These Pancakes Have No Regard For the Law

Last night my fraternity, Beta Upsilon Chi (BYX, bucks) threw it's fifth annual Uncle BYX pancake dinner. The event is a fundraiser for our philanthropy, Life Source, which is a food bank and resource center for the impoverished section of Fayetteville. There were over six hundred people, and we ran out of pancakes.

With eighty pledges, we didn't have enough jobs for everyone; when I pledged, each one of us had to serve pancakes, then stay afterwards till one in the morning cleaning up. Last night, they finished all the work by 11:30. We divided the group in half, where half served pancakes, while the other half was on 'dance duty.' Pledges on dance duty had to be dancing with a girl at all times. They were more resistant to this than I expected.

There were other jobs: ticket taker, t-shirt table, coffee captain, teddy bear peddler (I'm not sure where the bears came from, but dog gone it, we had a pledge selling them). All the cooks were members; that job is almost a Tom Sawyer thing. We tell all the pledges they're not allowed to cook until they're members, then when they become members, all they want to do is make pancakes. On the upside, if you're a cook, fraternal tradition holds that on the night of Uncle BYX only, you can give pledges any nickname you wish, and they have to respond. Four years after my pledgeship, Dirty Mike and the Grizz still go by the nicknames that they were given by then senior Blake Area.

The most coveted jobs, though, were the pancake costumes. We made two pancake costumes to promote Uncle BYX; pledges wore these throughout the week in the busiest intersections on campus. I considered it a blunt force type of marketing - a pancake rapidly approaches you, yelling about philanthropy, and grabs you by the collar. That's not a fictional situation. We sold several tickets this way.

Last night, we put two pledges in those costumes and posted them on Dickson Street, which ran in front of our venue. The two couldn't have been more happy with their assignment, and I left them dancing the the song of car horns. An hour later, I got a call from a friend who said policemen were outside Uncle BYX talking to pancakes. Were those my pancakes?

From the policemen, I gathered this: the pancakes had been running one side of the street to the other, like Frogger, dodging cars. Also, at one point, the pancakes got into the bed of someone's truck and drove down and up Dickson Street promoting our event. We promised they would stick to our side of the curb, and the police left the pancakes in peace.

The item my mind keeps returning to is the tip the police receieved. They said they got a call about the activities of the pancakes, and responded. But who would make that call?

911: 911, what's your emergency?

Caller: P-p-pan-pancakes! There are pancakes in the road!

911: Please, slow down. Tell me what's happening.

Caller: There are two pancakes who are terrorizing Dickson Street. It's like Road Warrior.

911: You say pancakes?

Caller: That's right. Rogue pancakes. They're showing a complete disregard for the law.

911: Can you tell me where you are on Dickson?

Caller: I-I - no, I can't. I think they can hear me.

911: Excuse me?

Caller: They're looking at me. Oh, no. God no.

911: Stay calm, we're sending help.

Caller: No - Please no! THIS WAS FORETOLD! THIS IS HOW IT ENDS!

That's probably how it sounded.