In the town where I spent most of my childhood, the carnival's annual arrival was the high point of every summer. The rides and attractions would set up in a dusty field on the outskirts of our small town (approximately 15,000 people), and everyone would spend at least one evening (and generally more) winning stuffed animals, tilting and whirling on rides and eating greasy, fried, sugary foods.
It was always one of the best weeks of the year. I had every reason to believe that the summer I was 16 would be no different.
At the time I had a girlfriend named Barbara. The evening we decided to go to the carnival she asked if her friend, Beryl, could tag along. Beryl wasn't much for rides, but she was visiting Barbara from out of town that weekend, and really had nothing else to do. So of we went as a trio.
After the girls insisted on some carnival food, we hit our first ride: the octopus-like creation (I can't recall the name) where riders tilt, whirl and spin. Barbara and I squeezed into one of the cars, while Beryl declined. The operator pushed a button and off we went.
Beryl, bored with just watching us ride, began chatting with the ride operator, who was only a few years older than us and, as it turned out, still filled with teenage hormones. Sensing that he had a chance to get to now Beryl more intimately, he began flirting madly with her.
As we spun and swooped he told Beryl he had a private spot (his trailer — classy guy) and a break coming up, if she wanted to try a ride of a different sort. Beryl, too polite and non assertive to turn him down, kept talking to him. Emboldened by the fact that she hadn't said no (even though she also hadn't said yes), he kept talking to her. Once she mentioned that she was waiting for her friends (us) to get off the ride, our fates were sealed.
There was no way he was going to let us off that ride until Beryl agreed to join him in his trailer. So, as Beryl continued to not refuse his advances, Barbara and I rode the ride. And rode. And rode.
Finally there was too much of a line for the guy to continue letting us ride, even though he hadn't come any closer to his goal with Beryl. Reluctantly, he pushed the stop button and we slowed to a stop.
Barbara and I staggered off to the nearest bushes and promptly threw up. Beryl, sweet innocent that she was, filled us in on why we'd received such great value for our ride dollar.
Our comments didn't include much gratitude, I'm afraid, and the relationship between Barbara and Beryl was frosty for awhile.
And I haven't been on that carnival ride since.
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