The Perry Fair: A Germ Infested Wonderland

Disclaimer: By today's standards, I'm not exactly what you'd call a germophobe. While I do shower at least once a day, I've also eaten food items off the floor claiming the three second rule. So, I guess that puts me somewhere between germophobe and repulsive slob. Wow, that's a wide range..

On Saturday, our family, complete with grandparents, packed the SUV and made the short haul over to Perry for the Georgia National Fair. I'd ignored advice from well-meaning friends to wrap my kids in cellophane and wear a double cannister backpack sprayer of Lysol (the kind exterminators use). I disregarded the sensational news item I'd seen about flesh eating disease being traced to ferris wheel seats and that chain email I'd gotten about Brown Recluse spiders hanging out in porta potties.

How bad can it be? It's the fair. Every family must go to the fair at least once. That's Amendment 37 in the Constitution, right? Since being a mom, I'd survived three trips to Disneyland, two Six Flags visits, and countless other entertainment venues, plane rides and hotel stays without contracting one bacteria related disease. But there's just something that gives me the willies about the temporariness of fairs and carnivals and their typhoidic tractor trailer caravans. After they've spread sunshine and Black Plague in Walla Walla, Santa Fe and Topeka, it's time to move on to vulnerable immune systems east of the Mississippi. (Yes, I know I'm being dramatic and No, no one in my family has died since Saturday, I have to admit.)

Plus, the kids were completely psyched and that's all that matters.

Okay, enough about germs and back to the story. When we arrived at the fairgrounds, Andrew bounded out of the backseat. Jack shrieked as he saw the top of the ferris wheel. My dad's pacemaker skipped a few beats as we entered the gates. It was just as I had remembered as a little girl. Brightly colored lights danced across the facades of roller coasters and swing rides. Game booths lured in players with six foot inflatable penguins, M-16's and Stewie Griffin bobbing in the wind. Food vendors representing every continent offered up deep fried, sugared, pickled and candied edibles that would later stagnate in the stomachs of thousands who yearned for a bottle of Pepto. Parents and tots maxed out their thigh muscle power to maneuver paddle boats across the lake. Through my cynical eyes, the whole scene was gaudy, obscene, a bubble gum machine version of the Las Vegas strip. But that didn't matter. To my kids it was a wonderland, a spectacle, comparable only to Christmas morning or seeing the beach for the first time since last summer.

What to do first? James and Andrew decided to reel in some captive blue gill and catfish from the Fishing Friendzy above ground pool. A young handsome guy who's body sported more artwork than the Louve handed out poles, bait and words of encouragement (as if they were needed for fishing out of a glorified sport raft) Still, Andrew's face lit up at his first catch, a patient catfish named Richard, who had already been caught 29 times that day. I took a turn and caught an eager little fish named Wanda (coincidence) who was obviously paid on commission.

When we tired of providing lip piercings to the gilled set, we purchased 30 tickets, enough for about two rides and made our way to the kiddie section, A middle aged female barker caught my ear along with those of everyone within a 100 yard radius. She must've suffered from emphysema, because during her five minute promotional speech she stopped to cough, sputter and hock up a couple of football sized loogies every 20 seconds. The microphone unselectively broadcast each cough and wheeze in High Definition. I made a gagging face and laughed at the irony of the situation. Jack heard her words, not her sickness and didn't judge her. "Mommy, can we go play the lady's ring toss game?"

Next, we squeezed into one of six dragon barrels. You know the ones that go round and round, and have a huge vomit-crusted metal wheel in the center for the passengers to spin maximizing the nausea factor. As Jack, my mom and I, along with Kathie and Ethan, two Michiganers chatted, I noticed what looked like dried corn, peas and carrot pieces stuck to the wheel. It was a clear indication that, yes people do throw up on this ride and one of them had been eating their veggies. I felt myself beginning to gag. Maybe I'd contribute to the dried wheel meal. But I'd probably be the first person in history to vomit before the ride began. Jack and my mom didn't notice a thing and thoroughly enjoyed hooting and hollering as we took off gyrating at 40 mph in a metal trash can painted like a flying reptile.

During lunch time, we passed up the turkey leg trailer, the smoothie shack and the roasted corn cob cart in favor of a sit-down restaurant. The only sit-down restaurant. The one shaped like a barn, conveniently next to the horse arena. After a mayhem themed adventure in the serving line where Jack had an apple juice induced melt-down, we all sat down to chow on our selections.

An older restaurant employee, with a grizzled homeless version of a Santa beard meticulously wiped down each empty table with a Windex-laced rag. As I watched him work, an earth-shaking sneeze raveged his nose and the table below. Unthinking (hopefully), he covered his nose with the table-wiping rag, blew it thoroughly and then continued wiping tables with the same rag. Suddenly I wasn't so hungry anymore. In fact, going to the fair was a good diet for me. Perhaps I should hang out at fairs more often, like when I need to lose five pounds. Everyone else chatted, laughed and enjoyed their meals. I was beginning to sense a theme here.

After lunch, we all agreed to check out the livestock exhibits. My mom and I got up close and personal with llamas named Wally and Anabelle. Their owner told me that llamas get a bad rap. They're not big on spitting or kicking. Maybe they need a good Hollywood image consultant. I chatted with a lovely alpaca who doesn't mind being sheared once a year. In fact, she finds it liberating. I tried to get my family to gather 'round a cow's rear end for a Christmas card picture, but my husband thought it'd send the wrong message to our friends and family. Talk about closed-minded. As I stood next to the butt of Abigail the Holstein, who desperately needed milking, waiting for others to join me in the picture, Abigail decided to relieve herself in a big, stinky way. Shocked and relieved that her relief didn't land on my feet, I scurried away and decided to find a more suitable background for the picture. After cows, we visited the rabbit display, which amazingly started with only two rabbits at the fair's beginning. The cages were filled with over sixty now, not one of them named Jack.

Seven thrill rides, four exhibit halls, a magic show and a paddle boat ride later, night was upon us and it was time to go home. Andrew and Jack were two tired and happy sacks of potatoes who'd long ago tanked from their candy apple sugar highs, most of which they still wore on their faces.

As we got in the car, Andrew sleepily asked "can we come back next year?" "Sure, honey." I replied. "As soon as I find the bubble wrap, the Lysol tanks, some child-sized HazMat suits and a mobile pressure washing unit." And you know what? I meant it. Now, to find all that stuff. I can't let the boys down.