How Many Ways To Be Humiliated At A County Fair

10 July 2026

1184

R. Linda:

All week, there has been the New England equivalent of a county fair in a very horsey town about 40 minutes away. When the kiddos were very young, Tonya and I would take them on the rides and, once a year, indulge in unhealthy foods like fried dough, cotton candy, and the like. 

The fair runs all week long, so yesterday Tonya thought it would be a nice idea to take the kiddos to the fairgrounds, since we hadn't been in a few years. The two elder boys weren't really interested; they would rather stay home and play video games, but we weren't having that. 

We piled everyone in the car, including Mam (no forcing her, she was all about getting out), and off we went. The first thing on everyone's mind was food. So off to the concession stands we went. There was every imaginable fried junk food. Once filled up on greasy hamburgers, overflowing chilli dogs, and fried dough, we wandered over to the rides. Tonya wanted to go on the Ferris wheel, not my favourite ride, but everyone convinced me we all should get on. Well, I did, and I regret it now, and I have not let any of me family hear the end of it from me.

You probably know those Ferris wheel seats swing in the air, giving one the impression they could swing enough to put one upside down and off to the ground, where one would tumble to possible death or become paralysed. THAT is what I hate the most about that ride. However, I steeled meself and up we started. Also, as you probably know, the damn ride starts up and then stops with a jolt, and there you are swinging in the air, not a feeling I particularly relish. Then the ride continues up, up and up until you reach the top, where some love the outstanding view of the countryside, but I, I be terrified of the view to the ground!

We made it to the top, and there we swung and swung and swung. And I looked at me watch and realised we'd been up there at the tip-top for about 10 minutes. It was as I opened me mouth to announce this, that someone shouted the ride was stuck, and wouldn't it be me luck, I WAS AT THE SCARY TOP!?

I don't panic easily, but me Mam muttering, "Oh dear, oh dear," while looking down at the DROP did not help with the situation. The kiddos below us were laughing and rocking their seats, much to me horror; they could be pelted out and, well... I don't even want to think about the rest. However, they weren't the only ones; other teens on the ride were doing the same thing, which unnerved yours truly further. 

Finally, and with a great jolt that sent us against the safety bar, the damn ride started moving. I was ever so thankful, until it started going back UP!!! I was like WTF? 

"Ye be actin' like a little girl, dare Gabriel." Me Mam said. This from the woman who was white-knuckling it a few minutes ago.

I was squirming in me seat. I was a case of nerves like you would not believe. I just looked at her and conjured up a dirty look, but she 'tsked' at me and shook her head like she was saying, "I don't know about you sometimes."

About what seemed like a year later, we reached the ground, and I was off that mother like a runaway train. I took meself to the beer stand to fortify me nerves while me family had a laugh at me expense. They took off for some of the game booths while I nursed me humiliation with a second beer.

Feeling disgusted with meself for "whimping out", which is what me boyos said of me antics on the "wheel," I decided on one more beer to bolster me bruised ego. As I was waiting for me refill, guess who found me? Samuel DeGeorges, the town know-it-all, all-around annoying guy, and someone I hardly know. There was no getting away; it was too late. He saw me, he was standing next to me, and I was stuck! As I was looking for me family to reappear and save me, I heard about septic systems and the like and was thinking if murder was legal, Sam would be me choice to go first. Because I was thinking how to "do it" in me head, I hadn't been paying attention to what he was saying. He had me sign what I thought was a petition for the rehaul of the town septic works when, in reality, I had signed meself up for a pie-eating contest.

I tell ya! I was amazed when Mrs. Cunningham came over to fetch me for the start of the contest. I was like what? She showed me my entry form, signed and delivered to her, the judge. Just as I was being pulled off to the table, the family reappeared, and instead of helping me get out of this situation, they were encouraging it! 

"Just whose side are you all on?" I shouted at them. Everyone laughed; they thought I was being funny, but I was not. I had stuffed meself prior, had one too many beers, and now I was going to eat pie as fast as I could. Not my idea of a good time.

I was sitting next to Sam, who had entered (by choice, I might add) and was very enthusiastic about the pies. 

"Mrs. Avant, Mrs. Merkle, and Mrs. Collins stayed up all night baking these beauties." He said to me with a huge, hungry smile on his face.

Joan Elders, our town clerk, had a toy gun that, when you fired it, a fabric piece that said "Bang" dropped down, and this was the start gun. OK. What choice, eh?

Well, let me just say, me piehole was bigger than Sam's or anyone at the table, and I freaking won for eating the most pie. Let me say this about pie — I NEVER WANT TO SEE A PIE AGAIN IN ME LIFE! Me award? A blue ribbon for me trouble. Yup, not a certificate that I was the biggest pie pig of the day, or a trophy with a slice of pie on top and me name on the bottom, no, no, nothing at all but bragging rights and a ribbon. 

In the middle of this, Sam interrupted me to tell me Mrs Avant had the best-tasting pie. I just looked at him like he was a nutter, and he is.

To take me mind off me further humiliation, my wife decided we should see the pig judging contest because it was happening not too far from where we were. Off the crew went with me standing there like a dolt, staring at the blue ribbon.

In a pie trance, I followed the family like a sheep to the pig pens. The judging went just as you'd think, with the 4-H kiddos pulling their squealing animals around in an open pen and two farmers standing with pads, ticking off points as they squealed around the ring. I was feeling poorly from all that pie and beer, and told Tonya and Mam I was going to stand over by the pens where the bigger piggies were enclosed so I could lean against a fence to keep from falling down ill. 

As I was shuffling me feet, trying not to barf, I made me way to the bigger pig pens. I inadvertently caught me hand against a gate latch and oh my God, out came the prize-winning pig, a pig so big it almost trampled me, busting out of the gate like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby!

Everyone around me had their mouths open in shock, and then they bolted after the pig. I looked at the cardboard certificate and the blue ribbon on the gate and realised I had released the prize pig and top pig of the entire fair!

"Just don't stand there, go!" Me Mam pushed me. 

Well, let me just say it wasn't me that caught that pig; it was like twenty farmers who surrounded it and finally got it back to its pen, not to mention the hundreds of fairgoers who almost got mowed down by the thing. To make matters worse, wee kiddos would point and, in loud voices, say, "There's the guy who let the pig out." I wanted to crawl into a hole, I did.

Looking back, I suppose I should've been grateful. Nobody seemed to remember the 'pig' who won the pie-eating contest. But they all remembered the eejit who accidentally let loose the champion pig. Some folks leave their mark on a county fair by winning trophies. Me? I left mine by starting a stampede.

Gabe

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