According to Hofmann: Taking the ‘fun’ out of fundraising
In the years since graduating from high school, I’ve always tried to stay true to the mantra I and many other students have adopted: I’m never going to use math when I get out of here.
You see, I was horrible at math…and social studies, English, gym, study hall, biology, basic comprehension 101, etc.
That, dear people, is why I entered into the wonderful world of journalism and continue the romance I’ve had with words to find just the perfect combination of letters, spaces and punctuation that projects my innermost thoughts and feelings and effectively conveys all that stuff to all yinz peoples.
While I still haven’t found a use for most school subjects in my social or professional life, I was horrified to realize how much I needed to know some kind of twisted advanced math when I had to fill out my stepdaughterĢƵ school candy fundraiser order.
You’d think it would be a simple procedure — the basic exchange of buying and selling where I show someone something, they give me money for what they want and they receive the item they selected.
No. With a candy order form, it comes with a grid that reminds me of the hardest setting on the computer game “Minesweeper.” There are roughly 12,000 blocks where you write the customerĢƵ name, mark the item they want, write the quantity of that particular item they want and include their total cost.
It sounds easy on paper, but itĢƵ not easy on paper, oddly enough.
When the order is due, you have to add up the number of orders, along with their price while factoring in those multiple orders of the same item from that mega grid.
Then you have to add up the money you’ve collected and write down the totals that people still owe you, so you can make a point to break their legs at a later date because you’re distracted with math for the unforeseeable future.
When you factor in the cash and checks you’ve been given, the money thatĢƵ owed, the number of orders and their costs, both totals should be the same, and you should have a zero balance.
Now, a zero balance may not be something you desire if you’re starting a high-wire act, but itĢƵ perfect for my situation.
But, with all things perfect, itĢƵ also unachievable.
When you first realize that you’ve added up the orders wrong, you’re at the very last steps of the process. Then you go through the process again and find out that you’re wrong again, but you’re wrong in a different way.
For example, we were $30 short the first go around, then we were $11 over, then $3 short, and that was after we did the exact same process the exact same way.
That especially frustrated my wife, who said she thought we learned from our mistakes last year and the year before that and thereĢƵ no way math would get the better of us three years in a row.
She didn’t consider what I already knew from watching “Terminator” films: history always repeats itself and thereĢƵ not a thing you can do to prevent it.
The next thing I knew, we had seven different totals after adding and subtracting everything five different times — and I realize that doesn’t make mathematical sense, but that was the mathematical vortex we found ourselves in.
I never thought it would be possible for me to rip the fabric of time and space, creating different dimensions where up is down, down is sideways and 1 + 1 = 3.6.
“How can this be!” I’d blurt out, holding my open hands out to the papers like they were going to give me an explanation.
You finally reach the point where you just want the mental torture to end, and you live with the idea that you’re going to personally pay an additional $532 to your daughter schoolĢƵ fundraising efforts.
While that was bad, a few days following us sending out the check and the candy order, someone from the school contacted us to say we neglect to calculate two of the candy orders on the sheetĢƵ order total; even with forgetting about those two orders, we still managed to overpay, but with the items included, we owed an additional $13.
“Pay it!” I hollered at my wife because missing a payment for a speeding ticket or to a seedy loan shark is one thing, but having the school know you’re a deadbeat is the recipe of doom. Rumors spread like wildfire in those places.
However, that phone call inspired me for the next fundraiser season.
I plan to jot down the orders and include a check for $50 and will let the school figure it all out.
If I overpay (if you order more than two things, itĢƵ impossible to overpay with $50), then so be it. If I owe more, the school will call, and I’ll make up the difference.
Either way, I’m including a note in the order that reads, “Seeing that I’m no longer in school, I’m staying true to my roots and not using math anymore; since you’re in school, the math is your problem.”
According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. His books, “Good Mourning! A Guide to Biting the Big One…and Dying, Too” and “Stupid Brain,” are available on Amazon.com.