The Hemlock Fair: A Bitter Local's Perspective

I was out at a party somewhere--I think, probably. At 26, I'm reaching the age where conversations and events are no longer specifically correlated but instead blur vaguely together into "I know this happened, and I know that I've been to that place, but I have no idea how they are related. Did it happen in college? Probably in college. Oh my god, who even cares," stories. This is a terrible beginning. Let me start over.
I once had a conversation at a time and place that is quite frankly irrelevant, and it came up that I was raised in the little redneck hamlet of Hemlock. In college, this was by necessity followed with it's geographical relation to Rochester, which was oftentimes followed by "It's fucking Canada." But this particular conversation happened close enough to Hemlock that I instead was answered with, "Oh, cool! So you must love the fair!" When I laughed heartily, they became confused, at which point I realized that they were, in fact, not joking. I apologized and told them that, no, I do not in fact love the fair. A few other people chimed in with their adoration for what I had always viewed as nothing more than an excuse to vomit deep fried Oreos from the top of a Ferris Wheel while wearing your new bald eagle/Confederate flag t-shirt.
To be clear, I have fun at the fair when I go. This is because I'm a social and surprisingly optimistic person who can generally have fun anywhere so long as I can drink. But I also count my blessings during the years that my annual music festival vacation coincides with the Hemlock Fair, in the same way that the people who live in the town of that music festival probably try to schedule their vacations to avoid the hordes of me flooding their neighborhood. This year, however, I will have nothing but free time during the days of the Hemtucky Fair, and as a twenty-four year resident of that small not-town (who still has important mail delivered there), I will be in attendance. It is my obligation.
I have no actual problem with the Hemlock Fair. I like it just as much as I like all summer fairs. It's that old saying people have: "Not in my backyard." I like the fact that fairs and carnivals exists, just like I appreciate that jails exist to keep criminals off the street. But I'd prefer a jail in my backyard than an event like the Hemlock Fair, because if a criminal escapes, he's sure as shit not going to be sticking around. Instead, I always had a week of this obnoxious crap taking over my enjoyably small town.

        1. You'd better love fried dough. Like, really love it.
    I do not. I can't stand fried dough. I like most deep fried things, but the thick, sugary, oily smell of fried dough makes me nauseous and I don't know why. If you were to describe to me what fried dough is, I'd probably poop myself from the unbearable anticipation of putting it in my mouth. Alas, the disconnect between description and reality leaves me doughless.
    But even for those of you who are avid fried dough fans, your love of the treat is tested when the Fair first opens and the smell of it wafts past the gates and all the way to your doorstep. Does that sound great? I hope so, because that smell isn't leaving for a solid week and a half, because that shit lingers. Even after the fair is done, you catch fragments of it on the breeze, like a fart you squeezed out ten minutes ago that you accidentally rustled free from the sheets. I grew up almost a mile away from the fairgrounds, but that sticky smell seeps into my house like that fog that turns people inside out and takes up a residence more unwanted than in-laws in crappy network TV. If you don't get sick of the smell of fried dough after that long, you probably have diabetes.

        2. You'd better like generic, pop-country music, too.
    Sound travels better than smell, and I could tell you the exact shitty song being blasted over the carnies all the way from my backyard if I listened to that horrible, whiney shit enough to recognize any of the songs. You always know when the events are over because you finally have a few hours of god damn respite from some fucking hick whining about his dead dog and the teenage girl he wants to have sex with.
    Oh, stop it, me. I'm just being all high-and-mighty and superior, and oh so dramatic. There are, after all, some breaks from the country music. Because the demolition derby happens, and then we all get to hear rusty cars plowing into each other for an hour. And then they start up the music again till well-after dark. Hurray.

        3. Traffic
    I made the mistake once of having a job during the hours of the fair, and when I went out to get in my car, I saw that my usually moderately trafficked street was bumper-to-bumper cars heading south towards the fairgrounds. "Lol," I scoffed naively, "sucks to suck." Traffic heading north was fine, so I went to work and put the fair out of my head as much as I could with the smell of fried dough seeping from my pores.
    Then, hours later, I came home and "Sucks to suck" turned into "I'M TRAPPED BETWEEN MILES OF CARS STARING DOWN AN 'ABORTION IS MURDER' STICKER TEN FEET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE THIS IS LITERALLY MY NIGHTMARE." The one good thing about the traffic is that it sometimes drowns out the crappy fair music, but then instead I get the sounds of brakes and honking which is the exact opposite of what I want when I'm sitting next to a crackling bonfire under the moon pretending that the world doesn't exist.

        4. People
    Just in case I'm coming off as a bit of a pretentious asshole (I most certainly am), know that I have similar complaints about a lot of public spaces. I'm not pretentious so much as I am a hermit in disguise, because, while I can have fun just about anywhere, I have the most fun sitting on the couch watching Netflix while declining Facebook invites. I very much value my solitude, and what I liked about growing up where I did was being able to go out my front door and not run into anyone most of the time. I could be lounging around in my bikini in my yard, realize I left my phone in my car, and run to get it without covering up or worrying that I'd be spotted by a whole lot of people.
    But those cars clogging up my street are not unmanned. They are being driven by people, hopefully with capable vision, and now my jam-jams are on display for all the wholesome parents looking to distract their shitty kids with some cotton candy and a fun mirror. Ugh, and the youths. I know, I was a teenager once, and I remember how exciting it was to be able to go somewhere without parental supervision, which is why my enjoyment of the Fair peaked at age 13. So even though part of me just ignores the hordes of weirdly dressed hormone monsters talking at obnoxious volumes in lingo I don't understand skipping past my house, most of me is overwhelmed with the desire to stand in my yard in my bathrobe holding my cat under one arm and shaking my fist at them with the other, shouting at them to just scram already.

    They say that too much of a good thing is not a good thing, and it is for all of these reasons that this event has long since spoiled for me. It leaves me bitter and disillusioned, and the only way I know how to express it is to place myself and my own ideals on a pedestal and snub my nose down at it, because I, like you, am selfish and imperfect.
    That said, I was raised in Hemlock, so when I heard that there was going to be a Monster Truck Rally this year I immediately Hulk-ripped the sleeves from my favorite t-shirt and purchased all the Bud Light I could afford because GIT IT YA'LL IM GONNA WATCH BIG ASS TRUCKS DO BIG ASS TRUCK STUFF. Then I'll probably top it off by drunkenly confessing my secrets to an alpaca at the petting zoo before throwing up corn dogs. Because no matter how much time I spent in New York City (like, three months), and no matter how far away I live now (like, 15 minutes), I've still got a Hemtucky heart. I'll be seein' ya'll at the fair.