my sad place: the county fair

i'm about to make a strange request of all of you, but bear (bare?) with me.

there are people of the world that will tell you, in jest, to think of your "happy place." this typically occurs when the two of you are having a conversation. you are annoyed with something to a degree that is entirely socially and psychologically acceptable, when your friend takes the opportunity to make you feel foolish by suggesting you're completely off your rocker. the only way to put you back on your rocker is for you to imagine your "happy place." likely some secluded beach on a tropical island with lots of sunshine and shade and barely dressed men that are holding palms to fan you as you sip on a tropical drink and soak in the sea air....

but i digress.

my request is for you to push all these happy thoughts aside for a moment and think of your "sad place."

that's right. go ahead.

...

...

what have you got?

maybe that time that your pet parakeet was feet-up at the bottom of the cage?
the day you didn't make the JV cut for the basketball team?
when Sam dumped you for that other chick/guy who was SO not fucking hot?

ok. all excellent sad places.

you want to know what i've got?

i've got the county fair.

the county fair, almost universally across this great nation, has got to be one of the most depressing places. having attended one the other night for my summer job, i realized that county fairs indeed make me sad.

where else can you witness a morbidly obese woman wearing spandex and selling deep-fried twinkies for $5?
or how about the booth operator who will flirt with every member of the family, including the infant you're pushing in a stroller, or the dog you've brought along to aid your feeble grandpa, in an effort to get you over and pop some balloons with a dull dart?
where else is it expected that parents will lose their children--guaranteed!--that there is a booth established for reclaiming such ill-babysat toddlers? toddlers who are then turned over to the awful parents without so much as a warning or repremand for ever breeding in the first place?
where else do you see people dumb enough to still be intrigued by the lady with a snake's body? where else can you find people on this planet who are willing to part with their own money to witness something that , if you've managed to complete at least a 5th grade level of education, is irrefutably a poorly-masked con?
where else do you see old men trying to sell some cookware or garden hose to a group of equally old-ish county fair attendees with more vigor and passion than can be found on most daytime soap operas?
where else to you find individuals, again paying money, to get on a ride that is visibly rusted and rickety, tossing all care to the wind, to completely trust some greasy-haired toothless freak that they won't be hurled into the sky when that cable finally breaks?
where else is it ultimately clear that America has, indeed, jumped the fucking shark?

only at the county fair--a place that is still envisioned as a time for family fun and excitement.

and that makes me incredibly sad.