White Expo

"I just think it's time we realize that racism is a two way street." This nugget of wisdom came from a friend of mine several years ago while we were eating Chinese Food here in Shelbyville, Indiana. This is a subject that I avoid altogether, and I sputtered and choked on my egg roll since this subject surprised me coming from out of nowhere. After taking a drink of soda to prevent more cabbage to go flying across the restaurant, I said, "Where did that come from?"

My friend picked a piece of pork from the bridge of his nose as he continued, "Well, look the Indiana Black Expo. I mean, come on. What if we were to have a Indiana White Expo? The shit would hit the fan then, huh?" I set down my drink, cleared my throat, and said, "We do have an Indiana White Expo."

"We do, what a Klan rally?" he said taking a drink of his soda.

"Yes," I said stabbing a piece of Sesame Chicken with my fork, "It's called the Indiana State Fair." This time, it was my turn to wipe the spray from my face as patrons from other tables stared and wondered what drugs we were on.

I have a love-hate relationship with the Indiana State Fair. Every year, I get a ticket, and push myself through the masses to find myself surrounded by both wonders and atrocities of society. The food, games, rides, and attractions at the ISF are enough to make Charlotte's Web seem downright glamourous.

There was one year when I found myself in the Farm Pavilion, which has exhibits showing the different aspects of agriculture, and how we use them in daily lives. Soybeans and corn are the main staples, complete with large bins in the center full of each so kids and adults alike can stick their arm up to the elbow with the versatile vegetables. There I was, watching as kids tryed to climb into the bins, when I noticed there was a restroom in the back. On my way, I saw a little old lady with a small booth next to the doors. As people walked in, she would stop them and spray their hands with a liquid. I needed to use the restroom, so I started on my way back there. I didn't think the old lady was doing anything odd, simply because at the Fair, people were hired to do strange things. So, on my way into the men's room, I stuck out my hands and let her spray away.

After taking a leak, I started for the door leading out to the Midway when the old lady stopped me, "Now, let's see how well you did." I had no idea what she was talking about, so when she reached for my hands, I didn't protest. From the table, she grabbed a black light, and began to scan my hands, which were now glowing fiercely. "Oh dear, you didn't take much time to wash your hands, did you?" I was supposed to wash my hands? It didn't register right away what she was talking about, and as I looked at my hands, I also saw that the crotch of my pants were glowing also. Suddenly, I remembered the spray, what it occurred to me what this was. I guess this lady was hired to show how well you wash your hands. I was busted. I just walked out of the pavilion not looking back to see if the old lady even cared. She probably didn't.

Ah, the Livestock Barn. Nothing says Indiana State Fair, like a huge barn filled with livestock, including the largest, as well as the second largest boar in the world. Both animals just lay there, it's massive bulk heaving up and down with labored breathing, which is the only sign of life there is in the poor creature. I looked around at some of the other gawkers, and notice that as far as weight went, some of these people weren't far off from the boar. I guess, to them, this was either something to aspire to, or a sign that he/she isn't as bad off as some.

The one thing about the Livestock Barn, is that traffic moves quickly. From the instant you step into this building, your eyes water with the horrid stench of animal excrement and sweat. One year, seeing the look of irritation on my face, one of the farmers said, "You get used to it after a while." There are just somethings a person shouldn't get comfortable in, and the smell of goat piss is one of them. Just my opinion.

There was one year in the Hog Barn where a couple of local yokels thought it would be funny to tie a fake bat on a rope, attach it to a pulley, and drop it in front of unsuspecting people, with myself being one of them. I swear I could hear every animal in the barn laughing softly as I stood there, screaming and running in place.

In another building, in another year, I found myself starting at this miniature house surrounded by a gaggle of looky loos and trying to get a glimpse of what's inside. I saw a sign off to the sign with a little fake clock with movable hands that said that the next show was in an hour and a half, so I made it a point to go back at the appointed time.

An hour and a half later, I was back at the miniature house, and I saw that some of the same looky loos were back, if they had ever left. I made my way to get a good glimpse of what was going on inside. Right on the hour, a nurse walked in carrying a cat. It was then I noticed that this exhibit was sponsored by the Humane Society. The next thing I knew, everyone was oohing and squirming, as a team of veteranarians can in and spayed the cat. It was all a blur, and my mind blocked most of the details out, but I can say, that like a bad car wreck, I couldn't bear to watch, but I couldn't look away. When it was over, everyone scattered discussing the details, since this was apparently the last show of the evening. I went outside to bury my disgust in a funnel cake. Oh, the things you see when you travel.

Food is the perfect example of how quickly love can turn to hate. Every year, there are new things to try, with a majority of them deep fried. This year, after eating a pork sandwich, and a ribeye sandwich, my friend Chuck and I were walking around to see what new deep fried culinary bastardization we could try. We both stopped dead in our tracks as we saw a sign in front of us that seemed to call out for all to see. Deep Fried Oreo Cookies. I clapped my hands in boyish delight and Chuck just started toward the food trailer that held our Holy Grail, as it were.

15 minutes later, Chuck and I were sitting on a bench, hating ourselves to no end. As delicious as the deep fried delights were, the human body can only hold so much deep fried goodness. I was almost too full to even make fun of the bad hair, muumuus, gawdy purses, or kids with pointed heads. Almost.

While I was searching for a place for something, anything to drink, my eyes fell upon another, smaller sign, on the other side of the walkway. Deep Fried Twinkies. Whether the tears in my eyes were of delight or dismay, I will never know. Either way, the sign called to me as if I were a sailor lost at sea, and the sign were a Siren, baiting me to crash upon the rocks. "One please." I said to the pimply girl behind the counter. Luckily, that trailer was near the exit where we were parked, and we both agreed that it was time to go.

As I said before, I have a love-hate relationship with the Indiana State Fair. I love the food, but I hate how I abuse my digestive tract in the course of a couple of hours. I love the sights, but I hate that cat spaying is considered entertainment. I love the smells, but I hate that it is often interrupted by the sharp sting of the Livestock Barn. I guess it is the best example of taking the good with the bad.