I Almost Survived Volunteering at the School Book Fair Without Having an Existential Crisis

I didn’t know if I’d be able to write this week because I was so busy volunteering at the elementary school Book Fair.

To be clear, I only volunteered on one of the five days for about an hour and a half, but still, the experience was extremely draining for me. Because I am the parent in my household who doesn’t have a formal job, I feel compelled to volunteer at the school from time to time for some reason that I can’t quite put my finger on. I have this vague feeling that lingers like a phantom in the depths of my brain that at some point in my past I enjoyed volunteering at school, and in particular, at the Book Fair.

I remember several years ago, probably around 2019 right before COVID, putting my armor on and throwing myself into the midst of the battle without receiving any instructions or plans from the field generals (PTA Moms). After loitering around the periphery of the cavernous multipurpose room for an hour or so, aimlessly running my fingers across books about Roblox, rubbing my arms to keep warm because the temperature inside was glacial despite the early fall heat that was pressing against the windows and doors leaving thick condensation on the glass, I decided to take the bull by the horns and organize the checkout line. There was a crush of tiny kindergarteners and first graders, arms filled with books and gel pens and unicorn slime attacking the cash register and I made it my job to fend them off. I don’t want to exaggerate, but it was truly heroic. I almost expected the school to honor my service at halftime of a high school football game or something. Despite never speaking to or being acknowledged by any adult present that fateful day, I remember feeling fulfilled after my shift was up. I was tired and my feet hurt from standing on the linoleum floors for so long, but it was a good kind of tired. An exhilarating type of pain.

This year’s Book Fair experience was very different. I have to compliment the PTA members in charge because the changes they have made to the organization and set-up of the event have made it run beautifully. So beautifully, in fact, that there is very little need for any volunteers. Each child got to pick out one free book even if they didn’t bring money to shop (which is truly awesome) and the free book selection was neatly arranged on two tables. Students didn’t even have to go to the register; they just chose their free book and moved on with their lives.

So, when I arrived at the Book Fair on a Tuesday morning at 9:00 a.m., there was literally nothing for me to do. There was no horde of marauders at the cash register to subdue. No books to reshelve. No students to assist because they all seemed to know what they were doing. There was even another dad there, and the PTA Moms actually acknowledged his existence. I’ve seen this dad around before. I don’t know what his story is exactly, but he seems to hang out at the school all the time, wandering the halls looking for something to do. He’s fun, talkative, and energetic, and since I am none of those things, I have already lost. At each elementary school, there can only be one dad. It’s an unwritten rule.

When I entered the large room, I stealthily picked up a yellow volunteer lanyard off the front table and placed it around my neck. For some reason, I felt the need to turn my back to the moms at the register when I was putting on the lanyard because it felt like a very intimate act. It also felt like I was stealing something, and honestly, everyone else in the room probably agreed that I was indeed stealing something. The card dangling on top of my unofficial volunteering shirt—a classy pink and white checkered button-up long-sleeve number—read, “I’m a Volunteer! Ask me for help!”

No one asked me for help.

My son came through while I was there, and he didn’t even ask me for help. He shoved a Michael Jordan poster into my hands and told me to take it home so it wouldn’t get ruined. So, I spent the rest of my volunteer/standing-around-doing-nothing time holding a poster. All the adults in the room were like, “How brazen is this guy? Is there anything he won’t steal?”

I snuck out of the multipurpose room about 90 minutes after I arrived. During my entire stay, I only exchanged a few words with one other adult—a mom who seemed as confused as I was and also had no role to play. I think I might’ve also made eye contact with one of the PTA Moms for a few fleeting milliseconds, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s possible she was looking over my shoulder at a fly on the wall.

I exited this Book Fair volunteering session feeling drained in a very different kind of way. I sat in my car and used my phone to go online and cancel the other volunteer shift I had signed up for later in the week. What was the point of coming back? It’s a weird feeling when a chapter of your life seems to be closing sooner than expected. Even if the chapter is, of all things, volunteering at a stupid Book Fair.

Anyway, here’s to me taking some time to figure out what I should be doing next. I thought I would have more of an idea at this point in my life, but alas, best laid plans and all that. Like, I knew on an intellectual level that being a super school volunteer was not my calling for many reasons—not least being that I am hugely uncomfortable talking to new people when the parameters of our interaction are not well established in advance—but some part of me was still clinging to this fantasy. (I know, I know, it’s a very sad fantasy, but I have to work with what I’ve got here.)

The good news is that I think this failed Book Fair excursion has put an end to something. It feels like it’s provided a weird sense of closure. I guess we’ll see if that’s true.

Onward.