There are lots of sayings out there about knowing when it’s time to walk away from a situation… I just can’t think of any of them right now.
Maybe that was my problem last week, when I got into a particular pickle with an inflatable limbo set. You know – a typical day. Perhaps I’d completely forgotten that many who had gone before had recognised a futile scenario too late, turned their backs upon it, and created a memorable piece of advice to prevent those who came after from repeating their folly.
Anyway, long story short (too late), I ignored all the warning signs and ploughed ahead, when I should have packed it in to save my sanity.
It all began with a wedding reception I had been booked to emcee. The couple getting married wanted to have some fun games to keep their guests entertained. I’d already come up with the balloon-between-the-knees race, and a cute Q&A thing for the two of them… I only needed one more idea. And then it came to me: Limbo would be a hit. It was something everyone could try, it wouldn’t take too long, and I had that inflatable set with a Hawaiian motif from before COVID that I’d never opened. Yes, this was all falling into place.
The first thing I had to do was rummage around in my closet and find the box. There it was, nestled between a carnival costume headpiece, some ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ fuzzy dice and leather chaps. Absolutely standard closet fare.
I brought the box out into the living room, opened it up, and… there were only the two stands inside. The inflatable cross pole wasn’t there. Had I missed it? Was it stuck to the instruction sheet or included patch in case of air leaks? Nope. It looked like someone had removed it before I made the purchase. Barnacles.
At that moment, I had the brilliant idea of buying a thin pool noodle. It would be light, colourful, and would do the trick. I drove to Foster’s, bought one in orange and one in pink, and grabbed a hand-operated inflator in case I needed it. By the time I got back home, I was about two hours from needing to get ready for the reception. All good.
The first order of business was to get those stands filled with air. I had a brilliant electric balloon inflator that a dear friend had given me, and although none of the nozzles on it fit really small valves, there was a large valve on the bottom section of each stand. Hot dog! I wrenched the rubber stopper out, shoved the valve down onto the biggest nozzle, and turned the machine on. Immediately the base took shape, like a mammoth hockey puck in a Hawaiian shirt. This was going to be a piece of cake!
I over-inflated just a tad, to give myself some wiggle room, then prepared to switch the air flow off, swiftly remove that valve from the nozzle, and close up the hole in a trice.
In theory, it was a great idea. In practice was a different story. As soon as I turned off the inflator, there was a slight whistling sound, which was rapidly replaced by a loud, continuous fart the moment the valve and nozzle parted ways. My giant, flowery puck was haemorrhaging air, which brought on panic, so by the time I had the seal pushed into the valve, there was barely anything left inside.
Okay. I was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way – by hand. Out came the manual pump, which I’d have to attach to the small valves. It announced on the box that it was “Double Action” which seemed a bit saucy. Hopefully that meant this wouldn’t take much effort on my part.
Wrong again.
At first, I wondered if there was a blockage, it was so difficult. I pulled the handle out then pushed it back in. Had I seen this thing at the gym? The bottom possessed what looked like little foot rests, even though the whole assembly was pretty short. So, I sat on a chair, placed my heavy size nines on either side of the pump, and curved my body over to reach the handle so I could pull it up. I looked like I was about to ride a mini-bike.
It was a touch more effective this way, but then can you really put a price on your vertebrae? I managed to give the base a bit of shape, but kept looking longingly at that electric inflator. Why-oh-why couldn’t that have worked for me?
At that same moment, while I worked on my Popeye forearms, best friend and housemate Lynne came home.
“Why don’t you use our air mattress inflator?” she asked, watching me bent over like an old crone in the dark of the living room.
“Because,” I said, with patience I didn’t feel, “the regular plug for it is missing. We only have the car attachment.”
“Well, let’s try that, shall we?” she replied, all full of the joys of someone who hadn’t been working on this for the last 45 minutes.
In fairness, I was willing to give anything a go, as my face was already turning purple. Not a good hue for an emcee. I only had an hour before I had to start dressing and applying makeup.
We took the two limbo stands out to her Kia Soul. Lynne sat in the driver’s seat and I was sitting shotgun. Unfortunately the nozzles on this electric inflator, just like the previous one, weren’t small enough for our needs, but I could add one of the nozzles from the hand pump to it, which might work. Of course, it was attached to the latter, which meant we had an electric inflator the size of a motorcycle battery, plus the awkward hand pump, plus the half-inflated base of one stand all trying to share space in the front of Lynne’s car.
In went the plug; we pressed power on the inflator; and things started to move.
At first blush, I hadn’t really appreciated the size of a fully-proud base until I was in a car seat. As it neared capacity, a passerby might have thought Lynne had upgraded to Hawaiian airbags when she bought her vehicle. I couldn’t see the windscreen for printed flowers.
Thankfully, this idea of Lynne’s was working. I didn’t even mind admitting it to her.
Phase II was to inflate the vertical part that would hold the noodle. We managed that quickly. Less space to fill and we were getting the hang of this.
The second stand was a breeze in comparison. We knew what we were doing now, and I’d moved my seat back so I wasn’t suffocated by the second base.
Once we were finished, I stood them up near the car. Stand One was fine, but Stand Two kept falling over. Maybe we had an uneven driveway.
I said I would get them inside while Lynne went to the supermarket.
Well, either the whole property had a floor like a skate park, or one of these &%$#@ things wasn’t stable. Upon closer inspection of the bases, I saw that one was ridged in such a way that it would stand properly. Something had happened to the other, and the bottom was like a bowl. Le sigh.
Then I remembered I could fill a special pocket in the bases with water. I wasn’t originally going to bother, as this event was going to be in a ballroom with no wind to worry about, but it was probably going to make the difference here.
I took the troublesome stand to the kitchen sink, opened the slot on the base, pulled the hose over, and turned the water on. It wasn’t keen to go in. What to do, what to do… a-ha! A funnel!
I got the funnel in place, and lo and behold, I could see liquid flowing into the material. Yippee! The brilliance of Wheaton! I went to adjust the angle of the tap slightly – just to up the volume – and accidentally hit the spray feature. A fountain of water gaily bounced off the interior of the funnel, and showered my hair, face, top, the counter, the floor and anything else within three feet.
Even as I stood there like a drenched Cousin It, I noticed that the stand had slipped from my fingers, and was now standing like a champion. The soaking had been worth it.
I carried it to be beside its twin, got the noodle, and arranged everything as it would be on the night. Problem #32789: With the bases being so wide, there was no way a person could fit between them to limbo. My noodle was coming up short.
I was about to give up, but wait! I had deux noodles! I could attach them end-to-end to create one long bar, and I’d be golden. It didn’t matter that they were two different colours – they were lovely and tropical. I got the double-sided tape from the toolbox, found a dowel to stick down the centres of the two noodles for added strength, and followed through with my plan.
Now was the moment of truth. I got my two-noodle bar, placed it on the top hooks of the inflatable stands, and stepped back to admire my handiwork.
Both stands promptly leaned 60 degrees to the left.
Later that night, DJ Natural and I each held an end of a noodle, and all the guests limboed under it. It was a huge success.
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