I went to the fair with the kids.
We did it all.
All the fun things that spun.
And those that spun really quickly
And those that spun and tilted nauseatingly quickly
And those that spun and tilted nauseatingly quickly while shaking.
Everything was rough.
Everything was cash.
Fifty dollars for tickets,
Forty dollars for games.
Ten dollars for popcorn and cotton candy,1
One hundred dollars and what do I have to show for it but a teenage son with an eight inch stuffed sloth and a really sore neck.
There were bright lights, loud noises, chaos and carnies.
Everyone was working the audience for a dollar.
From the ferris wheel I delighted in how the street performer made jokes about ‘the money part’ of the relationship even as the crowd was forming.
We spun forwards and backwards on composted plastic and dubious mechanicals.
And by dubious mechanicals, I mean the rides.
I just as easily could have been referring to the carnies.
I go to fairs and carnivals whenever I get the chance, where ever I happen to be in the world. Whether in Cony Island or Etampes in Paris, a carney is a carney is a carney.
Carnies and the fairs they serve all seem to have a stiffness, a stuckness and an a-symmetry that seems to work until it doesn’t. Everything seems to run on dusty tobacco, charcoal coffee, cotton candy and cash. I would like to get to know some carnies.2
I love the rides. I love the music they play. I love how loud everything is and how they shake me.
Most of all, I love going there with the kids, yelling, being silly.
I love getting hosed on overpriced garbage and rides that hurt.
I love the light, the buzz, the noise and the cash.
I love it because I am there in the sunset with my kids.
They are growing up as quickly as the sun goes down.
And as I worship the dying light from the honey coloured sun, I’m grateful that they still like going to the fair.
One week they are here, the next week they are gone.
They are loud, dirty, expensive, messy and delightful.
And then another hundred dollars for osteopathy - paid by visa, should say so on the invoice right, oh wait don’t answer that here, it’s not the right place for that conversation… Damn good thing my accountant isn’t a subscriber. I’d be even more annoying.
It would be really fun to get to know some carnival workers by somehow interviewing them, going there to set up and working with them on the first day of being open.
I knew one carny.
His dad, and then he, owned and operated the cotton candy equipment. Spun coloured sugar for 4$. He has passed, or I would introduce you.
PS I hate carnivals. We will never discuss this.