New World Man (Emily)
It’s June tenth. My twenty-first birthday. But it’s a Saturday, and that means I’ll be sitting in this booth all day, convincing idiots to give me five bucks to try to throw a ball into a basket.
When are they going to realize they can’t win? Unless I want them to, that is.
Cess says we have to make sure it seems like you can win, so every so often, we tilt the baskets to keep the balls from bouncing out again. You can’t tell the angles from the other side of the counter, but we still have to be extra cautious because the state regulators are known to come round posing as players. They’re checking for fixed games, and if we get caught, that means a big fine for the carnival, and Papa Smurf’s boot up my ass.
I love getting to choose who I want to win. Somehow, men who are dicks to their girlfriends never do. But when I offer a discounted or free set of balls to their girlfriends, they always win. Assuming they can hit the basket.
Kids also tend to win a lot. I just have to be careful not to let too many win, or it eats into mine and Cess’ commissions. We have to pay for the stuffed animals ourselves, and I’m not Santa Claus.
I’m loving it though, it’s lots of fun. And now I totally get what Steel was saying before, about one of the best things about this job being all the smiles we put on people’s faces. And sometimes wiping the smiles off the faces of assholes. It’s a real buzz.
We’re still in Mississippi. I never appreciated just how many small towns there actually are in one state before now, and Papa Smurf said we’re not even going to most of them.
It’s three, and I need to eat before the rush starts at four. Once it starts, we’re busy until close.
“Are you good here if I take my break?” I ask Cess.
“Sure, honey, you go get something to eat.”
“Great, back in twenty minutes,” I say, taking off my money apron.
I head straight to The Zipper. If Steel isn’t there, Razor will know where to find him.
Steel sees me pushing my way past the people in line and walks away from the pod he was loading. He meets me at the front of the line.
“Happy birthday, Goldie,” he says, hugging me and swinging me around.
His blue eyes are electric in the daylight, and even though I look in them a zillion times a day, my tummy still flutters under their gaze. He presses his lips against mine, and we lock together in a kiss that increases the fluttering inside me.
There are a few catcalls and whistles from people in the line.
“Get a room,” someone calls, but we don’t give a shit. He presses his hand into the small of my back, and our kiss deepens, so does the need in me.
I break the kiss, and say, “I only have twenty minutes.”
“Come for a ride, and I mean come,” he says with a devilish grin.
“I’m starving,” I say. I’d planned on getting some onion rings for lunch.
Ignoring me, Steel takes my hand and leads me to a waiting Zipper pod.
“Hey, no butting, asshole!” someone yells from the line.
“Easy, dude,” Steel says.
“You can’t just drag your carny bitch ho to the front of the line,” the guy says. He’s young, around my age, and is standing in line with what looks like his twin brother.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Steel says, screwing up his face.
“Anything, except get a real job,” the guy says.
Steel glances at me, and looks at the ride. He sees something on the ride, and his massive, Hollywood smile springs across his face.
“Tell you what, buddy, why don’t you and your twin come up here right now, as a way of me apologizing to you,” Steel says.
This is weird. I don’t know what his plan is, but I know he’d never apologize to a townie, ever.
Without further prompting, the guy and his twin push past the people ahead of them in line, not seeing the irony, and arrive at the pod.
“Hey, how’s that fair?” a woman’s voice shouts.
Steel glances back at the line, and with his smile says, “It’s good. These big, tough guys want a ride, we’ll let them have a ride.”
The twins climb into the pod, and Steel secures the door. Razor moves the ride around to the next pod, and the people get out. I go to get on, but Steel holds me back.
“Not this time,” he says, “Go stand with Razor.”
Confused, I walk over to where Razor’s standing at the controls.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Those assholes are about to stink up my ride, is what,” Razor says, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“They just got on pod nine, we call it Loosey Goosey, because it spins easier than the others.”
“And?”
“And this ride is going to be a little faster and a little longer than usual, and those two will be trying to get the stink of puke off themselves for days.”
Grossed out, I chuckle, and say, “How do you know they’ll puke?”
“Because unless they’re one of us or fighter pilots, they’re going to puke.”
“And all the other people on the ride?”
Razor grins, and says, “They should be okay. Unless they’re pukers to begin with.”
When the ride’s fully loaded, Steel comes and puts his arm around me.
“Let’s torture these assholes,” Steel says.
Since the day at my booth with the pitcher and all the missed balls, Steel’s taken to embarrassing anyone who pisses him off. He thinks it’s hilarious, and so do I. According to Razor, he can’t believe Steel hasn’t thrown a single punch this year.
It still freaks me out that Steel, according to Razor, ‘could beat the shit out of a giant,’ but he hasn’t this year. I’m guessing because of me. And I think it’s amazing that he hasn’t for me. It’s just proof of how much he cares about me, and how much he wants to be a better man because of me. It makes me all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.
Razor starts the ride, and it doesn’t take long before it’s creaking around the track. I keep my eyes on Loosey Goosey, the pod the twins are in, and it’s spinning probably four times the rate of the others.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, flecks of puke spray from the twins’ pod. The sight makes my stomach turn, and I fight back retching.
“This better not turn into a barf-o-rama,” Razor says.
Steel laughs, “I’m outta here, it’s all your problem if it does.”
“Like fuck, at least get me the hose.”
Razor stops the ride, and I stand well out of the way while they unload it. Even where I am, the acrid smell of puke poisons the air.
They unload the twins last. It takes several minutes to unload and load the ride, and the twins must be desperate to get out of their little puke-coated cage.
“Oh, fuck,” Steel says, shielding his face with the crook of his arm in an exaggerated way. Both him and Razor mock puke, and walk away from the car while the twins get out.
Everyone in the line is either laughing or gagging at the puke-covered twins.
“I can’t even remember the last time we had a puker, you two sure ain’t tough. You want us to hose your down?” Steel says, laughing.
The twins don’t even look at him, instead they look like the walking dead as they make their way from the ride.
Razor turns on the hose and starts spraying out the pod.
Steel meshes his hand through mine, and says, “Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’ve lost my appetite, thanks.”
“It was worth it though, right?”
I chuckle and say, “Maybe. Those assholes had it coming.”