale blue eyes behind the metal frames. “That actually won’t be necessary,” he stated. “Because I know who took the money.”