I was driving up SOMO yesterday when I got this deep nasty whiff of Lysol. It wasn’t coming from inside my van, but from across the street where the carnies were unpacking the North Florida Fair. A person can choose to be disgusted, reassured, or both, but it is a fact. Windows up, 45 mph, Lysol. I imagine that’s what jail smells like.
I’ve always had mixed feelings about the fair. I suppose it started as a way to celebrate the harvest before winter and then slowly but inexorably– like all social institutions– it sank to the lowest common denominator. Why do the cattle ranchers get a booth, but not the chicken farmers and so on all the way down to the Sleestak who guesses your weight or sits in the dunk tank.
Poor people love the fair. They save for it. They make special arrangements to attend and to have enough cash to enjoy it. Check Craigslist right now and I bet you can find all sorts of marginally working power tools and Barcaloungers for sale, somewhat stained but not easy to see. I haven’t been in many years, but I expect it is the same. The middle class may take a swing through the fair on a Friday evening in search of some romantic pastiche, but the real fair money comes from the outlying edges of the county, and the subsidized housing complexes. Poor people have it hard, they need a reason to celebrate and the fair is a reason.
I do like the lights, and that a field can be transformed overnight into a place with customs all its own and a culture unfamiliar. The carnies? That’s where they live, it doesn’t matter what town they are in. When you go to the fair you go to their town. Fairtown.
I never liked carnival rides. I can confidently say I have never, nor will I ever ride a roller coaster. More so, I can’t imagine why anyone would,especially at the fair. Stinking, greasy rattletrap jalopy Ferris wheels and Yo-Yo’s? I think not.
And yet, to walk the midway and win your girl a goldfish or a Def Leppard mirror is a sweet thing. I might not touch anything, but I still kind of want to go.
I like to go and look at the chickens. And see the lights. And smell the smell of sweet dough fried in oil and yes, Lysol.
I probably won’t, though. Some things are better in theory than in fact.
I won’t even go into how much money the fair takes from the community every year but ask any local business owner and they will tell you- it’s a lot.
Yes, the jail does smell of Lysol … mixed with dried sweat.
A man with your technical riding skills won’t mount a rollercoaster? Surprising.
Hey, I need to sell my paint sprayer; you interested?
That lysol smell is what happens when meth-heads urinate all over the hay.
Can’t wait to get up in that big Ferris Wheel!!!!!!!
Those of you who ride those rides, please tell me where your faith in those rinky-dink machines comes from?
I would ride a roller coaster if I could drive it.
Statistics: chicken fried steak kills more people each year than Ferris Wheels. I’m gonna get one of those chicken fried steak sandwiches for $18, have it double fried, AND eat it while riding the Ferris Wheel.
the Frisbee is caution and it’s recipient, the wind.
Whence the faith in these contraptions? Why wait for pie in the sky when you die when you can get it now at the fair?
Juancho, I think I want to go to the fair and look at the animals. Let’s have smells to overpower the Lysol, I say.
In Minnesota, we hit the fair on opening day because the hay in the barns is fresh, the kegs are freshly tapped, the oil in the cheese curd fryers is fresh and the tix are $2 off.
Now THAT’s a party.
Finally- the voice of reason weighs in. Thanks OB!
Yeah! Who knew? It’s great to have advice from a pro! 🙂