Give the new guy the easy job. Sounded smart.
But I heard an inflatable hopper burst. Saw a puzzled five-year-old sail through the air.
I spotted another kid in a flowerbed. This one was on the blue hopper. He only lasted a few bounces before his ride detonated.
I stubbed out my cigarette and hustled across the backyard dodging party streamers, balloons and three more explosions.
“Think you’re overinflating these things,” I said.
New Guy nodded. “Think you’re right.”
Problem solved. But a swarm of angry parents were closing in.
I sensed they wouldn’t be so easy to deal with.
The Weekday One Hundred 