The Fair

Last night I indulged in the calamity that is spring fairs. Local hotspots for the misguided and pent-up urges of teenagers, these fairs create an ecocentre unto themselves that is simply enjoyable to observe. Like a sociologist on a profound study of sexuality, frenzy, and inhibition, I dove into the Brooklin Spring Fair like so many before me.

At $5 to enter, I started the night asking, "What exactly am I paying for?" Was it the pointlessness of tractor pulls, the additional cost of rides, the fried food or the massive line to the beer tent that made me question my recent entrance fee? Despite all that I focused on trying to have a good time.

I got the ball rolling with 3 dozen mini-doughnuts. Despite the temporary distraction they would provide, from my petulant neighbors in line and the mass of second hand smoke, those balls of fried dough and sugar became a mass of indigestion quite quickly.

I spent the rest of the night amusing myself with the drunk antics of those around me. From numerous beer-cup towers, to an over-abundance of bleach blonde hair, the escape was delightful.

I left the fair with a frisbee in hand, some doughnuts for breakfast, and a general feeling of over-exhaustion. All-in-all the entire thing seemed a lot like re-living a moment of nostalgia. You have the stomach-aches from the ride, the indignation from observing your immature ways through wiser eyes, and a souvenir to remember it all.