STATE FAIR CARNIE

       The State Fair was coming to town: Animals, Music, Ferris Wheels and Cotton Candy. Every thrill ride known to man was going to be there. We gassed up the family car the night before and woke up at first light. We wanted to hit the rides early before the crowds arrived. Standing in line for rides was for suckers!

       

        We made the 50 miles from Provo to the Salt Lake Fairgrounds in record time, parked the car, bought a bundle of ride tickets, and were ready to enjoy the best the Fair had to offer. The first ride the kids ran to was the Octopus. They handed their tickets to the Carnie and jumped into the first car, securing the chrome bar tightly across their laps. Their eager looks broadcasted, “Push the button! Let’s get this show on the road!”

The Octopus ride at the State Fair.

      From across the park sounds of rides firing up and kids screeching began to fill the air. But, there they sat. Five minutes passed, enough time to have completed the Octopus ride and be off to the next thrill while the lines were still small. But, no! There they continued to sit, locked in their seats like caged animals. After ten minutes two more excited riders showed up and were locked in, but the ride stood still.

State Fair rides.

       More rides were coming alive all over the park. The sounds of joyous children were everywhere, except on the Octopus. I approached the Carnival Professional. They had looked long and hard to find this greasy haired, toothless, tattooed prison parolee. “Could you please start this ride?” I asked.

Typical Carnie.

        “Not 'til all them seats is full!” barked the Carnie. He was enjoying this. It was a power trip! Seeing a white collar family man squirm under his control was giving him goosebumps. “If you won’t start the ride, could you please take my kids off so they can move on to other rides?” “No can do! They have to wait.” Fifteen minutes had gone by and no one else had gotten on the ride. This could go on forever. I felt we were stuck in a horrible nightmare.

  

        Now twenty minutes had ticked by since our excited kiddos had been locked in their seats. The Fair was in full swing. I couldn’t believe this. We were caught in the “Twilight Zone.” The kids were stomping their feet and pounding on the sides of the car. “Do something, Dad!” they implored. 

The Twilight Zone.

       I approached the Carnie once more. “We’ve been here twenty minutes. It’s time to start the ride or let my kids get off!” He was grinding what was left of his teeth. Hatred for people like me was beginning to surface. His left eye was starting to twitch, his hands began squeezing into fists, his mouth and throat were making guttural noises before he spit a blob of tobacco juice just inches from my shoe. “I’ll let ‘em off. But they don’t get no tickets back!” he growled. “Whatever!” I replied. He smiled a sly grin and turned toward the ride. The kids were squawking, “Come on! Hurry up!” This slowed him to a snail’s crawl.

      While this was going on I noticed our tickets laying on the entrance stand. I snatched them and stuck them in my pocket, feeling a twinge of guilt for taking back my own tickets. Strange! Released from Carnival Lock Down the kids came running, eager to finally get on a real, moving ride.

        Suddenly, with the howl of a wounded animal, the Carnie was after us. “Give me them tickets!” In a flash we were toe to toe. He could certainly move fast now! His dirty-nailed hand was out and shaking. “The tickets!” “Oh, you mean MY tickets? The ones I paid for so my kids could actually go on a ride?” His shaking hand jerked upward, and quick as a striking rattler he grabbed my shirt and almost lifted me off the ground. He must have been pumping iron in prison for years. This guy was strong!

Musclebound iron pumping prison parolee.

        From behind me the kids were yelling, “Beat him up, Dad! Show him whose boss!” “Yeah, you want me to be toothless too?” I thought to myself. Just as my pride was shattering and the kids’ belief in their dad’s invincibility was quickly disappearing, a voice, as if from heaven, boomed, “Hey, Joe! Get the hell over here and do your job!” A slight pause, a moment of indecision, then a quick shove, and Joe the Carnie reluctantly trudged away.

State Fair Cotton Candy booth.

        The kids enjoyed the rides, the animals, the freaks, and the cotton candy, but I felt sick inside. My kids would always remember their dad being collared by Joe the Carnie for as long as carnivals  came to town.