Did you ever want to organize an event, but didn’t because you thought you lacked the necessary skills?

Well, if you thought that way and still do, it’s time to quit! Just keep reading to find out how you too can be an impresario.

First, let’s get something straight: It doesn’t take any skill to put on an event. And I mean any event, from a grand soiree for The Upper Crust, to some slop-gut melee for the Great Unwarshed, like The Blue Buns Wheel-a-Palooza. And I should know, being the driving force behind the BBW-a-P.

(Note: For the most obvious reason, I did not label myself “the brains” behind it.)

So if it doesn’t take skill, what does it take?

The first requirement is complete faith that you can and will get the gig done. Of course, since you’ve never done it before, you have no idea what you’re talking about, and are completely deluded. But that’s actually an asset, because if you really knew what was involved, you’d probably never even attempt it.

Next you need to accept that however much time and energy you thought it’d take was a gross underestimate: You’ll be mucking through the swamp of details far longer and far harder than you’d ever imagined. But so what? It’s what everyone who’s ever succeeded in any endeavor has had to do.

A salient example — Isaac Newton. When asked how he came up with the theory of gravity, he said, “By thinking about it all the time.” So it’ll be no different for the rest of us — except of course, compared to Old Ike, we’re all drooling idiots.

And finally, you’ll have to be a leader. Like every other great leader since Hammurabi, you’ll need to assign jobs to others, and be sure they get the jobs done. The best way to do that is to have only rock-solid dependable peeps on your crew, which I had the Blue Buns.

By the way, the word “crew” is a fitting one for me, since I likened the BB’s command structure to a ship’s. Which is only natural, given my stellar career in This Man’s Navy.

It should go without saying that I was the BB’s captain. Jack Drury was the Executive Officer; Liz Scammell Murray the Operations Officer. The lead petty officers were Kelly Morgan, Barb Martin, Marilyn Bigelow, and Patti Sauvie, who heroically womanned the registration tables. Piedritas Walnuts and Kathy Dyer Nogales were the deck crew.

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Quelling a mutiny

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It was smooth sailing with all of them, except for one patch of rough seas which involved Liz and Jack. They kept bustin’ my hump about charging an entry fee — something I adamantly opposed and which could’ve led to a mutiny. If it had, I would’ve been hard up against it, since my approach to mutiny would’ve Captain Alexander Slidell Mackenzie’s. And while stringing them up from the yardarm would’ve ended the mutiny in a flash, it also would’ve made me DOPE-A NON GRATA with both the Carnival committee and the townsfolk, not to mention family and close friends.

But I handled them and their contentiousness brilliantly, if I must say so myself.

I told Liz the idea had merit, but with the BB coming up so soon, I didn’t want to make a snap decision. I did, however, promise I’d consider it in depth for the next year. Liz, being the trusting naif she is, actually believed me.

With Jack, given his obstinacy and inflated sense of empowerment, I had to take a more subtle and indirect approach — one that flatttered his ego.

“It makes sense,” I said. “But it can’t be done — at least not this year.”

“Why not?” he said.

“A couple of reasons,” I said. “One, you’re the only person I’d trust handling the money.”

Then I added, “But don’t tell Liz I said that, OK?”

“My lips are sealed,” he said.

“Cross your heart and hope to die?” I said.

“Of course,” he said, and made the traditional accompanying gesture. “But what’s the other reason?”

“You’re already in charge of picking up the blueberry crumbles from River Trail Beerworks’ bakery, right?”

“I am,” he said, puffing out his chest.

“It’s the most important job in the entire Blue Buns,” I said. “It’d be downright criminal to ask you to do anything more, even though I know, given your generosity, you’d gladly do it.”

“Yes,” he said, clearly mollified. “Multitasking has always been one of my strong suits, but in this case I think you’re right.”

While I’d lied that being the Official Baked Goods Shleeper being the most important job, it turned out to be the one that almost drove me to a nervous breakdown.

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Almost perfect

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There were two phases of Jack’s Blueberry Crumbles Shlep. The first was picking them up in Lake Placid the day before the ride and stashing them in Lakeview Catering till the next day. That one went perfectly.

The next one was picking them up and taking them to the registration tables. That also went perfectly because Buffy VanAnden took them off the cookie sheets they came on, wrapped each one individually, and then put them in several boxes.

Jack did his chores, the crumbles were a huge hit and were all devoured within minutes of the event ending.

And that was the last I thought about them … till a couple week’s later when I came home to a phone message from Kevin Litchfield, Big Slide’s brewmaster and the sponsor who generously donated the crumbles.

He said he hoped the event was a success and he wondered what had happened to the cookie sheets the crumbles had come on. He’d called Katie at Lakeview Catering, but she didn’t know. That left it up to me to find out.

I was heartsick thinking they’d gotten lost. If they had, I would’ve made good on it, but the stigma of failing at one of my responsibilities weighed heavily on my already o’erburdened conscience.

I called Lakeview and asked for Buffy. She wasn’t there, so I left a message for Buffy about the sheets and for her to call back. It was the only thing I could do.

Then I hung up and ate a roll of Tums.

So what happened to the sheets? I had no idea. I just assumed Jack had taken them back, since he was the shlepper. I called him, but there was no answer, so I left a message.

Then, thinking maybe they’d been left by the registration tables, I messaged Liz to see if her crew had seen them. They hadn’t.

My stomach churned and roiled. Yeah, the buns, et al, were Jack’s responsibility. But now, as captain of the ship, I was responsible for them. The ship, at that point, felt like the Titanic — post iceberg.

In fact, I thought, the Titanic’s captain had it better than me. He went down into the briny deep with the ship, so he never had to face a court of inquiry and the scathing judgments of several million people. I, unfortunately, would have to face the consequences of my ineptness.

Oh, the agita!

Finally, hours later, just as I’d sat down to a huge glass of water and baking soda, Jack called.

“The sheets,” I said, “do you know what happened to them?”

“Sheets?” he said. “What sheets?”

“The cookie sheets the blueberry crumbles came on that you took to Lakeview Catering,” I said. “What’d you think I was talking about — satin sheets?”

“I often have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, rather snottily. “But the cookie sheets I left in Lakeview, cuz Buffy put all the crumbles in boxes, remember?”

And suddenly I did!

“She said she’d take care of them,” he said. “So you can bet she did.”

He was right about that, and I finally was able to relax … at least a little. But I’d only relax completely when I knew where the tins were.

Luckily, a wee bit later, Buffy called and said she had all three sheets there and they could be picked up anytime.

I thanked her profusely and then called Kevin, telling him The Mystery of the Missing Sheets had been solved and I’d take them back to him within the hour.

“No need,” he said. “I go through Saranac on my way home and can pick ’em up if you want.”

“Of course,” I said. “That’d be perfect.

And it was — a perfect ending to the cookie sheet mishegas.

But even though the sheets got returned, my sterling rep got saved, and my heartburn eventually went away, one thing made my entire Blue Buns experience less than perfect: With my slavish devotion to my captain’s duties, I never got to nibble even one crumb of one of the crumbles.