One of the distinct pleasures that I’ve had working for my new employer has been the opportunity to man a booth at the 2005 State Fair. Not just any state fair, mind you: The Kentucky State Fair. And if it didn’t clash with my aesthetic sensibilities, I’d make that phrase red and blue, and make the sucker blink. Because The Fair deserves it.
Growing up in Toledo, I was sheltered from the world of county and state fairs, pig parades and cattle contests. Looking back on it all, I cannot discern any sort of glaring deficiency in my childhood, but according to the people in this new state, it’s as if I was raised in a mildewed cave. On the other side of the world. With only wolves as friends. Wolves with three legs, to boot.
To know the State Fair is to know the meaning of life for many a resident of this great state. I now can testify to how eagerly small children are in anticipation of it, each year scheming and plotting how they will win the Great Cake Bake-Off or perchance to take the coveted #1 Ribbon home for their 196 lb. zucchini. To be frank, I’m not sure the second coming of Christ would elicit as enthusiastic a response as the 4H & FFA Sale of Champions. There would be Jesus, hanging out in the back of the crowd, waving like, “Hey guys! I’m back. Guys? No one cares? Oh…I get it. Cows.” That’s right. People in this state care more about cows that Christ. I tell you something else, they do love them some God too. So that’ll tell you about the cows…
Anyway, back to the fair. I was working the other evening at an information booth. I figured on a random weeknight that not too many people would be in attendance. Seemed logical to this Ohioan. WRONG. Not only did I park in East Timor, cross a horse path amidst a stadium parking lot full of RVs (with people just hanging out in lawn chairs *watching their cows*), and pass through a carnival setting that would rival the size of a small country, but I saw more gold chains, more ripped jeans and more airbrushed t-shirts than I think I did in all of 1987-1992 combined. Oh, and mullets. Apparently the rest of the world forgot to clue this state into the fact that Billy Ray Cyrus only had that one hit, and that it was indeed totally fine to go back to having normal hair. You can do business and party hard at the same time…you just don’t have to express that through that already thinning rat’s nest on your head.
Needless to say, the environment fit the company that I encountered during my tenure there. Look, I try not to pass judgment. I try my damndest to be as open-minded as the next guy. But do you *really* have to show up in public with what looks to be six years worth of Cheeto-finger-streaks adorning the belly portion of your already too small Kenny Chesney t-shirt? I mean, I know it complimented your Bubba Gump Shrimp hat nicely, and that it is also rather slimming on you in combination with those stone-washed, tapered jean shorts you’re wearing…but please. If you want me to look you square in the face while trying to understand what you’re saying with that big ass wad of chew in your mouth, then think about revisiting the closet before you step out of your house again.
And then there’s the racists and the Super Christians. I’m not dumb enough to know that either exist, but why oh why does a State Fair bring them out in droves? I’m glad that “horse racing, the white man’s sport” has gotten you to come down to the Fairgrounds today, but what the hell possessed you to tell me that? And have you met Christian Evangelist Dave over here? Yea, he’s trying to get me to memorize a bible verse all while talking to two other people. Thanks Dave, I get it. You like Jesus. Swell. Perhaps you’d be interested to know that he’s come back to us, and quizzically enough he’s right over there watching the 4H & FFA cattle auction. Yea, the one in the back *not* wearing a plaid shirt w/ the sleves cut off.
Oh man, I can’t wait until next year. In the mean time, I think I’ll start on this great idea that I have for a quilt. You know, because quilts are still popular. Just as popular as they were in the 1700s. And even for submitting something, I’m gauranteed to get at least 3rd place.
Because at the State Fair, everyone is a winner. Everyone.
