Volume 2, Number 7 -- July, 1997
Under the Big Top
by Dean Shutt
So anyway, me and Dave (the other Dave) pulled into
town about half past six in the morning. We had been driving all
night with nothing but a bag of Ruffles, a dozen Ding-Dongs and
a fifth of Wild Turkey to sustain us. Now before anyone out there
gets all bent out of shape over the Turkey, let me assure you
that whoever was driving had his with coffee, we aren't menaces
after all. The point I was trying make is that we were starving.
At half past six in a sleepy little town your food choices tend
to be limited, though. So we headed to the only restaurant that
happened to be open at that hour, the local Denny's.
Being old Denny's hands, Dave and I could have got
along all right without menus. For that matter, we would have
been OK without the waitress, but what the heck, she seemed nice
enough and there wasn't any room in the trunk anyway so...never
mind. Anyway we sat down in those luxurious vinyl booths and rested
our weary heads while we waited for the nice lady to bring us
our coffee. When she brought the Java we asked her to leave the
pot and about a hundred sugar packets (I've always held that you
can never have too many stimulants). She seemed kind of uncomfortable
with that idea but then Dave gave her a smile. Dave's smile has
a certain effect on a woman, but it's usually worn off by the
time the police arrive so charges are rarely pressed. So she
left us with our coffee and went to get us our three Grand Slams
a piece (a growing boy needs his protein after all).
With coffee and food solved we needed to plan our
day's activities. We had been on the road pretty much constantly
since the whole Dairy Queen fiasco (I don't care what they say,
he never told us he was a cop and what did they expect men of
action like Dave and I to do when a man wearing a gun enters our
Dairy Queen?) and were actually starting to enjoy it. Of course
once the Air Force realized those dummies we'd propped up at our
desks weren't us, we might have some problems. But we figured
that they just might make it till our discharge date next year.
Heck, according to my bank statements, mine had earned me a raise.
The problem was, we were getting bored with being on the road,
bedding hundreds of gorgeous women and performing startling acts
of heroism. What we wanted was some good old fashioned fun, no
more psychos, beauty Queens or middle eastern terrorists. Just
some boring small town fun.
That's what had brought us here to this burg. We'd
seen signs on the highway for a County Fair and figured what the
hell. After all, you can't find more boring fun than at a County
Fair. What with the tractor pulls, livestock shows and appearances
by people like Billy Ray Cyrus, why, that is about as boring as
fun gets. So, needless to say, we were excited at the prospect
of a long idle day.
When the waitress returned with our food I knew she
had become smitten with me. After a while you can just tell these
things, there are hints you know. The way they play with their
hair, the way they give you those furtive looks, the way they
pause between dialing the 9 and the 11, all of those little romantic
games. Unfortunately for her, I wasn't interested that morning.
It had been a long night and I just wanted to sack out for few
hours before we hit the festivities. She had it bad though, following
us into the parking lot, begging me to come back. Granted she
tried to hide her affection by claiming we hadn't paid for our
food, but trust me, the vibes were there.
We headed out of town towards the fairgrounds. We
planned to park and crash in the car until the fun got up and
running that afternoon. As we passed through the main drag, we
could tell we picked the right place. A couple of fast food joints,
some gas stations and minimart were about the only modern structures
in the whole place. It was nice quiet little village, just what
we needed to soothe our jangled nerves. We got to the fairgrounds
and parked along side the road under a nice big shade tree. After
a couple of hits of nitrous to put things in their proper perspective
we dropped off into the sleep of the innocent.
We woke up around three and headed off to a little
stream we had passed on our way in for a wash. It can be hard
to stay clean on the road and laundry is an especially thorny
problem. We usually found it convenient to wear the same clothes
as long as possible and washing fully clothed when we got the
chance. We were rumpled but hygienic for the most part. After
our bath, we headed to the fair.
Everything about the fair was just how we remembered
from our youth. The fence even gave way under the same amount
of pressure from the wire cutters as it did when I was a boy.
We were in and happy then, with a nice relaxing day lay ahead
of us. We sauntered down the midway, past the rigged carnival
games and the various fried food stands. Little children scampered
past us as their parents kept a watchful eye from the beer tent.
Yep, it was just like the county fairs of my younger days. Why,
in no time at all the drunken brawls would start and the State
Troopers would wade in with the tear gas and billy clubs. Brought
a lump to my throat, I'll tell you.
That's when the trouble started. We heard the kids
screams before we saw what was happening. Coming up the midway
was the biggest, ugliest, meanest looking clown I had ever seen,
and I have seen some beauts. He was picking up little kids and
tossing them to the side like so many rag dolls. I exchanged a
look with Dave, and we slipped between a couple of trailers to
let the nut go by us. We were hoping that the cops would handle
this one, cause as I've said, we really needed a day off. No such
luck though, a good ol' boy in a State Trooper uniform moved towards
Bizarro Bozo to have a word and caught a size thirty-two shoe
upside his head for his troubles. The clown had barely slowed.
This then was exactly what we needed, a psychopathic
clown that obviously had martial arts training and was intent
on snapping as many children's necks as he could reach. Dave reacted
before I did. In a flash he'd scooped up some of those weighted
milk bottles that are impossible to knock down, and began chucking
them at the clown's head. This wouldn't have been a bad plan of
action had he not been dumb enough to actually hit the moron with
one of them. Unfortunately his aim was true and the loon spun
around and stared directly at my compadre and I. We gave him a
smile and a wave and took off for the hills with Krusty in hot
pursuit.
Luckily, Dave and I have always been good at thinking
on our feet and soon had a plan for our painted friend. I tore
off to the right and Dave to the left, each intent on performing
his part of the scheme we'd come up with. I headed for the food
pavilion to locate a few gallons of grease. Dave took off for
the area where they were holding the home improvement demos for
his part of the plan. We were going to meet up later at the highwire
act. Meanwhile the clown had decided to chase me. It didn't matter
that I kept screaming that Dave had thrown the bottle, he just
wasn't thinking straight. I lost him by ducking through the freak
show tent and into the folds of the world's fattest woman. The
things I do for kids!
I gathered up the lard without too much trouble and
headed for the high wire act. Dave got there a little later, explaining
he'd had a little trouble convincing the carpenters to give up
the nails we needed. He accidentally had to drop a couple hammers
in the proper places before they would agree to lend us the proper
supplies. We commenced preparations for our crazy friend's arrival.
We knew it wouldn't take him long to find us, it wasn't that
big a fair. Besides, the fat chick had given me up the moment
I left her. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have told her that
"Roseanne" joke.
He came barreling around a corner just in time. He
slowed to a stop and shot me an evil grin, I grinned back and
shot him the forehead with a pellet gun I'd taken off a kid. He
let out a roar and tearing at me like a madman, which of course
he was. Dave yanked on the tripwire and the clown was suddenly
airborne flying at me head first. I ducked out of the way and
he hit the ground...and the grease...at full speed. He must have
hit that bucket of nails at about thirty miles an hour. He was
easily about six-five and yet fit quite nicely in a four foot
tall barrel filled with finishing nails. For obvious reasons he
started thrashing around like a wild man. Dave and I pulled on
that rope for all we were worth and what with the adrenaline and
all, we got him about thirty feet up the highwire pole before
our arms gave out and we tied it off.
With that we took our leave of the situation. I suppose
we could have stayed and been heroes for the moment and all that
but that just isn't our way. We had seen a problem, we had solved
the problem, we were no longer needed. We figured even the State
Troopers could handle it from there. Heck all they needed to finish
the job was a reasonably sharp knife and some Bactine.