A vegetarian probably wouldn’t make the best spokesperson for cattle producers. A Prius owner might have a hard time selling Humvees. And chickens probably shouldn’t promote haunted houses. I don’t mean CHICKEN chickens. They can promote whatever they want. I mean fraidy cat chickens, like me. But every Halloween, that’s exactly what I do.
My other job is as the public relations person for a nonprofit, which annually hosts a free haunted house for the public. And every year, I steadfastly avoid it. I do my professional duty, making the rounds to various groups telling them what a wonderful thing our haunted house is. But all the while I’m thinking there is no such thing as a wonderful haunted house, and I wouldn’t go if they left the lights on for me. In the public relations business, this is called “lying.”
Actually, I did go once when they left the lights on. It was the Monday morning AFTER the haunted house. I had to walk across the street to the building where it was, by then, being dismantled. Along the way I met up with a friend who was, as it turns out, completely unaware of the haunted house. (Yes, I realize that doesn’t speak well for my skills as a promoter.)
I asked her to walk along so we could talk, but I was unaware that she was unaware, so I failed to warn her about what she might see. And what she saw was blood on the counter as we walked in the door. It was fake blood, but she didn’t stick around long enough to make that distinction. I heard her gasp; I turned around, and she was GONE!
I’m proud to say, that, unlike my now former friend, I was unfazed by the haunted house in broad daylight. It wasn’t my blood we were looking at. Plus there were no ghouls and goblins jumping out at me. And that’s the main reason I didn’t leave with my friend. Some people who know me might describe me as a jumpy person. I prefer to think I have a well-developed set of reflexes. People who can go through haunted houses and not jump out of their socks have sluggish reflexes and probably shouldn’t be allowed to operate motorized vehicles. Or maybe they just have tighter socks.
I have a traumatic memory of seeing the movie Jaws years ago. If you saw Jaws, you remember the dreadful music that warned everyone except the actors in the movie that the SHARK WAS COMING! If they had only paid attention to that music, they might have survived to see the credits.
Anyway, at one point, while the horrid music was playing, my younger brother snuck up behind me and goosed me. I screamed and jumped out of my seat long before the shark showed up. The audience burst into laughter, which I don’t think normally happens at a showing of Jaws.
Knowing how I am, it seems prudent that I avoid haunted houses altogether – including the one I’m promoting. As the professional public relations person I am, I get around the ethical dilemma this presents by putting it this way: “I went to the haunted house once and it scared me so badly that I’ve never been back.” And that much is true. I have gone once. And I’m not talking about the morning after when the lights were on.
The other time was actually the morning BEFORE. A handful of employees were invited to come in and “test” the haunted house. We are a company made up of compassionate people who serve others. It was daytime, and it was the organizer’s first attempt at a haunted house. How bad could it be? I’ll tell you how bad. It was torture. I hated it. I thought it would never end, which is, I suppose, a resounding endorsement of a haunted house–and a good reason for me to stay home.
(Contact drosby@rushmore.com, but don’t startle her.)
