The Carnie's Life

I've never really been a fan of carnivals. OK, for a few brief years I was, but then a fateful day struck. It was at the Ingham County Fair, probably when I was eleven or twelve, and it was on this day that I became aware of the carnie.

Up until that moment, I had lived in ignorant, cotton candy bliss about the joys and fun the carnival had to offer: blinking lights, fried foods, and fun rides. But on this particular day, after I saw my first carnie, everything changed. The carnival had lost it's luster.

It was not fear of the carnie and his rough and worn edges that turned me away. No, it was instead an awareness that here, standing before me, was a person that life had worn down. Here was a man who had lived a life that most likely was nothing more than day to day drudgery and misery. His was a life that I recognized as being one that I would not want to have. I believe this was the first tangible awareness I had of societal disparity. Perhaps it's not fair to make such blanket assumptions, but to my pre-teen sensibilities, the carnie represented a life that I should pity.

Ever since then, I've been intrigued by these itinerant nomads, these modern day gypsies. Their home is on the road, back behind the arcades and rides in a portable town of RV's and vans. They move from city to city, their time spent either setting up and tearing down the rides and arcades, or traveling to the next anonymous city. Their life, as far as I know it, exists in the world of the carnival. I wonder what would cause them to choose this life. It sounds like a hellish life to me, and I often wonder what tales could be told of these men and women whose journeys have led them to this job.

Perhaps this isn't a fair analysis however. I suppose there are some who have found a camaraderie of sorts with their fellow carnies. I wonder if this is a community of loners and curmudgeons who've found each other, and who wouldn't want it any other way. I imagine they are a restless lot, with no desire to feel tied down to anything or anyone, and the carnival has met this need. Oddly enough, I wonder if for some of them, the carnival is the closest they've come to a home or family in years.

I went to this carnival with my girlfriend last Thursday, on her birthday. She's always been a fan of carnivals, so I decided to take her. It was a beautiful night, and we had a fun time, despite all of my negative feelings about the carnival. It's the first time I've been to the carnival in years, though, and it brought back to mind all of the thoughts I've ever had of carnies and carnivals.

I saw these men climbing on this ride, tightening bolts, making sure it was assembled safely and correctly. They do this job every week of the year, each time in a different town or city. I wouldn't like this kind of life, and I can't imagine it pays that well. It's tough, hard work, and at the end of the day, you've constructed something for a carnival. It's hard for me to think they feel fulfilled in their work. So much of our worth comes from feeling that we do something that we can take pride in, and I wonder if these men are robbed of any sense of pride in their work.

At the Ferris wheel, I saw a man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was the operator, and as he took our tickets, I happened to glance at the control panel. Stashed in a groove between the rows of controls sat a wallet size picture of a beaming school girl, presumably his daughter. She had a bright smile on her face, and I couldn't help but think of the scene when she gave this picture to him. I imagined him saying goodbye to her, promising that he would call, and that he would see her at the end of the summer. I imagine he told her he would always have her picture there in front of him. Right now, that picture is in pristine condition--I suspect it will be tattered and worn by August. I wondered what quality of life this was, a nomadic life that took this man from his daughter. He did not look happy.

Besides the sinking feeling I have when I see the carnies, there is always a cheap and chincy quality that I find at carnivals. They always seem like pale, imitation wannabes of amusement parks. It's always a ragtag collection of games and rides, which adds to the depressing feeling I get most of the time at carnivals. Case in point is a "ride" that is really just a glorified jungle gym for the kiddies. The soundtrack belts out the theme to Raiders of the Lost Ark, yet the paintings all around it suggest Harry Potter. I guess in the mind of the promoters, all you need is a paint job, a link to Harry Potter, and suddenly you're current. Nobody's fooled. Though I suppose the kids don't care.

We did have a fun time, though. We had some great French fries, rode the Ferris wheel, took a spin on the Himalaya, a Matterhorn-like ride, and walked around the midway a dozen times, people watching. People were having a good time and enjoying themselves. I guess the carnival does at least bring some good times to people, and entertains them. A friend of mine brought her son with her, and she said they had a terrific time. Entertaining people, I suppose is a worthy job. Besides, that's what I do for a living. I'm not sure how to think about these carnies though. Are they to be pitied? I suppose they don't want that from me, but I find that hard not to do.