It was pretty fair, I'd tell you that. Yes, I have a right for lame puns. Sue me.
For the first time in what seemed like a decade, I finally went to this year's State Fair. My boredom overcame the best of me. This entire week was shit—don't get me started. And I wanted to experience what I had been missing all of these years. So, I paid for my ticket online, drove 25 minutes to OKC, fought for some parking in a crowded field, and waltzed right in…. Right when it started to rain. When the announcer yelled for everyone to get inside a building in fear of thunderstorms. I thought that my fair day was going to be ruined—and I wouldn't get a refund because I didn't pay an extra $7 for "insurance, in case your day doesn't work." But when everyone else decided to get their turkey drumsticks and funnel cake in the rain, I just didn't care anymore and walked to the most appealing vendor near the smelly, empty animal pens I took lodging in.
With some custardy, creamy Dole Whip in my hand, I ate desert under a gray sky. As I proceeded to get a brain freeze, I watched a guitarist sing her song to her fans, near the tractors and empty hot tubs business people attempted to sell. At this point, my good friend from Stilly, Connor arrives, and we storm towards entertainment central. Inside this giant convention center, there were at least a hundred vendors with a variety of shenanigans and wares—very expensive wares. From foam Keyblades and anime posters, to taffy and blankets that melt on you, to massage chairs, and soccer balls, vegetable slicers, saunas, and Oklahoman beauty products, they had almost everything. Almost everything. There were two things that really caught my eye: "healing (?)" crystals and "free spinal scans." Two agendas that solve problems, mainly physical pain, like backaches and shoulder pains. That's what was broadcasted on their brochure. Normally, I'd just glance by and move on to something shinier and newer, but I would have one question for them.
Do they solve emotional pain? …No? Oh. How unfortunate.
As Connor and I walked on wet pavement, with sprinkles in the air, we decided to have some old-fashioned carnie fun. Splitting them 50/50, we bought tickets, and ran towards the most badass, scare-the-shit-out-of-you, adrenaline-junky rides in the fair. Obviously, the Ferris wheels—I found out there were three—were closed for the night, so that was a downer.
But then again, why go slow when you can go full throttle?
Connor picked the first. This ride was a small rollercoaster, its tracks in the shape of asymmetrical 3D oval. At first, we were misled on how slow it went. But then, the fog machine started running and the speed overclocked. Like a blender, we were spun like there was no tomorrow. I was so pressed against the edge of the cart by the speed and Connor that an imprint on my shoulder for the rest of the night. I thought that I was going to fly out of my seat and make a lawsuit—either in the hospital or beyond the grave. But lucky, I didn't die that day.
Second pick was my pick. It was a colorful ride that looked like the lever of an oil pumpjack, rated PG-13. It was either that, or an R-rated ride that would eat more of our tickets. Little did I know the shit was about to hit the fan. That level of an oil pumpjack went up and down, round and round, my seat twirling in midair. As I screamed into the distance, I saw the dark horizon of the heavens, upside-down, while rotating so many times towards my doom. Kind of like that scene in At World's End.
Final ride paid tribute to the loser Naruto-runners lounging in prison for attempting to attempt raiding Area 51. I don't know shit about physics—one of the many reasons why I ran away from Pre-Med—but all I remember from the soon-to-be engineer from Stilly was something about "momentum, spinning, and sticking to walls." Here we go, in this giant UFO, where this alien DJ operated their machinery to make the next minute a traumatic memory. The UFO spun, and we were glued to walls of saucer, like Velcro. I thought I gained like 30 lbs. in this "anti-gravity field," as I laid flat on my ass on my escalating panel. The aspect that I was the most paranoid about was how Connor mentioned that "the floor drops." I was not going to fall down in the rabbit hole that was this vertical washing-machine. Luckily, no floor dropped, and we were escorted back to the ground by halted physics.
As the rain scattered, Connor and I called it a day and went back to our cars. That day was a very climatic and fitting end for the very shitty week I just went through. It's no lie that senior year was going to be as hard as hell. At least I'll be 21 in the next nine months. At that time, I can't wait to go to my first bar and order a tall glass of milk. And after that happens, all that calcium will be used in toll for the thrill of the next state fair.