Life Is a Carnival of Riches

Goldfish plus junk food plus screaming

My husband has long claimed carnival workers are ex-cons who have no other job options and must travel the highways, crescent wrench in one hand and a switchblade in the other. I disagree.

I can think of dozens of much worse jobs. For example, slaughterhouses don’t even pay decent wages anymore.

Have you been a public school teacher lately? Until you are charged with teaching a 16-year-old political allegory in The Crucible, don’t casually dismiss the profession of Carnivalista.

His main argument is they fix the rides while hungover, but I counter with: at least they are not drunk, like most of our neighbors stumbling through Walmart.

Theme parks, on the other hand, he loves. According to him, the Disney Empire could fly people to the moon with zero accidents.

I haven’t asked where he stands on lesser theme parks and state fairs because when we see each other it’s usually too early in the morning for deep conversation.

His fear and loathing of carnivals mean I haven’t been on a Tilt-a-Whirl or Avalanche ride in decades.

Until recently, when two acquaintances began gushing about their upcoming trip to Disney World and reservations at the World’s Hardest to Get Into Restaurant, I didn’t realize how bereft I felt.

Then, I was hit with a FOMO tsunami.

I drowned, and the world went dark. I saw a light and clawed my way back to this Earthly realm. The light was a beacon, much like a Ferris wheel lit up against a cool autumn sky, the smell of woodsmoke and stale popcorn in the air.

My quest? I shall find a companion to go to Magic Springs! I know few people in these parts, and they are old AF. Some of them, no doubt, share my husband’s rabid distrust of carnivals — yet some unicorn who has neither a child nor grandchild nor irrational fear of spinning like a top, is waiting for me to ask:

“Do you want to go to the carnival?”

Lord, you were born a ramblin’ man

Our culture doesn’t explore the lives of carnival workers, and their sub-species, fix-it men. I can recall only one film, a Ryan Gosling and Bradley Cooper joint called A Place Beyond the Pines, in which a motorcycle cage rider morphed into a bank robber.

He was an unsavory dude.

Then there’s the song by Cher: Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves.

Perhaps Cher is responsible for turning my spouse against carnies.

I don’t recall reading books about their lives, either, but in my imagination, I believe them to be guys, mostly, in overalls. Blessed with mechanical aptitude, they travel around the nation, having fled the horrors of high school.

These days, it’s virtually impossible to drop out of school, so hats off to you, carnival fix-it men.

I have also gleaned tidbits of carnival lore from the fabulous HBO show, Carnivale.

According to the Thrillist article, “How Safe Are Carnival Rides, Really?” carnival workers have a high burnout rate, mostly because of their relentless travel schedule. They are on the road ten months out of the year or more.

We Don’t Trust the Working Class

According to my research, carnival and State Fair workers disassemble and then reassemble rides. Presumably, they get damn good at it through repetition.

Injury attorneys report that fixed-site amusement parks and carnivals have the same rate of injuries due to ride malfunction, and it’s low.

Steady yourself and buckle up because the shocking truth is at hand: the vast majority of amusement park and carnival injuries are caused by the human behavior of the park and carnival guests.

I have written about such behavior in Darwin Award Winners, Ranked.

Your odds of being injured on a “fixed site” ride (i.e. at Six Flags) are 1 in 16 million!

The true odds for carnival-ride failure can’t be calculated because they have to include every activity at the carnival or fair, like hay rides, climbing up the wonky ladder game, stumbling through the fun house, and wrangling a toddler on a carousel horse.

Just as I suspected, fears about carnival rides and carnival workers are overblown.

Sadly, I think this is because we don’t trust men in greasy overalls, which is hilarious since men in business suits are obviously the problem.

The number of State Fair and amusement park inspectors varies widely from state to state. If you want the safest experience, go to Pennsylvania, which employs a staggering 2,000 ride inspectors.

Portable rides have some safety advantages over places like Disney World: traveling carnival workers place their hands on the machinery on a regular basis.

Here in Arkansas, I was unable to easily ferret out how many amusement park inspectors we have, but the rides get an inspection every six months, and the state is a member of NAARSO (National Association of Amusement Ride Safety Officials).

If you are looking for an obscure career, you can train online to become a certified NAARSO inspector, and it doesn’t cost much.

A Romantic, Bygone Era Before Lawsuits

If carnivals weren’t mostly safe, they would’ve gone extinct. We’ve become a society that refuses to tolerate risk, which is mostly a good thing.

It’s a plus that we don’t hitchhike anymore, for example.

We stopped driving drunk, and that wacky semi-criminal operation in New Jersey, Action Park, got shut down for good reason.

By the same token, we sometimes go overboard with safety. Life is inherently risky, and some of us have more of an appetite for danger than others.

You still buy a crotch rocket and ride without a helmet.

You can still eat raw fish, swim in the ocean, and ride the Tilt-a-Whirl as many times as you want, till you are dizzy and ready to dine on chocolate-covered bacon, kettle corn, and fried pickles.

God bless America, and especially its traveling Carnivalistas.

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Jean Campbell recently started her first Substack newsletter to laser focus on getting her book, City of Lies: A Street Hustler’s Omaha Journey published.