The last night on the Midway slowed down to a trickle, with cloudy skies, the threat of storms, and a vendors looking for last chance customers. Brian, of St. Paul, played the rollerball game again and again, hoping to add to his cache of winnings for his waiting child – or his inner child. He was in the middle of his last try when the ferris wheel lights went dark; the understood sign to all employees that the Midway is closed. The music stopped, there was a silent beat – and then I heard engines starting up somewhere behind me in the dark. I had been warned to stay alert and out of the way, as the huge trailer trucks began squeezing into the spaces between concessions and rides. On went the hard hats and the safety shirts, as the staff who had already worked a long day shifted into high gear and worked through the early morning hours, their demolition ironically lit by the pulsating, still-breathing lights of their own rides. Boxes full of customer tickets were rushed to the back of the Midway for redemption:the ferris wheel medallion was removed. The workers moved fast; at least one ride needed to be ready for the opening of a Fair in Oklahoma in two days.
Bittersweet, I sighed, as I watched two tired workers steal a moment and dig into the sugar of the quintessential Fair cookie jar.