A Tale of Two Carnies

7 - The Dunk Tank

Six Years Later / Present Day

Running away from home to join a traveling carnival is a fantasy many young people consider. They possess a notion that carnival life represents freedom and independence. In reality, carnies endure long hours of tedious work and are often viewed with suspicion among townsfolk who regard them as modern-day gypsies, tramps, and thieves. Just like in the old song by Cher.

With my talent for fixing things, I became the troupe's handyman. The worst time to experience a mechanical breakdown was on an opening night at one of our stops. A significant hit to much-needed revenue occurs when a malfunctioning game booth has to be closed.

On a scorching afternoon in July, during our grand opening in a small town, I had to crawl underneath the High and Dry wagon to find out why the dunk tank wasn't holding water. Unfortunately for me, a thunderstorm had just passed through drenching the entire carnival grounds and leaving behind a sloppy mess. Lying on my back, it didn't take long for me to become caked in mud.

Our boss, Marcus Greene paced back and forth, nervous and impatient. He spoke just loud enough for me to hear, not wanting the locals passing by to eavesdrop. "Did you find the leak yet, Jason?"

I switched on my flashlight. The bottom of the tank appeared to be intact. "Good news, there's no crack in the tank." If the tank had a crack, it couldn't be fixed and would need to be replaced, an expense our struggling carnival could ill afford.

"It would be better news if you told me you found the problem."

"Hold on," I said as I ran my fingers along the drain line. A steady trickle flowed across my hand and down my arm onto my face. "Argh!"

"Well?" Greenie eagerly awaited my diagnosis.

I felt around the fitting where the drain line connected with the tank. "Got it. I think the gasket between the drain and the tank is worn out. The water is seeping through."

"Can you fix it?"

He wasn't going to like my answer. "I can fix it, but we'll have to completely drain the tank because the gasket is on the inside."

Greenie cursed. "We'll lose an entire day's worth of revenue, and this game is one of our biggest money makers."

He was right. Locals lined up at the carnival games eager to part with their cash for a chance to win cheap trinkets, most of which cost less than what they paid to play. The High and Dry was special, because the only prize awarded was the player's satisfaction over dropping Gus Onassis into the dunk tank with a well-placed baseball pitch. If the player hit the target, the force of the pitch disengaged the seat latch where Gus sat above the tank, sending him into the drink.

It looked easy, but it wasn't. The target was small, and the pitch had to be delivered with enough force or the ball would just bounce off the target.

Gus's job was to hurl insults at the thrower to keep him, or sometimes her, motivated to keep playing and forking over money. Gus was good at his job. It wasn't unusual for him to coax several hundred dollars each day from the local rubes.

Greenie continued to curse. "Look, Jace, isn't there a way you can temporarily patch it? Can it wait until Sunday for you to replace that gasket?" Sunday was our travel day when we pulled out to travel to the next town on the circuit. We always needed to drain the tank before transporting it. "Give me a minute to think about it."

"Yeah, well think about this. Every minute this game isn't in operation we hemorrhage money."

I did have a solution. I knew how to apply a temporary patch. I just wanted to appear creative and inventive for the boss, making him think I came up with a brilliant new idea. "I know what might work. I can press some waterproof silicon caulking around the underside of the leak." I began the process of shimmying out from beneath the wagon.

"Stay there," Greenie ordered. "I'll run to the supply wagon and get what you need. No sense in you coming out if you have to crawl back under again."

"Thanks, Mr. Greene."

My neck grew stiff waiting, so I laid the back of my head against the muddy ground. It was humid and miserable under the wagon. I was sweating bullets.

A few minutes later, Greenie returned and reached beneath the wagon to hand me the tube. "Got it." It didn't take long for me to rig a patch. "I'm coming out."

The boss laughed at me. "You should see yourself. Looks like you entered a mud wrestling contest and lost."

I stood and peeled off my t-shirt, used it to swipe the grime from my head and face. A squad of three teen girls walked by laughing. One of them, a tall blonde smirked. "Nice abs. What does the rest of you look like when cleaned up?"

They walked away before I could think of a clever reply. The shortest of the three, a red-haired cutie made eye contact. I was momentarily mesmerized by her expressive green eyes and soft, heart-shaped face. She smiled for me before disappearing with the others as they kept walking toward the food tent.

"Wow!" I uttered.

The boss interrupted my lustful thoughts. "Go get cleaned up. I'll track down Gus and get him back to work."

As I headed to my trailer, I couldn't erase that redhead from my mind. I figured I'd never see her again.

How long before Jason sees the redhaired girl again 😉?