The summer I turned 15 I worked in the spin art booth at the state fair.
The booth sat close by that ride where people get strapped into adult sized baby swings and flung out into space. And though I enjoyed helping customers shell out $10 to paint a cheep plastic frisbee create memorable works of art, I lived in fear that the chain on one of those swings would break. Not so much out of concern for the unfortunate passenger, but instead concern that my little booth, with me inside, would be in the path of destruction.
My boss, Vince, an old-guy in his late twenties, (remember, I was only 15) tried to assure me that those things rarely ever happened.
I found Vince to be fascinating. And yes, I did have a teesie little crush on him.
He had dropped out of a prestigious law school, abdicating a position as junior partner in his father’s firm, to become a carnie.
Why?
Because he made more money with the carnival than he had potential to make as a lawyer.
And, I assume, all the curly fries he could want.
Lest you think it all a lie made up to impress a beautiful young girl, let me tell you two things:
First, I looked like this:

And second, Vince’s dad confirmed the story when he came out to visit. All week he grumbled about his years spent in court when he could have been getting rich with a traveling carnival.
The next two years when the fair came to town, I worked for Vince in his dime-toss booth. My soundtrack of those summers was the pling-pling-pling of dimes bouncing in and out of shot glasses coupled with the Bangles’ Eternal Flame blared over the midway loudspeaker.
700 times a day.
It was a great summer job. I worked for two weeks and made enough money to buy really cool back to school clothes.
Like overalls that I wore with only one strap fastened. And faux patten leather shoes. Anything with polka dots. And those ripped-up Bart Simpson jeans. Awesome!
I got to people-watch some really interesting freaks people.
And the curly fries…
A couple of weeks after my 18th birthday, the fair rolled into town again and Vince put me to work managing one of his food booths. It was fun and he paid me quite a bit more than before. And I must have done a good job because when the fair ended, I was invited to travel with the carnival and manage one of his game booths: the dart toss.
Me, a traveling carnie? No thanks.
I went home and laughingly told my parents about the offer. My mom freaked out. There was no way her daughter would become involved in such a thing!
So I left on the following Monday.
It wasn’t so bad really. I did live in the “Bone-Yard” (You do not even want to know why it is called that) but instead of a tent, I lived in a duplex trailer. My roommate was a 16 year old girl named Sabrina. In the next unit lived Gordon, an 18 year old gay boy who liked to come over and do facials with us in the evenings.
Though I was invited to continue on with the carnival for the entire season, I only stayed for two weeks. It was truly not the life for me. Over the course of those weeks I turned down several dates with both other fair people and cute college boys that came to my booth. I discovered who had the greasiest best curly fries. And I learned to avoid the stoner ride mechanics and the rides they worked on. (All of the rides were worked on by stoner mechanics.) I also avoided Vince’s jealous fiance. By this time I was long since over my little crush, but she still really did not like me.
Actually, I avoided almost everyone. It was definitely not a wholesome environment, but I stayed to myself and didn’t compromise my values. Much. I even took Sundays off so I could go to church.
My mom would have been proud. If she wasn’t so mad at me for going in the first place.
I returned home from my adventure with some newfound independence, a few stories to tell, and the useful skill of being able to tie a balloon really, really fast.
Oh, and also the right to say “I used to be a carnie”. Maybe I should consider making a side-bar button?
I never worked at the fair again, though Mr. Frantic and I have run into Vince at the fair a few times over the years. He gave us a congratulatory stuffed duck the first time he met our Girl Wonder. We didn’t even have to knock over any pins first.
And you know something? I still think carnivals are fun.
But I’m not going anywhere near that swing ride…