There was the crunch, and then, there was the screaming.
"Somebody get a medic" a man yelled.
Thirty guys ran, but I stayed. I was holding up the track of a roller coaster, trying not to bend the rails.
Thank god he's screaming, I thought, looking over at the Raiders ride. He'll probably live.
The screaming echoes and fades.
A few days earlier.
I was in a gas station, looking at the selection of bottled water. The varieties were many. There was Dasani, Aquafina, and Smart Water. All of them glitteringly clear, cold and refreshing to the eyes. I picked the large, smooth bottle of Smart Water. It's massive surface resembling a dildo. It must be why it's so expensive, I thought, as I paid the cashier. I was going to the fair to paint kids faces. This was to be my last day of work. I wanted it to be a good day.
What can help?
The bottle water glittered. Its surface glowed in the sunlight. I picked it up.
A man was trying to dissipate the crowd. Telling people to leave, that the medics were on their way and that she was alright. This guy was either a medic, a parking lot attendant, a relative or a crazy. When I got to the woman, she had regained consciousness and was sitting, looking weak and pale. I took out the bottle and gave it her.
This bottled water was really meant for you.
She explained how she nicked her finger and fainted. She showed me a small cut that had crusted with a drop of dried blood. I looked at her in disbelief.
Talk to a doctor, I've only heard of people fainting from small cuts in fairy tales. Maybe it's shock.
I wished her well and continued my day. I could see the paramedics coming in the distance. Glee filled my heart because the water had helped.
In the evening, as I packed up the airbrushes. A red eclipse scented the night. Me and my coworkers packaged all the goods in the truck, and that meant the end of my work. I went back to the fair to bask in the glory of the lights and sounds. To hear the people laugh, to see the rides move and swirl. I walked around and continued on.
The next day I showed up at the trailer, in back of the RockStar Ride. I wanted to work a few extra days and knew they needed extra hands to tear it all down. Getting a job was easy. They gave me forms, I gave them documents, and then, I found myself being trucked off to the nearest ride. It was the Kamikazi. A human pendulum with duel cages. An upside-down, thrill-seeker.
The first job was to tear down the decking, and wrap the electrical cords. I crawled into the darkness, under the ride. The scent of grass and mud tantalized my nostrils; the moisture dampened my clothing. Moving and shifting made me feel alive, made me feel whole. I was loving the work.
The next activity was more tricky and quickly became precarious. The giant bolts that fastened the tower of the ride into a vertical position, needed to be loosened and undone. Without this, this ride would be unable to fold onto itself.
In order to do this, a person has to climb onto the top of the ride's cages. From there, your body is
free to the open air, and your footing balanced precariously. The bolts wouldn't budge. At first, 5 foot socket wrench was being used, but soon, the wrench was upgraded to a 6 foot one. It was a big wrench, but then again, it was a big ride. Though even then, those bolts wouldn't budge.
The regulars were having trouble. They climbed onto the cages, worked the bolts and got red in the faces. As unproductive as I felt, my feet remained firmly on the ground. To move bolts like that, you have to use your weight. No bracing means no balance, and if you fall, you risk dying. I made a few half-hearted attempts, but my feet stayed cozy in the grass.
Ed, a regular with two front teeth missing, was leading this shit show. This guy was built like a tank,
tall like an basketball player, and had muscles that bulged from every crevice of his body. By the looks of him, and the way he hurled himself at those bolts, it was clear that the fair made him do all the stupid, dangerous jobs.
Standing seven feet away and keeping my body away from the line of fire, I'm told over and over again, "you're in the way". I change my position, trying to find a position that is safe and non-offensive.
Ed used his body to huff those bolts into shape. The ride leaked fluids, and Ed's shoes had been slicked with gear oil. As he pressed himself against the socket wrench, his feet dragged across the cages. After a few failed attempts, Ed slumped. Then he looked at me and screamed, "Don't judge me, Bitch!"
After an hour of grease and pain, the bolt moved, then another and another.
After lunch, Ed showed us the problem. During the fair, an operator had left a door open. The ride, when it was swinging and giving entertainment to children, had hit itself. The floor of one of the cages had opened and parts of the ride had spilled out. Since the ride hit itself, nothing folded or fit, like it is supposed to.
One of the cages did not roll like it was designed to do. These cages are heavy. Their designed to keep people alive, and the weight of them will crush you.
As I was helping with the movement of one of these monstrosities, I wondered, what were to happen, if a part of the ride collapsed? Could you get away? Do you run like hell? Or do you push, as if your life depended upon it? Potentially, killing you and all your other co-workers.
These were my thoughts, as the grease slicked down from the tops of the ride, staining my clothes. At what point, do you walk away because conditions are ripe for an accident?
The day ends. I go home.
The next day, the morning is cold and unforgiving. I have nothing warm, except my neon, pink jacket. I wear my pink jacket in a field of men wearing dark overcoats. Each one looking husky, unkempt, and each one, romancing his cigarette. This time when they cart me away, I'm placed with another woman.
We work together, unbolting a kiddie ride. A tiny tot canoe ride. Two feet on the ground, and the work is just fine. We talk for awhile, and this woman named Patty, goes on a rant. She starts by describing her universal hared of all ethnic groups, and just when I can't take it, her rants change.
She describes how the men are protective and won't let women lift. She tells me that "you have to ask permission", and that when she first started, all they allowed her to do was to lift wood, and that "we women, we are expected to get out of the way, while the men do the real work."
I don't want to hear it but am compelled to. My insides feel like a witch's cauldron. I can't tell if Patty is trying to make me mad or is describing an order of things.
We join another crew, and I notice the interactions that I ignored before. When I go to lift a piece of track, a man takes it from me. The weaker men, no matter how small they are, are always expected to lift more, and that wood is deceptively heavy, and more importantly, inconsequential. I am told that a woman "should not be able to bench press her man".
The leader Fred, when trying to delegate jobs, gave adjustable wrenches to women and told the guys to lift. When this announcement was proclaimed, the other men complained. They felt that, by handing out the wrenches to the women, it gave out too much responsibility. They argued that the women would mess things up. There was a big commotion, but finally, we got our wrenches and did our work.
I was not allowed to help hold the ride up, but somehow I weaseled my way in. I was holding up the roller coaster, when the crunch came. It was the on the ride next to ours.
The screaming started, and the men, who had been helping me hold the ride up, they left. The ride, without being held, would fall and break itself. I stood my ground and held that coaster up.
The man continued to scream. He moaned and he pleaded. Paramedics were sent for, and when the owner of the fair arrived, he told the man to shut up. The exact words were something like, "Shut up! Don't get me wrong, your not alright, but you're ok".
The paramedics carted the man off, and the Raiders ride was covered in blood. They got some another group of men to work that ride. In that group, I saw Ed, as usual bouncing around without a harness and taking care of the fair's dirty work.
After work, I was angry. My blood was seething with uncontrolled rage.
Walking to my car, a teenage boy followed me and started talking. His posture, his body language, all of it suggested he was trying to scare me. He tells me how blood is part of the life of a carnie. I envision blood falling from his head, and then see my own hands covered in it. I try to calculate the forces it would take for his head to pop, and then I remember, it doesn't matter.
It's all accidents, blood and fun.
I think he is a dick. I wish him farewell.
So much for accidents and fun. My time is done.
I drive away into the sunset.
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