Ducky Park
"I can run one of the rides?" You ask.
"You sure can. Would you like that?" Uncle Jim asks in response.
You nod rapidly with excitement. "I would like that very much," you say. Oh boy! To run one of the rides would be sweet. How badass. Making the people stick to the walls on those super fast spinning chambers, or make them go around and around on the ferris wheel way high up in the air. That would be most excellent, you say to yourself. And what about the roller coasters? Some one had to run them! Most excellent indeed.
Uncle Jim slaps a hand on your back and smiles warmly. "Good," he says, "I'll introduce you to the guy in charge over there."
Your uncle begins walking off and you follow him through the park, past one of the restrooms and past a gift shop. You walk by the Little Duck's play area where all the little rides for the kids are. You soon reach the side of one of the wooden roller coasters where a tool shed sits behind a fence.
Your Uncle Jim knocks on the door and a dirty looking man in overhauls and a dirty truckers cap opens the door; wiping grease from his hands onto his denim overhauls. He smiles a sparsely toothed grin that makes him look like a damn hillbilly idiot. "Howdy, Jim," he says reaching out a hand for Jim to shake.
Jim avoids the dirty hand by putting a hand on your back and pushing you towards him. He smells like an unidentifiable road kill which has been baking in the sun for almost a week and has become so rancid that even the crows won't touch it. That and beer. He smells like old road kill and beer.
"Jake, this is my nephew Ricky. He's gonna work one of the rides for you, wherever you need the help."
"Sounds good to me," Jake says. Taking that as his cue to exit, Uncle Jim turns around and walks away, leaving you with the stinky man who is now your boss.
You and Jake stare at each other for a long while before one of you finally speaks. It is a decidedly uncomfortable stare. Jake looks away and begins talking. "I been workin' here for almost five years now. The Meth Lab I was workin' at got shut down by the Po-lice back in 98, and after that I was perty much making money on whatever I could. I made some cash catchin' frogs and sellin' 'em to them fancy restaurants where they eat them slimy critters. But that was messy work. After that I started pimping out my cousins till that fell through on account of Federal Regulacations."
He makes I contact with you again and shrugs. "Now I run the rides. I knows e'ery part of e'ery ride out here. 'Might say I'm an expert." He smiles his virtually toothless grin at you. Then he gets serious and his voice goes quiet. "But that ain't why we talkin' is it? I got a couple a' rides you can pick from."
You start to get excited; your mind turning once more to the prospect of roller coasters. Your hopes are quickly dashed however, when Jake presents you with your options.
"The bumper cars can use some help. Theys only one girl o'er there... And the Carousel only got one person. You can help on one of them." Then he burped. "So what'll it be?"
You think about it for a moment, chewing on a finger nail. As you chew you think you catch the taste of booger. You take your finger out of your mouth and speak; "Is that a booger?" Wait, damn. Why did you just say that? Those were supposed to be inside words.
Jake leans in and examines your finger. "Looks like it," he says with a nod.
"Can I run a roller coaster?" you ask with your index finger still held upright.
Jake laughs and shakes his head; "E'rey-damn-body wants to run the roller coasters. You gotta pick from the Bumper Cars and the Carousel, boy."
You think again before speaking. "What's a carousel?" You ask.
"You know," He says, "One of them horse thingies that go 'round in circles and plays the jewelry box music."
"Oh," you say. You think you know what he's talking about. You decide that you like the way Jake describes things real simple for you. Carousel or Bumper Cars? Carousel or Bumper Cars? Carousel or Bumper Cars?
"You can put the boogy down, boy," He tells you. You wipe your finger on your pants and get back to thinking.
"Come on, boy; I ain't got all damn day," he mutters. "Make a decision!"
Well? What's it going to be?
"You sure can. Would you like that?" Uncle Jim asks in response.
You nod rapidly with excitement. "I would like that very much," you say. Oh boy! To run one of the rides would be sweet. How badass. Making the people stick to the walls on those super fast spinning chambers, or make them go around and around on the ferris wheel way high up in the air. That would be most excellent, you say to yourself. And what about the roller coasters? Some one had to run them! Most excellent indeed.
Uncle Jim slaps a hand on your back and smiles warmly. "Good," he says, "I'll introduce you to the guy in charge over there."
Your uncle begins walking off and you follow him through the park, past one of the restrooms and past a gift shop. You walk by the Little Duck's play area where all the little rides for the kids are. You soon reach the side of one of the wooden roller coasters where a tool shed sits behind a fence.
Your Uncle Jim knocks on the door and a dirty looking man in overhauls and a dirty truckers cap opens the door; wiping grease from his hands onto his denim overhauls. He smiles a sparsely toothed grin that makes him look like a damn hillbilly idiot. "Howdy, Jim," he says reaching out a hand for Jim to shake.
Jim avoids the dirty hand by putting a hand on your back and pushing you towards him. He smells like an unidentifiable road kill which has been baking in the sun for almost a week and has become so rancid that even the crows won't touch it. That and beer. He smells like old road kill and beer.
"Jake, this is my nephew Ricky. He's gonna work one of the rides for you, wherever you need the help."
"Sounds good to me," Jake says. Taking that as his cue to exit, Uncle Jim turns around and walks away, leaving you with the stinky man who is now your boss.
You and Jake stare at each other for a long while before one of you finally speaks. It is a decidedly uncomfortable stare. Jake looks away and begins talking. "I been workin' here for almost five years now. The Meth Lab I was workin' at got shut down by the Po-lice back in 98, and after that I was perty much making money on whatever I could. I made some cash catchin' frogs and sellin' 'em to them fancy restaurants where they eat them slimy critters. But that was messy work. After that I started pimping out my cousins till that fell through on account of Federal Regulacations."
He makes I contact with you again and shrugs. "Now I run the rides. I knows e'ery part of e'ery ride out here. 'Might say I'm an expert." He smiles his virtually toothless grin at you. Then he gets serious and his voice goes quiet. "But that ain't why we talkin' is it? I got a couple a' rides you can pick from."
You start to get excited; your mind turning once more to the prospect of roller coasters. Your hopes are quickly dashed however, when Jake presents you with your options.
"The bumper cars can use some help. Theys only one girl o'er there... And the Carousel only got one person. You can help on one of them." Then he burped. "So what'll it be?"
You think about it for a moment, chewing on a finger nail. As you chew you think you catch the taste of booger. You take your finger out of your mouth and speak; "Is that a booger?" Wait, damn. Why did you just say that? Those were supposed to be inside words.
Jake leans in and examines your finger. "Looks like it," he says with a nod.
"Can I run a roller coaster?" you ask with your index finger still held upright.
Jake laughs and shakes his head; "E'rey-damn-body wants to run the roller coasters. You gotta pick from the Bumper Cars and the Carousel, boy."
You think again before speaking. "What's a carousel?" You ask.
"You know," He says, "One of them horse thingies that go 'round in circles and plays the jewelry box music."
"Oh," you say. You think you know what he's talking about. You decide that you like the way Jake describes things real simple for you. Carousel or Bumper Cars? Carousel or Bumper Cars? Carousel or Bumper Cars?
"You can put the boogy down, boy," He tells you. You wipe your finger on your pants and get back to thinking.
"Come on, boy; I ain't got all damn day," he mutters. "Make a decision!"
Well? What's it going to be?