Why, oh why, are the pet stories the worst?
If you'll recall, my most detested story from last summer's internship was my story about the dog wedding. You know, the wedding that made absolutely no sense except to serve as an excuse to spend Millville's money and bring a bunch of animals together. You know, the story where I wasn't allowed to print that Hannah and Rusty were actually mother and son. I still feel like a story whore for that one.
And apparently, I'm still a story whore, because last week, I got to do this delightful story.
Millville's Annual Pet Show
Okay, let me set the tone for you. This was one of those stories that needed to be in the paper the following day because of the time element involved. It took place on a Wednesday night, and immediately after it finished, I had to phone in my story so that my features editor could type it up and have it in Thursday's paper.
Usually, everybody likes to be done everything by 8:00 pm. This pet show started at 5:00 pm, and judging began at 6:00 pm.
Apparently, The Daily Journal had sent a photographer every year to take pictures of the animals (since many of the poor creatures were dressed in costumes), but many Millville residents were upset because the paper didn't print a list of winners. So that was my job, and it was easier said than done.
There were SEVENTEEN different categories, each with a first, second, and third place prize. My editor said that since there were so many categories, I only needed to get the names of the first place winners, much to the chagrin of the second and third place winners.
Each contestant wore a number. I think I saw numbers as high as the 70's, so there were a lot of contestants. When the winners were announced, they called out numbers, not names, which means after the trophies were presented, I needed to run over and get the name of the contestant (and make sure it was spelled correctly). It soon occurred to me that I not only needed the name of the owner of the pet, but I also needed the pet's name (again, spelled correctly).
Then, the organizers of this pageant went another step further in annoying me. They decided with so many contestants that there would be two or three winners for each prize in each category. That's right: for most categories, I had to get the names of the pets and their owners THREE TIMES.
This is all happening outdoors in a fairly open facility, and there were A LOT of contestants and A LOT of pets, and there were times where I almost went crazy looking for certain numbered contestants (sometimes, the kids would hand off the trophies to their parents and then run elsewhere, or they would change out of their costumes, making it even more difficult for me).
Desperate for some easier way, I went up to the organizers to see if they had the names of the winners. No dice. They only announced numbers and didn't record any information whatsoever. I was on my own as far as getting the winners' names.
My features editor Lori was actually very happy with how the story turned out (I only messed up one winner out of the forty-some names that had to go to print, but it was a sibling of the real winner, so I was very close, especially since they were co-owners of the dog). I was very relieved when it was all over.
There's something magical about writing for small town newspapers...and then there's also something that smells awfully close to the excrement produced by the critters that were the focus of this story.
