My career as a carnival worker began with my reply to a Craigslist ad. It was with innocence and naiveté, I clicked the send button on the email inquiring for more information. In this email, I included my invitation to request my resume. I assumed sending my resume with notation of my Master’s degree would be a bit pretentious for working in the gaming trades.
Four days later a call came asking if I am still interested. To my surprise I was not asked any questions about my qualifications for the position. I was told to meet PJ at the games area at 10 AM the Monday before the fair.
Upon hanging up, I informed my Dad of my new employment. His first reaction was to warm me that I need to prepare myself for my entry into the world of VD. As my Mom entered the conversation- unaware of the subject at hand- I informed her as well. She simply asked if I had enough condoms. Both of their comments clearly established the reputation that my new profession had instilled in them.
Undeterred, I attended my morning orientation with anticipation for the novelty that I was about to witness. I located the under construction games area of the fairgrounds amongst the buzz of preparation. I quickly learned that PJ’s wife would be my direct supervisor and not PJ. Although I would have more contact with her, I didn’t learn her name. She was generally referred to as “she” or “her.” Even though everyone knew who was being referenced, She had been relocated to the general pronoun status.
As she confirmed our names on a list, I began to take in the other individuals who would be my co-workers in the venture. The first thing that I noticed was the cigarettes. Their chain smoking displayed equal amounts of spite and toughness that left everyone nervously sizing up one another. A pan of the crowd found many rebellious T-shirts, unscuffed 80’s retro tennis shoes and a proud collection of the best American ripped and torn blue jeans.Youth marked the faces of all but one. My fellow elder was equipped with a blue tooth ear piece that demonstrated his arrogance despite his current level of employment.
Fully assembled, She inquired if any of us were sexual predators. Verification was assured. If we had fallen to this vice, it was better to confess now rather than postpone the inevitable arrest. We were required to sign a document that confirmed our statement and established our payment agreement. If I work the entire fair, I am entitled to 20% of the money that I bring in. If I am fired and/or quit, I will be entitled to 15%. I was impelled to ask about the completion of a W2 but realized that this may be met with an odd look and ridicule. I signed my agreement. Orientation concluded with Her decision that we held little to no value for the rest of the day.
The next morning, I join the others assembled under a newly transformed landscape. Every source of fun and desire had been contracted over night in this grassy Midwestern field. Any man’s (or woman’s) need to be filled with a fat filled, meat like, deep fried substance could be attained. Digestive assistance could also be arranged in the gravity defiance found in transportable thrill machines.
It was determined that I will be working the basketball attraction with another co-worker. I want to call it a game or an amusement but that may have been an overstatement. A game would suggest a bit of fairness that could clearly not be said for this attraction. The basketballs were standard issue but the rims made a great number of deviations as they traversed their pinched oval shape. I can not see how any amusement can be drawn from this mainstay of the gaming strip, so I am left with the label of attraction.
My co-worker and I settled into our attraction with our coolers. I had been told only one rule to follow. Don’t give away the stock. Even if your girlfriend comes by or a little sweet kid attempted to pry a free prize, this action would lead to dismissal. I had this rule in my working memory but still had not been instructed the rules or rate for the game. We spent our first hour waiting. Feeling responsible for standing in front of our attraction, we would have been better served to huddle in any shade we could find. Finally, She instructed us on the rules of the game. This of course was bookended by her two repeated declarations that we would be fired if we gave away the stock and questioning whether we were sexual predators.
In order to take part in this attraction, participants needed to forfeit $2 for one shot and $5 for three shots. This meant that for every solo shot I collected $0.40 and for every three shot purchase $1. This is of course if I work the entire fair. If I was fired or resigned my profit dropped (one shot = $0.30 and three shots = $0.75). At this rate I needed to have 25 single shooters an hour, at the single shot rate and work the entire fair in order to pull a $10 per hour wage. If I work twelve hours per day for the six days of the fair, I would accumulate 72 hours. At $10 per hour I could make $720 as I watched 1,800 shots arch to potential success or more likely failure. I had no idea the frequency rate of participants but I knew twenty five customers per hour was unrealistic.
After our first hour of waiting, I agreed to take the first break of the day. This left my co-worker to sell the few stragglers who wandered past. Break is an important part of the carnival work life. The majority of the work could be associated with the break at other positions that I have held. I spent my first break walking around, reading and taking in the movement of the fair.
I returned to our attraction hoping to find my co-worker crowded with clientele. He was sitting in the grass with his head down in the typical carnival worker fashion. He had two shooters. The $4 brought in was a slow start but I was not deterred. I tied on my money apron and grabbed the bank ($50 in ones for change).
A key to success in the carnival world is the call in. I had worked on a collection of call in lines over night. I wanted to bring a little intellect to the trade. Come one, come all. Ponder your prize prospects with a perfect shot. But, I relented to the common refrain of make a basket, win a prize. Later in the evening I entered into a verbal competition with our neighbor. Their refrain of a guaranteed prize every time was matched by my call to guarantee a prize for every made basket. Some in the profession use the call in to display their unabashed and generally false enthusiasm for their attraction. I like to listen for the bits of truth that enter the call in when exhaustion leads to verbal slips. Little views on race, ideas of statutory misdeeds and anger over the repression that comes with being a carnival worker break the monotony of the common call in.
For the next hour, I called in all those who passed by. Most gave me a smirk and shrug with their no. Although the principle can not be applied to all, I am convinced that this interaction is part of the appeal. Everyone wants to be acknowledged and desired. Even if you are being beckoned by a sagging cigarette that is being held in place with the less than ideal number of teeth, you are still being beckoned. I felt as if everyone knew the game that I was playing by calling them in. They played their role as well. A child with prize glistened eyes would guilt a parent to forfeiting money for a shot that would not reach within six feet of the basket.
I watched and called throughout the afternoon hours. I had a few willing participants. Most came to the attraction and left questioning the finality that consumed their money. This was the saddest part of my position. What do you say to a little kid who sees all of the prizes, pulls his crumpled money from a tight pocket, takes his best shot and realizes the game takes 30 seconds? Thanks for playing. So close!
Evening brought a few more clients and the ballet of the teenager. A mixture of skin, awkwardness, clearly defined but often tested gender roles and the perpetual state of hanging around. In my observations, I could see myself in the role of the tentative and apprehensive teen. I remember being so confounded by the arrogance that others displayed. I never (and still don’t) understand how one can display such confidence and brevity with disregard for reality. I have never mastered the art of the bluff.
My night ended with two hours of calling in those who did not exist. My co-worker had given up. Standing in the sun all day is exhausting. I regretted his decline of sunscreen at the beginning of the day for him. His face was eluminated with sunburn and lack of rest.
Throughout my day of work, I brought in a total of $102 (even though I think a twenty was lost in there some how) and he brought in $86. I had worked twelve hours and earned $20.40. This averaged a $1.70 an hour. Noting these figures, I made the decision to end my career as a carnival worker. I had lost money for the day.
At 11PM, I offered my resignation. Well it is not for everyone. This was the repeated response to my apologies. Not for everyone was an understatement. The job is not for anyone who wants to make money for their time and effort. I was amazed at how many cigarettes the typical carnival worker consumes throughout the day. This alone is more than the money made from the days activities. I was assured that the profits would increase as the fair went on.
With this consolatory statement, I left the trade. I wanted to have a little extra money for my time to increase the length of my trip but I was left being had. She took sympathy on me and paid me the 20% rate of $20 rather than the $15 that I was owed. In this way, I was left staring into the lights of the fair asking if that was it.
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