by Carnival Games: Where You Trade Self-Esteem for a Stuffed Lizard
Carnival games are the only place you can spend $40 trying to win a 75-cent teddy bear and feel good about it. You throw a ring at a bottle, miss wildly, and the guy running the booth goes, “So close!” It wasn’t. It landed in another county. But thank you, Greg, the Minister of Lies.
I tried that game where you shoot water into a clown’s mouth. The clown didn’t move. The water shot backward. I’m now legally hydrated but emotionally dehydrated. The prize? A plastic comb and a renewed sense of shame.
The basketball game rims are smaller than my childhood dreams. The balls are made of despair and broken promises. I banked one shot so hard, it ricocheted and hit a churro out of a stranger’s hand. I called it a win.
Carnival game instructions are vague at best: “Hit the target.” With what? My childhood trauma? My student loan debt? Please advise. I’d like to use my failures efficiently.
I spent ten minutes at the ‘Guess Your Age’ booth. The guy guessed “emotionally 17, physically 42, spiritually beige.” I gave him a tip. He wasn’t wrong. He saw my soul and it was shaped like a microwave burrito.
Carnival games teach us resilience. You keep losing and smiling, because nothing says hope like tossing ping pong balls at glassware while your dignity walks away with a funnel cake.
SOURCE: How To Write Comedy & SpinTaxi.com
