View From Box 3

Rain, rain, go away. Let the children come out to play. Those words became my mantra, as I watched the rain from my vantage point inside the ticket booth. I had volunteered to sell ride tickets. It was the first day of the Toledo Spring Festival, and it was pouring down rain.

The Whac A Mole booth was to my right. Brightly colored lights blinked incessantly, while sheets of rain pooled on the canvas roof. Wind gusts lifted the canvas, spewing the pooled water over the occasional unsuspecting passerby. Stuffed animals dangled from hooks, smiling as they danced to the rhythm of Pink singing ‘I’m coming up so you better get this party started’.

“Fat Chance in this weather,” I said to myself.

Yes, I was bored and now talking to myself. I wasn’t answering yet, but as I tapped my fingers on the metal counter while waiting for customers, I knew madness would soon be knocking at my door.

A fan roared overhead, blowing cold air. I shivered. It was freezing. Goose flesh rose on arms covered by a too thin sweater. I looked upward toward the fan, but couldn’t find a knob to turn it off. I tucked my hands under my legs, wishing someone I knew would pass by. Perhaps I could persuade them to bring me a hot beverage. Of course, no one came. I looked at my watch, only ninety minutes to go.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. Someone had braved the rain in hopes of a little fun. Two rather drenched girls stopped in front of my booth. I sat up straight, readying myself for action. When they stepped in front of the window, I said with a smile, “May I help you?”

They were counting money while reviewing the ride list, finally stuffing six dollars through the window. “Six tickets,” the shortest girl said.

I took their money and tore six tickets off the role, passing them back to her. I even remembered to say, “Thank you. Enjoy the ride.”

Neither girl spoke.

I watched them walk away, hoping they would ride the aptly named, Storm. If so, I would get to watch some action, as that ride was within the view of Box 3. Although, I was contemplating changing its name to Prison Box 3, except for the cold, I was beginning to feel a little like Cool Hand Luke. Woo Hoo! The girls were riding the Storm. The carnival worker made sure they were secure, and flipped the switch: lights, action, camera. I raised my trusty digital camera to get the shot. However, the viewfinder only found the back of two people beneath an umbrella. They stood there, as if trying to decide whether to stay or make a run for it, until the ride stopped.

One rather damp patron walking by with her husband and a flock of grandchildren, looked toward me and said, “This is stupid.”

I raised my eyebrows, smiled, and nodded.

I entertained myself by trying to make up a story from the ride names. I came up with: The ‘Frog Hopper’ and ‘Moo Cow’ ‘Bounce’d on top of ‘Dizzy Dragon’, who growled so loudly he scared the residents of ‘Toon Towne’. They thought a ‘Wave of Thunder’ was ‘Pharaoh’s Fury’, and scattered. Some boarded the ‘Crazy Bus’, while others jumped into ‘Bumper Cars’, boarded the ‘Orient Express’, or took a ‘Helicopter’. They were on their way through the ‘Sizzler’ heat to ‘Mardi Gras’. The helicopter ran into a ‘Storm’, turned into a ‘Tilt a Whirl’, and crashed. When it came down, it hit a rocky hillside, which caused an ‘Avalanche’. A large rock flew out to ‘Whac a Mole’ on the head, killing him instantly. The end. I didn’t say it was a good story, but it’s the best I could do with what I had to work with.

By the time I finished penning my story, the rain had decreased to a sprinkle. There wasn’t a crowd, but more kids were beginning to venture out to the festival. A few stopped to buy a ticket or two, some even bought twenty. I was still cold.

I glanced at my watch once more, only thirty more minutes of incarceration. I leaned back in my chair to stretch. In doing so, my eyes glanced up toward the ceiling fan. Low and behold I saw a knob. Upon closer investigation, there were two knobs. One was the fan, the other the temperature. The knob was turned to as cold as it would go. I quickly changed it to the red side, as hot as it would go. I lifted my frozen digits to the vent and begged for warmth. My request was honored. Warm air flowed freely. If only I had located that knob sooner!

By the time my relief knocked on the door, with the exception of toes encased in wet shoes, I was warm and toasty. However, when she said the person who was to relieve me couldn’t take his turn, I didn’t volunteer to take his place. In fact, I nearly knocked her down on my way out the rear door.

On my way home, I stopped to buy two tasty corn dogs from the Kiwanis booth. I ate one while enjoying the beautiful lights and chaotic sounds of music, combined with laughter and excited squeals of children. A hawker yelled, “Step right up. Come on in. Play baseball.” A crowd was gathering at the festival, the rain had stopped.

Story ID:	3891
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Toledo IL USA
Year:	2008
Person:	Me