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(Confessions of a Community Association Volunteer)

 

When I first volunteered to do anything at Magnolia Point, I never imagined I’d end up spearheading something like ‘A Month of Chocolates’. To be honest, I never imagined I’d be spearheading anything. I’m more of a back-row type, happy to nod along at meetings while quietly hoping someone else would volunteer for the big stuff. But that all changed one fateful January evening.

“We should do something special for February,” someone suggested. “You know, to lift spirits during the winter.”

Before I knew it, my hand was in the air. “What if we celebrated Valentine’s Day for the entire month? We could call it ‘A Month of Chocolates.’ There were some scattered murmurs of approval, and I felt a flush of excitement, until I realized they were all looking at me.

“Great idea! Why don’t you take the lead on this?” said Carol, chairperson of the recently-formed Activities Committee, with a smile that was just a little too earnest.

So there I was, suddenly in charge of what sounded, in my head at least, like a delightful celebration of love, friendship, and endless sweets. How hard could it be? Quite hard.

The first challenge was the committee itself. I called for a meeting and was pleasantly surprised when eight people showed up, until I realized that getting eight people to agree on anything was like herding cats.

Everyone had their own ideas about how “A Month of Chocolates” should unfold. Dan wanted to host a chocolate-making workshop. Brenda thought we should have weekly chocolate tastings featuring exotic brands. And then there was Marjorie, who insisted that every event should be educational because, as she put it, “Chocolate has a rich and fascinating history!”

“We can’t afford all that,” I pointed out, trying to rein in the enthusiasm. “Our budget is pretty limited.”

“Maybe we could get donations from local businesses?” Brenda suggested.

“Or charge admission for some events,” added Dan.

“We could do a chocolate trivia night,” Marjorie said, eyes gleaming. “With prizes!”

While the ideas flew around, I scribbled furiously in my notebook, trying to keep up. The problem wasn’t a lack of enthusiasm, far from it. It was that everyone had a vision, and no two visions matched. By the end of the meeting, we had a list of twelve potential events and no clear plan for executing any of them.

Over the next week, I tried to bring some order to the chaos. I emailed the committee a pared-down list of events: a kick-off chocolate potluck, a mid-month chocolate trivia night, and a grand finale dessert auction. Simple, manageable, and within budget. Or so I thought.

Then came the over-enthusiastic volunteers. Dan showed up at my door with a giant chocolate fountain he’d borrowed from a friend. “We can use this at the potluck!” he said proudly. It was impressive, but I had no idea how we’d keep it filled, or who would clean it, or how. Meanwhile, Brenda had reached out to several artisanal chocolate makers and secured samples for a tasting event I hadn’t even approved. “It’ll be great!” she said, “People will love it.”

“Brenda, we don’t have the funds for that.” Yes, I was beginning to sound like a broken record.

“It’s fine! It’s all donated.”

Well, I couldn’t say no to free chocolate.

By mid-February, things were underway. The potluck started out well enough, apart from a minor mishap involving the chocolate fountain, a curious toddler and Springer Spaniel, and a very slippery floor. Attendance was higher than expected, which was great for morale but not so great for our limited supply of couverture chocolate, the special kind that melts just right, and stays that way, just for fountains.

‘Choco Trivia’ night was another story. Marjorie insisted on writing all the questions herself, which resulted in a quiz that was less “fun community event” and more “graduate-level seminar on cacao cultivation.” Again, the fountain was the center of attention. A week later, we made it to the grand finale: the dessert auction. Somehow, Brenda had roped in a Jacksonville celebrity chef to donate a signature chocolate cake, a dramatically truffleous-affair, which became the highlight of the evening. Bidding was fierce, and we ended up with enough to contribute a decent check to the MPWC Scholarship Committee, and enough cover expenses with a little left over for next year. And then the fire alarm went off.

It turned out the chocolate fountain Dan had insisted on bringing along had a faulty heating element. Or maybe it was just the cord. Or the outlet. No matter. Brenda’s artisanal truffle display was parked right next to it, and somewhere in the chaos, someone had splattered molten chocolate lava onto the extension cord at the outlet. Sparks flew, literally, the outlet hissing and spitting ominously like a tiny, furious dragon (though some swore it was the fountain). Folks up and down either side Clonial Drive swear the lights flickered just then!

Meanwhile, Brenda dove to rescue the celebrity chef’s cake, only for it to end up slipping from her hands and landing, upside-down, on Carol’s feet. For a moment, everything was chaos. And then, improbably, a cheer went up. “BEST. EVENT. EVER!” someone shouted.

By the time CCFR arrived, the room was a scene from a low-budget chocolate disaster movie. The firefighters, clearly not expecting to deal with a dessert-induced emergency, couldn’t stop laughing. They took selfies with the fountain, while making quick work of what was left of the couverture.

The local news caught wind of the story, and by the next morning, Magnolia Point had gone viral. “#Chocopocalypse” trended on social media, and within days, we were receiving offers from chocolate companies to sponsor next year’s event.

So, against all odds, ‘A Month of Chocolates’ was a smashing success. Well, a messy success, but a success nonetheless.

As for me, I did what any reasonable person would do: I took the chocolate fountain apart, stashed it in Dan’s garage when he wasn’t looking, and officially retired from volunteering. Or so I thought, until Carol approached me with a gleam in her eye and a clipboard in her hand.

“How do you feel about a ‘Month of Cheese’?”

No fondue!” was my suggestion.