I Hear Banjoes; the Carnival Must Be in Town (Part II)

I always loved the bumper cars when I was a kid and was excited to drive one with my son. I took the red car, he took the green, and there were about four other cars of various colors that were also populated. I noticed an obese kid who appeared to be a teenager trying to wedge himself into the blue car; the proverbial ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. He got a leg and a single ass-cheek into the car when he appeared to get stuck. He let out a high pitched agonized yell suggesting his ballsack had to be in the mix. Eye Patch Tom Petty moseyed over to his car and said “Yer nuts crunched” I couldn’t figure out if this was as much a question or a definitive statement of fact. Either way, he struggled and pulled the fat kid from the car. The kid grimaced as he clutched his balls. Eye Patch smiled a toothless grin and said “I got a special car for yer fat-ass”, and led him over toward this hideous double wide multi-colored car alone in the corner. The fit was a snug one.

I banged into car after car, reliving my childhood days and all the fun of riding the bumper cars. My son seemed to enjoy almost as much as I did. I noticed the fat kid’s car was stuck in the middle and not moving. Then I saw my son heading right toward fat boy’s parked cruiser. This was a crash that wouldn’t end well for my son. He hit the car head on; fat boy’s car didn’t budge. My son flew out of his car and into the air two feet over the fat kid’s car and onto the floor. I rushed over, his face covered with blood. He was conscious but groggy. Fat boy; who was stilled in his car glanced back toward us and offered a conciliatory “my bad”, while working over a funnel cake. In a panic I yelled over to Eye Patch asking him for medical assistance. He appeared to be passed out on his chair with no regard for the current riders or the kids waiting in line. Given my experience thus far, I decided against asking any carnival personal for help. My son seemed to be fully alert after a minute or so.

They offered to cart the three of us out to the parking lot. I decided the ride was tempting given my son’s condition and the pet store my daughter was toting around. The golf cart was a replica of the General Lee from ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’, confederate flag and all. “Ya'll can call me Dale Jr. ya know like Dale Earnhardt Jr.” said the driver. “Okay I get it, but I prefer you to drive how Dale Sr would now.” I said. “You know, like hardly moving at all”. “YER AN ASSHOLE” he shouted. Obviously I hit a nerve. To think, I would find a NASCAR fan at the traveling carnival. What are the odds? About 101% I should have guessed. “Look, I need you to drive slowly because my son is injured and we have a lot of stuff here” I countered. “Watch yer ass boy, the Earnhardt’s is like kin to me, so just watch yer ass” he huffed.

Still pissed; he sped away, almost giving my son his second launch for a moving vehicle within twenty minutes. I grabbed my son tight and pulled him close to me. My daughter was clutching the sea-life with all her might. After two hair pin turns and a disregarded speed bump we were back in the parking lot. He sped away leaving us to search for one another in a cloud of dust.

I was proud of my daughter for being able to hold onto all her stuff considering the ride. I asked her if she wanted my to hold it until we found the car, since looked so tired. She said okay, and added a “please be careful” for emphasis. We couldn’t find the car since the lot was poorly lit, and maybe more importantly because I forgot where we parked. I tripped over a rock a dropped the fish tank. It shattered in a million pieces and I couldn’t find the goldfish. My daughter said she will never talk to me again. When I went back in and spent another $42 for the same stuff, minus the hillbilly in the picture, she and I were cool once again.

It turns my son suffered a concussion. After an investigation it was determined the bumper car had a faulty seat belt that Eye Patch either failed to notice or simply ignored. I could have sued Eye Patch for damages, but really what would I do with a ’77 Chevy El Camino with body rust and an eight-track player?