There are few things in life as terrifying as having a sack put over your head as you’re being tossed into the back of a van. And yet there I was, having that exact situation happen to me yet again.
I’m the kinda guy that’s always getting kidnapped. I’m a textbook kidnapee. Everyone knows a few kidnapees. Especially kidnappers.
So there I was sitting in the back of a van wondering what I was being kidnapped for this time. Usually the kidnappers are hoping to get some ransom money out of me. I have a ransom-able face. I’ve been told that.
But the jokes on them, because as ransom-able as my face may be, it sure isn’t lovable. There aren’t too many people out there willing to pay a ransom for this guy. At least not many that I’ve met.
But this time it was different. The kidnappers told me that I was off to the carnival. I’d been kidnapped by some carny talent scouts. People don’t apply to be a carny, they explained. It’s the kind of job you have to be kidnapped into.
I should’ve guessed that this would happen some day. In high school my superlative was “Most Likely to End up in a Freak Show.”
The carnies said they didn’t have anything in mind for me in particular, but the freak show wasn’t a bad idea. I did have the looks for it. Easy gig too, they said. Just stand around being freaky.
Plus, you get tips in the freak tent. Do you get a lot of tips though? That’s what I asked them. They said not really and that was that. I wasn’t going to sit around being a freak for a normal carny wage. Gotta get those tips.
We got to the carnival and they tossed me out of the van. Like I said, they didn’t have a role lined up for me. You know carnies–bad at planning. They’re actually bad at a lot of things if I think about it, like showering and being sober. But they’re especially bad at planning.
They asked me what I was interested in, and I said I was interested in getting this sack off my head. You’ve already made me a carny, you don’t need to treat me like a kidnapped guy anymore.
They took the sack off and cut the zip ties off my hands and I made a run for it. I made a run for it right into a carny they called Big Al. If you haven’t met Big Al, well, let’s just say he’s not the kind of guy you want to run into. He’s the kind of guy that makes you turn right back around and say, “Alright, no more escaping.” I think it’s the knife he waves around that makes you think that.
They assigned me to the throw-darts-at-the-balloons game, which wasn’t too bad–during normal carnival hours, that is. Once the carnival lights went off, all the games changed. For example, the dunk tank became the vodka tank, the guess your weight guy started guessing things a bit more risqué, and the ring toss became the vodka ring toss. All in good fun, but my game became the throw-darts-at-the-new-guy game.
Usually I slept in a bumper car. The carnies didn’t bother you in the bumper cars. They weren’t allowed near them. Too many DUIs.
You can’t have much of your own as a carny. They teach you that on the first day. They steal all your things and say, “We own this now.” And then if you steal it back, they put your foot in a deep fryer.
All of the money you make, you can say goodbye to that too. It all goes right back into the carnival, mostly to the lawyer fees for all the ride deaths.
And if you suggest it’d be better to pay for ride maintenance instead of paying lawyer fees every time somebody dies, they explain to you that it’s actually cheaper this way. Ride maintenance is more expensive than you’d think. It actually kind of makes sense if you let them explain it to you.
I made do, but I hated it there at the carnival. Sure, it was fun for a bit in the middle, when they stopped throwing darts at me and started letting me get a turn in the vodka tank, but after a while it got draining. Standing out there in the sun all day, barking at people to make them play my dumb game–I was starting to see the appeal of the freak tent. It’s in the shade, and you don’t have to do much besides sit there and let people ogle.
I figured I had two options. I could either switch over to the freak tent, or I could try to escape again.
I suppose I also could have called the police to rescue me. That was the third option, but I didn’t want to break the Carny Code. Before I came around, the carnies didn’t have a code. They’re bad at planning and all that, remember? So I took it upon myself to make the Carny Code. I was pretty proud of it actually. It feels good to codify something. But I shouldn’t have put that “no calling the police” part in there. Because boy could I have used their help.
So I decided to make another escape attempt. I waited until Big Al was asleep, and I crept past his tent. Somewhere along the way out I got lost and ended up on the spinny teacups for a few hours. I got so dizzy, I ended up walking right back to Big Al’s tent. And then I stepped on him.
Big Al wasn’t happy that I was escaping, and he pulled out his knife and waved it around. Fortunately I had a backup plan. I had a water gun from the water gun game that one of the carnies modified for me. Instead of shooting water, it shot real bullets. When you’re up against a guy like Big Al, you’re gonna want real bullets.
I reached into my coat pocket to grab it, but I accidentally grabbed a Chinese finger trap I had in there. Then I reached my other hand in and grabbed it again. I was stuck.
Big Al took a slash at me, but he sliced right through the finger trap and freed me. I pulled out my gun and fired a warning shot in the air. Big Al took a step back, and then I took a few thousand steps back as I ran away from the carnival.
Will I ever go back? I’d like to say no, but you never know. They kidnapped me at that bus stop I’m always getting kidnapped at, and I’m still taking that bus. Hopefully the circus kidnaps me first. I’ve always wanted to get on a stage with a monkey.
