Thursday night—once again time for the Chicken Drop. Gail and I rounded up our friends Wayne and Carol Flora from Fayetteville, Arkansas, and Tom and Robin Sparkes from Calgary, Canada, and headed into town to the beach. The crowd had already gathered. The excitement in the air was fueled by the vibrating Reggae music.
The local business people were creating their products
And marketing their wares
We quickly went in and drew our numbers. They were good numbers in great locations. We were excited.
Robin was chosen to be the official “Dropper” for one of the drops. She was a little timid about holding the chicken at first.
But, she gently, oh so gently, twirled the chicken round and round and up and down.
And blew up its tail feathers.
She then placed the chicken softly on number 92—her number. The chicken, however, immediately moved to the other side of the arena. Robin tried in vain to get the chicken to come back.
It dropped! In an area totally foreign to every number we held tightly in our hands. Over and over the chickens found the most remote area of the board to drop. It wasn’t our night.
Since the big money had once again avoided us, we decided to take a group picture by which to remember the evening.
We unlocked our bicycles and began the silent ride home in the dark. We were careful of the swirling golf carts, the pedestrians walking stealthily in the dark, and the other bicyclists—any one of whom could have been BUI-ing (Bicycling Under the Influence).
We returned home safely but disappointed. The challenge of the chicken drop was engrained in our psyches. We knew we would go back. We would master the chicken drop. We would bring that chicken drop to its knees.
CHICKEN DROP-YOU’RE GOIN DOWN!
No comments:
Post a Comment