The thing that is most interesting to me about a middle aged man wearing a shirt with a picture of a giant middle finger on it, is that at some point, the man saw the shirt in a store and thought, “Finally! The shirt I’ve been waiting for.”
But at a county fair, fashion takes a back seat to pig racing and carnival games. Grab your kids and dust off your fuck you t-shirt, cuz it’s time to watch some sheep herding!
When I learned that Perth hosts an annual weeklong event to celebrate the queen’s birthday, I imagined drinking lots of tea and buying hats. But it turns out the queen prefers churros and roller coasters.
My daughters and I took the train to Showgrounds Station, a stop that is in use one week a year, leaving commuters to fly past it the other 51 weeks thinking, “I wonder who will win Best Pigeon?” We met up with friends, purchased some lavender fairy floss, and headed straight for the woodchopping contest. Due to its generous handicap system, you don’t need to look like Gaston from Beauty and the Beast to participate in the Standing Block Competition. We all cheered as Tasmanian Don Knotts was awarded first place, and then took off to find the blue ribbon alpacas and the ride that simulates an incredibly defective elevator.
Armed with blueberry smoothies, we scored front row seats to the suspenseful dog show, where a whippet shocked everyone by winning Best in Show. One Afghan hound had the bored expression of the prettiest girl in the pageant – wishing she were less pretty and home reading a good book.
Having successfully balanced requests for more farm animals with others’ need for speed, our group plopped down at the “American South” food stand to eat some barbecued ribs and discuss the business of the showbags.
If you say the word “showbag” to any child in Perth during the month of September, he will start jumping up and down and won’t stop until you hand him twenty bucks. What kind of showbags will there be this year? Did you hear about the Adventure Time showbag? The Dockers one comes with a water bottle. Cameron’s mum bought him two showbags.
On this day, I learned that showbag is a fancy word for a sack of corporate sponsored junk. It took us awhile to find one that didn’t come with a stomachache and a root canal. Eventually we settled on a bag with a practical joke theme. I had forgotten the simple and utter joy of a whoopee cushion.
Johnny Carson’s fruitcake theory – that there’s just one and it gets passed from house to house – could be applied to amusement park patrons. I couldn’t help but wonder if the man in the middle finger t-shirt was also spotted at Six Flags in Vallejo. He and his wife held hands, and laughed at their toddler running full speed towards the hot pretzel stand. We exchanged looks and smiled. This is awesome. Fuck yeah.
