Mr Pot proceeded to spend the rest of the morning before the fairground opened showing Lou and I around. Birdie skipped along beside my brother all the while, long hair flapping behind her like a ginger banner. Every now and then she'd excitedly turn to me as I lagged behind, pointing out various attractions as either good, not good or "really very shit".
Whilst Lou shot the breeze with our new boss, I scouted the site like enemy terrain: entries, exits, weak points in the fence, and hiding holes.
After being shown how to operate The Switchback ride, a figure eight of rails which provided the twisting chaotic track for five carts to race around, Mr Pot only had to turn and point to the opposite side of the grassy walkway to introduce me to my new site of employment.
A sideshow booth of slowly rotating clown heads sat before me, their mouths open as if performing a perpetual gasp. A deflated balloon emerged from the top of each ones brightly painted skull, matching the colours of the rifle-shaped water guns lined up along the front of the stand. My eyes traced the curly font emblazoned in hot pink across the top of the booth which read "Quick-Shot Clown Pop", unable to contain the smirk which spread across my face at the terrible name.
Glancing over to Lou to see a matching grin, I felt the last stray remnants of shame over our kinship from earlier melt away.
"Your shift begins at 9am, for restock, set up, and maintenance duties. Sideshow booths open at 10am along with the entry gates for the start of the carnival day, whereas rides begin at 11am," Mr Pot was intoning gravely, as if the punctuality of a funfair attraction was a matter of life and death. I schooled my face into one of seriousness as the man continued, "Likewise, the sideshow closes at 8pm, and rides at 9pm. We lock the gates to the public at 9:30pm sharp, however there is an employee door located to the side of the main entrance which can be accessed after hours."
He handed over a set of three keys to us both, one newly cut steel and the other two tarnished as they rattled against each other on the keyring. I clipped them onto one of the belt loops of my faded jeans while I tried to pay attention as Mr Pot demonstrated elaborately how to set up the Quick Shot Clown Pop booth every morning, which included a restock of the plush prize toys and a maintenance check of the water guns.
Feeling momentarily lost on the connection between the balloons and rest of it all, I couldn't catch myself before I blurted out, "Uh, sorry to interrupt but I was just wondering how the game actually worked?"
Mr Pot turned from where he'd been lovingly rearranging the hanging toys into their respective colour groups, meticulous hand paused in mid-action. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled warmly at me, seemingly delighted at my interest.
"Don't be sorry, love! It's an important question to ask," he assured, crossing the booth to my side as he continued, "You see, these water pistols have hoses attached to them that are rigged up to a water main below the booth. When the trigger is pulled, it releases a small but highly pressurised stream of water which the shooter needs to aim into the mouth of the clown. Only a shot going at a straight angle into the clowns mouth will hit the hidden button at the back to release air into the balloon atop its head."
As he talked, he pointed with one large hand to the different parts in turn whilst his other rested on my shoulder in what I supposed was meant to be a supportive way. So far I had liked Mr Pot with his childlike enthusiasm for the fairground and in-depth explanations, so I tried not to let him see my discomfort at the touch. Beneath his hand, the skin began to prickle as if hundreds of ants scuttled across it. My jaw clenched involuntarily.
"That doesn't seem so hard," I managed to comment through gritted teeth, gesturing to the clowns. This earned me a chuckle from the middle-aged man before he patted me twice on the sharp bony ridge of my shoulder and thankfully released me from the agonising physical contact.
YOU ARE READING
The Trapeze Swinger
Fanfiction"Him. 2D. I could see him even now, his goofy grin while holding the water gun like a hunting rifle, lining me down the sight. His hands ruffling my hair, one eye closed in a squint as if sizing me up, as if looking into the sun." The year is 2003...
