The local chapter of the SCA frequently volunteers to man the phones at the local PBS station during their pledge drives. We pick a time slot when the station is showing a historical program, dress up in period costumes, and spend a few hours writing down pledges.

So last night, Severin, Lisa, Karen and I got dressed up, went out in a blinding thunderstorm, and headed towards the station. En route, when it was too late to back out, Lisa told me what was on the program schedule that night. Had I known, I would never have put on a costume... but more on that later.

We were the first to arrive. The first pledge break wasn't until 8:20, but they told us to be there at 7:30; apparently, someone at the station was familiar with "SCA time", in which things happen at least half an hour after they're scheduled. Eventually, we were joined by two more SCAdians.

A woman named Martha, who I assume was the stage manager, showed us the ropes. "You can sit anywhere you like except for here. Larry always sits here," she warned. She went over the forms, and Larry and two other non-SCA volunteers came in and took their seats. We went and sat in the back row, and sat around waiting for things to start as the studio crew pointed and laughed at the weirdos in costumes.

Soon enough, the pledge break started. The hosts were Brian Shuler, Professor of Ethnomusicology at the University of South Florida, and a woman whose name I didn't catch. Brian introduced the volunteers (getting the SCA's name almost correct), and thanked us for "dressing for the occasion". What was the occasion? Why, it was Bee Gees: One Night Only, followed by Roy Orbison and Friends: A Black and White Night. So instead of having period costumes to complement a history-based program, we just looked like major dweebs for dressing in Renaissance costumes for a Bee Gees concert.

The first pledge break flew by. The phones rang in random order, so some people got a lot of calls. I got one, which just turned out to be someone asking to speak to the stage manager.

During the 9:00 break, I actually got two pledge calls. During the 9:48 break, I got no pledges, but I did get a complaint. The caller was incensed that Brian was referring to records as "wax". "They're not wax, they're vinyl! This guy has no idea what he's talking about, and you need to tell him that." So I wrote it down on the complaint form, and when the pledge break was over, I handed it to Brian, who found it extremely amusing. Rose, one of the other SCAdians, informed us that the same guy had also made the complaint to her. "Oh, this is good," giggled Brian. "I gotta crush this guy on the air."

As the program drew to a close, someone on the floor asked, "Is this the last song?" Severin muttered, "Only if there's a God." The whole studio erupted in laughter, and barely calmed down in time for the 9:48 break. Brian explained the history of records for our less learnéd audience members, making certain to elucidate upon the use of wax. Severin got a pledge call, but the caller seemed more interested in making Sev perform for the camera than in making his donation. "Okay, smile for my parents... now raise your left hand..." I got a $15 pledge, but that was the only call I took during that break. Brian came back to the phone desks, and we had a discussion of what else he could say to piss off the audience. He's a lot hipper than I would have expected from an ethnomusicologist, but he's also the whitest ethnomusicologist I've ever met. Severin suggested calling Orbison "The Big O". Then, as kd lang was one of the featured artists on the show, Sev suggested that Brian ask if it was kd lang or Wayne Gretzky, which would "piss off Canadians, hockey fans and lesbians". Oddly enough, Brian took only one of these suggestions; however, back down on the floor, he did make fun of Canadian accents. I tell you, wacky hijinks ensue when you get an ethnomusicologist to host your pledge drive.

During the 10:24 pledge break, they decided to set the video to black and white, to match the show. Brian told the audience not to adjust their sets; it was supposed to look this way. "When was the last time you watched something in black and white?" he asked the unseen audience. Then he mused that "black and white went the way of wax," and all the volunteers cracked up behind him.

Pet Peeve: Brian also mentioned that Roy Orbison had a four-octave range. I'd accepted the media's fawning about Mariah Carey's "four-octave range" as the product of musically ill-informed people, but a college music professor should certainly know better! If someone can sing (for example) from the G on the bottom line of the bass staff all the way up to the G resting on the top line of the treble staff, it is not four octaves, even though it's four Gs. From G to g is one octave, from g to g' makes it two octaves, and g' to g" makes it three octaves. Four Gs, three octaves. Okay, now that that pedantry is out of the way, back to the narrative.

There were three cameras in the studio, but they really only used two of them: one on Brian, and one on the other host. Judging from the angles the third cameraman was using, he was pulling close-up shots of Lisa's and Karen's cleavage.

I got one pledge during this break — $150 — but I heard another volunteer inform his caller that there weren't any pledge breaks on the videocassette given as a "free gift".

Between the breaks, we wondered about the phones. There were a lot of buttons on them, but the intriguing one was marked with an Infinity symbol. There was a lot of discussion about what it might do, until Sev decided to find out. Apparently, all it did was make a beeping noise, quite similar to the one in Captain Pike's wheelchair from the Star Trek episode "The Menagerie". We entertained ourselves by impersonating Captain Pike, staring open-mouthed into space while beeping "yes" and "no" in response to each other's questions, until the phones started beeping back at us.

Just before the final break, the techs started playing around with the colors. Brian had mentioned, on the air, the plastic film that people put over their black-and-white television to simulate color — blue on top, green on the bottom, and a kind of fleshy-colored hue in the middle. The techs simulated this, which, in close-up, made Brian look like Rainbow Man. Of course, you can't have Rainbow Man without a John 3:16 sign, so Sev made one on the back of a complaint form and held it up. All the volunteers cracked up. Sev caught Brian's attention and held up the sign again; Brian laughed so hard he had to hang onto a desk to avoid falling over, which of course made us laugh even harder. This aroused the ire of the stage crew: "Hey, we got a pledge break to do, guys!" came the stern warning.

During the final break, the weirdos called in force. One guy called in to request that Roy Orbison play a particular song. Rather than explaining that Roy Orbison wasn't taking requests due to the fact that he's dead, Sev responded, "Well, if you want to hear it, you gotta make a pledge!"

Sev then took another call, wherein the caller complained that Brian was a complete idiot, demanding to know why the audience had to listen to him. I got a caller who wanted to know what year Roy Orbison died. (What do I look like, Google?) I took a call from a sine wave. My final call was from a viewer who wanted to complain that Brian was wearing an American flag pin on his right lapel. "He should wear it on the left lapel. He shouldn't be wearing it on the right side. It's supposed to be on the left side! You make sure and tell him that." I promised her I would, so after the pledge break ended, I handed him the complaint form, which he rubbed on his crotch. That wacky ethnomusicologist!

And with that, the night was over. Volunteering at a pledge drive is great fun, as long as you go with the right group of people. But next time, I'm definitely checking the TV Guide to see what'll be playing during our block of time, so I can dress a bit more appropriately. Sheesh.