The State Fair of Texas has something (maybe too much somethings) for everyone.

 It’s State Fair time in Texas.  As a child, I was always so excited to go to the fair.  Driving in, I’d see the rides and my heart would start to beat faster.  I’d smell the popcorn and cotton candy, and my stomach would start grumbling.  I’d see the game booths with the big stuffed animals, and I’d start coveting.  Then, invariably we’d head straight for the livestock section.  The next two hours were spent with one eye on the ground to dodge the horse biscuits and one eye longingly fixed on the fun side of the fair while the screams of those lucky kids echoed tauntingly inside my head. 
 Once I asked Mom if I could ride the roller coaster.  “You don’t want to do that,” was her reply.  Actually, I did.  That’s all I wanted to do.  What I DIDN’T want to do was look at livestock.
 So I was excited to go to the fair this year.  I was in charge now.  I was going to do EXACTLY what I wanted to do.  And if that meant roller coasters, then roller coasters it would be!  Popcorn, cotton candy and huge stuffed animals for EVERYONE!
 Immediately after entering, we sought out the corn dog vendor.  From my position 14 people back, I could just read the sign that said “CORNDOGS – 8 TICKETS.”  I didn’t have any tickets.  So off I went in search of tickets.  I found the ticket booth half a mile away.  From my position 14 people back, I could just read the sign that said “TICKETS – $.50”.  I quickly ran a total on my in-brain calculator.  Two minutes later I gasped. 
 “Four dollars for a corn dog?!?!?”
 I grumblingly dished out my $10 for 20 tickets and went to wait in line at the corn dog stand where my wife, Kelley,  had moved up 3 people.  Half an hour later, we stood over the trash can with 7 other people trying to eat our corn dogs while a combination of mustard, ketchup, and grease ran down our arms. 
 “I need a drink to wash this down,” said Kelley.
 “Me too,” said I.  Then, remembering the cost of our little feast, I added cautiously, “Let’s share one.”  And off we went to wait in line at the Home-made Root Beer booth. .  From my position 14 people back, I could just read the sign that said “ROOT BEER – 5 TICKETS.”  Knowing the answer, yet hoping against hope, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my tickets.  Yep.  Four.  And off I went in search of tickets. 
 “Wait,” said Kelley.  “Are you going to want anything else to eat?”
 I couldn’t tell if it was the corn dog or the cost of the corn dog that was turning my stomach, but I immediately decided I didn’t want to eat anything else.
 “Do you want to play any games?” asked Kelley.
 That sounded like a better idea.  Instead of standing around wasting money on overpriced food, why not get something to show for my efforts?  Something like a big stuffed animal that we could carry around to show everyone our athletic prowess.
 “The games probably take tickets,” said Kelley.  “Let’s get plenty.”
 So off I went in search of tickets.  I found the ticket booth half a mile away, and I grumblingly dished out my $10 for 20 tickets.  Then, it was back to the root beer booth to wait in line with Kelley.  The root beer was good -- cold and smooth.
 “My luck is turning around,” I thought. And we went off in search of the biggest stuffed animal we could find.  We found it hanging over a game that involved shooting water into a clown’s mouth to blow up a balloon on his head.  “WINNER EVERY TIME,” the sign declared.  We sat down eagerly.  Then I noticed the other (somewhat smaller) sign – “one play -- $3.” 
 “Three dollars is a lot of money to shoot water into a clown’s mouth for 15 seconds,” I thought.  But I reached into my pocket and counted out 6 tickets.  I handed them to the heavily pierced man behind the counter.
 “What’s this?” he snorted through his studded lips.
 “They’re tickets,” I replied.
 “Cash only,” he sneered, pierced eyebrows quivering.
 The corn dog stirred again.  But, determined to have a good time, I pulled out the last of my cash and laid down $3.  The armored man collected everyone’s money, and rang the bell. 
 We were off.  My gun was shooting well, and Bozo’s head was expanding quite nicely.  Still I shot more.  Then a balloon popped, and a light went off over my head.
 “WINNER!” shouted the human pincushion.
 I couldn’t believe it.  I jumped up to collect my prize.  It was then that I realized it wasn’t my balloon that popped.  It was the six-year-old’s next to me.  And off he went with a life-sized panda bear strapped to his back. 
 “Let’s go ride some rides,” I said to Kelley, trying not to sound dejected.
 So off we went to find the rides.  We found the Crazy Mouse half a mile away.   From my position 314 people back, I could just read the sign that said “RIDES – 10 TICKETS.” Knowing the answer, yet hoping against hope, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my tickets.  Yep.  Nineteen.  And off I went in search of tickets. 
 Half a mile away, I found the ticket booth.  It was then I remembered that Metal Man had the last of my money.  I dug in my pocket hoping to find a few quarters.  No luck.  Then, from my position 14 people back, I noticed the sign that said “VISA/MASTERCARD/AMEX ACCEPTED.”
 “I’ve never run my debit card for $ .50,” I thought.  Then the screams from the kids on the Crazy Mouse sent me digging in my wallet for the card.  I got to the front of the line quickly.  “Good thing I’m not in that slow line on the other side,” I thought as I handed my card through the glass to the pirate-looking lady on the other side.  She just shook her head and pushed it back through to me.  Confused, I pushed it back through the slot.  “I want one ticket,” I said slowly, not sure if she spoke English.
 Long Jane Silver shook her head again and pointed up over her head.  I pulled back a little to see what she was pointing at.  It was then that I noticed the credit card sign was over that slow line on the other side.  My side stated “CASH ONLY.”  So off I went to find the end of the credit line so I could charge my $ .50 and pay $10 to fulfill my life-long dream of having fun at the fair.  Half an hour later, my one ticket in hand, my ego a bit bruised, and my stomach still queasy, I went to find Kelley.
 “By now, she’s probably almost at the loading point,” I thought.   It was then I saw Kelley coming toward me.
 “Where were you?” she asked.  Too defeated to answer, I just took her hand and led her to the end of the line.  While we waited, we counted the cars on the track.  We multiplied them by the number of seats per car.  We multiplied that by the cost per rider.  We multiplied that by the number of trips per hour.  We multiplied that by the number of hours of operation.  We determined that on an average day, the owner of the Crazy Mouse collected $27,000.  Suddenly, I didn’t care so much if we rode the Crazy Mouse or not.  But ride we did.  And we had fun.  For one minute and 48 seconds.
 As we stumbled down the metal steps, knees weak and stomachs even more queasy, I decided I’d had enough fun for the day.  I was ready to go home.
 “I’m never coming back to the fair,” I thought.
 We were almost through the exit gate when I noticed a sign on the building to my right – “LIVESTOCK EXHIBITS – FREE!”  On a whim, I turned us around, and off we went in search of livestock.  It wasn’t a hard search.  We just had to follow our noses.  Before long, we were walking hand in hand, dodging the horse biscuits and laughing and pointing at the animals.  We saw a goat that looked just like our dog, Dudley (but we determined Dudley could probably out-eat him).  We watched a calf feed from his mother.  We toured the milk barn exhibit.  In all, we spent two hours with the animals, and never once did I hear the screams of the “lucky kids” on the Crazy Mouse.
 As we finally exited the fair and made our way back to the car, I thought of how much fun I had had that day.  “I’m definitely coming back next year,” I thought.  “Maybe we’ll get to see the Clydesdales.”