Today in Fromage
No, not Ed the Sock's annual NYE Countdown/Timewaster. Actual cheese.
You see, much like every public educational institution in human history, Holy Cross Catholic Secondary School (as vicious as Roman rule) didn't quite have enough dough re mi to go around.
So, the normal cavalcade of fun-raising activities got trotted out. The one I remember best (holy fuck, more than twenty years ago) is the cheese sales.
It seems ludicrous, in retrospect. Why the hell would anyone sell cheese to raise money for a school? I have no idea, but we did it. In fact, I assume it worked really well, because we kept doing it.
The cheese-meister was Mr. Downes, my high school French teacher and former Kingston town councillor (and the guy who pretty much was as responsible for shattering my love of/capability with the French language as a certain Douchebag KJ was for wrecking my love of karaoke*).
The Great Cheese Vending was handled as all high school fundraisers were. At least, as I assume all high school fundraisers were handled. And at least as far as I saw it. So, really, it may have been handled in a matter that diverged significantly from the standard high school fundraiser in every fashion.
To be honest, there wasn't much transparency in the process. As far as I could tell, but I really didn't pay attention. To continue with my George Washington-esque streak of honesty, they could have released a total amount raised and how it was distributed in the school newsletter the following week, and I would have missed it arguing with the guys in my D&D game.
And I really need to tell you guys about my D&D game. It was such a fascinating trip into... I'm digressing, aren't I?
Anyway. Cheese.
The sales process was twice as invovled as the normal begging trip. The students would go home with order forms that listed a variety of delicious cheeses, and their friends and neighbours would order a variety of delicious cheeses.
Okay, once again with the honesty: mum & dad would hit up their friends for cheese pruchases, and would repay them by buying whatever crap their kids were selling to raise money for their school. It's like everyone's taxes went up with the option of a douchebag wavier.
So, the kids would tromp back to school, hand in their cheese order forms (SERIOUSLY MAN WHY CHEESE I MEAN WHAT) and they'd be shipped off to the cheese factory who organized this little sales endeavour.
The cheese factory would then ship boxes and boxes of cheese to the school.
You see what they did there?
So Mr. Downes would gather a passel of keeners (YHB included among them) to sort the cheese. I do not recally enjoying the task, pesonally. I don't recall much more than participating in it. But I did. Hundreds of individual packages of cheeese were divided into dozens of orders, and sorted by last name.
I remember there was no small sense of accomplishment in getting all the bags of cheese sorted and laid out. Junior cheesemongers would then tromp through the next day, picking up their ordered cheeses and strolling back to the classroom, in order to take them home and being the process of exchanging cheddar for same.
I remember a few finer details. I remember joking, after the bags were stuffed and the last cheese box disposed of, how amusing it would be to come back the next morning to find the room stuffed with several dozen engorged rats. I believe Mr. Downes took to spending the night there with a crossbow and a small but vicious dog.
One of my classmates, who was somewhat talented as an artist, did a sketch of Mr. Downes with the then popular (or at least well known) mascots of the Ontario Dairy Farmers, Scott & Joey, a pair of youths who would extoll their love for cheese, exhorting viewers to consume the stuff by the pound.
You know, in retrospect... I'm sure he's gotten better since then. I think his figures were kind of rough.
Ah, well. Money was made, right? And kilts were probably purchased, which is also good.
*You expected what, reading the Bitter Guide?
You see, much like every public educational institution in human history, Holy Cross Catholic Secondary School (as vicious as Roman rule) didn't quite have enough dough re mi to go around.
So, the normal cavalcade of fun-raising activities got trotted out. The one I remember best (holy fuck, more than twenty years ago) is the cheese sales.
It seems ludicrous, in retrospect. Why the hell would anyone sell cheese to raise money for a school? I have no idea, but we did it. In fact, I assume it worked really well, because we kept doing it.
The cheese-meister was Mr. Downes, my high school French teacher and former Kingston town councillor (and the guy who pretty much was as responsible for shattering my love of/capability with the French language as a certain Douchebag KJ was for wrecking my love of karaoke*).
The Great Cheese Vending was handled as all high school fundraisers were. At least, as I assume all high school fundraisers were handled. And at least as far as I saw it. So, really, it may have been handled in a matter that diverged significantly from the standard high school fundraiser in every fashion.
To be honest, there wasn't much transparency in the process. As far as I could tell, but I really didn't pay attention. To continue with my George Washington-esque streak of honesty, they could have released a total amount raised and how it was distributed in the school newsletter the following week, and I would have missed it arguing with the guys in my D&D game.
And I really need to tell you guys about my D&D game. It was such a fascinating trip into... I'm digressing, aren't I?
Anyway. Cheese.
The sales process was twice as invovled as the normal begging trip. The students would go home with order forms that listed a variety of delicious cheeses, and their friends and neighbours would order a variety of delicious cheeses.
Okay, once again with the honesty: mum & dad would hit up their friends for cheese pruchases, and would repay them by buying whatever crap their kids were selling to raise money for their school. It's like everyone's taxes went up with the option of a douchebag wavier.
So, the kids would tromp back to school, hand in their cheese order forms (SERIOUSLY MAN WHY CHEESE I MEAN WHAT) and they'd be shipped off to the cheese factory who organized this little sales endeavour.
The cheese factory would then ship boxes and boxes of cheese to the school.
You see what they did there?
So Mr. Downes would gather a passel of keeners (YHB included among them) to sort the cheese. I do not recally enjoying the task, pesonally. I don't recall much more than participating in it. But I did. Hundreds of individual packages of cheeese were divided into dozens of orders, and sorted by last name.
I remember there was no small sense of accomplishment in getting all the bags of cheese sorted and laid out. Junior cheesemongers would then tromp through the next day, picking up their ordered cheeses and strolling back to the classroom, in order to take them home and being the process of exchanging cheddar for same.
I remember a few finer details. I remember joking, after the bags were stuffed and the last cheese box disposed of, how amusing it would be to come back the next morning to find the room stuffed with several dozen engorged rats. I believe Mr. Downes took to spending the night there with a crossbow and a small but vicious dog.
One of my classmates, who was somewhat talented as an artist, did a sketch of Mr. Downes with the then popular (or at least well known) mascots of the Ontario Dairy Farmers, Scott & Joey, a pair of youths who would extoll their love for cheese, exhorting viewers to consume the stuff by the pound.
You know, in retrospect... I'm sure he's gotten better since then. I think his figures were kind of rough.
Ah, well. Money was made, right? And kilts were probably purchased, which is also good.
*You expected what, reading the Bitter Guide?