Job opening in Carnieland.

I don’t really know what chit-chat is like in other offices, I haven’t worked in one in…ever. I’ve been in the funeral business for nearly ten years, and before that…the er, adult industry. So arguing about Lost, or sports things, I have no experience in. One of the local businesses we work with came in to drop off a bill, and here’s how we catch up:

“Hi, what’s new?”

“Just pulled a carnie out of a trailer…”

They proceeded to describe the living areas, the carnies have. Just rows of RVs, each carny having about the size of two of my desks, side by side. Just a microwave and a fridge.

“He was 400 lbs…easy to pull the stretcher right up to it, but had to get firefighters to help with the removal.”

“Like being a carnie isn’t tough enough already,” I said, “without dying in a trailer somewhere…”

He was 50 or 60, had being working the same ride for years…no money, no family, of course.  I’d love to be embedded with a traveling fair for a year or two, and write about it. Christiane Amanpour it ain’t, but still.

Conklin was the company in charge for years and years. The carny crowd is much younger, than it used to be. And less Hispanic. So now they’re runaways, my co-worker quipped, instead of running from the law.

Last year, the handful I met were from South Africa.  You see, the bar a few blocks from my house stays open 24/7 when the fair is in town. So, one morning (Tuesday, I think) saw me drinking with some carnies at 7 p.m. Sadly, the following years saw me employed, so I haven’t been able to spend any more time with the fair folk.

Faire folk, or fey folk. Ha! Renne faire nerd humour.


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