Yesterday I began the saga of the art fair that I participated in this past weekend. Saturday had been a great day, and if things continued on at the same pace on Sunday, it would be one of the most productive shows I'd done in a very long time.
Sadly, we were in for a less fabulous day.
What had been predicted to be a 60-degree day with only 40% chance of rain turned out to be a 45-degree day with nonstop rain.
So on Sunday, 40% = 100%. The laws of mathematics were now apparently no longer valid.
At least there were still people coming to the fair. The crowds were understandably lighter, but the ones who did come were a hardy bunch. They braved the mud and the slop to shop, and they bought. Bless them.
But some time around noon, an unusual thing happened. It began raining. Inside my booth.
This has happened before during particularly rainy shows, so I wasn't altogether surprised, though it does always strike me as a refutation of the laws of meteorology to have indoor precipitation. The swim noodles did their jobs and held the roof up (hooray!!!), but the poor tent roof just got so saturated that it soaked through and began dripping. Frequently down my back and on my head.
So I spent the rest of the day running around the booth, mopping up drips as they plopped in unpredictable spots on my display, trying my best to keep the jewelry dry and safe. For once, I had planned ahead. If you remember yesterday's photo of the ugly underbelly of my display tables:
See the white blob near the center top of the picture?
That, my friends, is a roll of paper towels, which I used nearly completely up. I felt like such a well-prepared scout!
At the end of the day, sweet husband showed up to help me break down and load out. Of course, the rain had slowed to a mild mist by this time, and believe me, we were all thankful for the break in the showers. We got everything packed up and loaded into the car before taking the tent down.
While my husband was taking a load of stuff to the car, I pulled the swim noodles out from the tent frame, and realized that once the noodles were gone, the moisture on the roof collected into a couple of puddles.
In the pre-noodle days, I would take care of this situation by pulling the edge of the roof, allowing the collected rain to run off. In the pre-noodle days, I would do this while standing inside the tent, reaching out to pull the edge while staying sheltered by the tent itself.
Yes, this was the crucial detail that I forgot until the first nanosecond after I tugged on the roof edge while standing in front of the tent.
The whole collection of rainwater came gushing down. On my upturned face. Much to the amusement of my neighboring artists.
I looked kind of like this:
So what do you do when you've simultaneously nearly drowned yourself and provided a load-out floor show for your fellow artists? Laugh along with them and be extra thankful that the heater in the car works.
So the moral of our story, dear friends? Always travel with swim noodles, a roll of paper towels, and a healthy sense of humor. It'll get you through any art show!