Author and Columnist
Our work began around 8AM on Saturday. Regular readers understand that I feel getting up early, especially on weekends, is an intolerable sin.
I regularly wake at 6, and I'm fine with it.
Even on weekends.
I must confess that Emily was literally breathtaking in her costume. One of my big hawking lines was to approach a fairly attractive girl and say, "If thou dost not mind my saying so, thy beauty doth eclipse the sun. And yet... thou art lacking something... it canst be love... I know, tis jewelry!" and generally innocuously flirt to get them in the booth.
In retrospect, it was all a bit too horny. Yes, that is the nature of Renaissance Faire, but I'm not thrilled you were playing junior sex workers for minimum wage.
However, every time I saw dear Emily in her sartorial splendor, it really did feel like the light of the sun dimmed. She was stunning and I could rarely take my eyes off of her.
You may be exaggerating a touch for literary effect.
One guy was so lecherous as to warrant my pulling Emily back to the booth by the cuff of her sleeve, for which she thanked me.
This is what bothers me about Ren Faires and the like. We weren't even actors, just two early twenty-somethings trying desperately to sell jewelry. Did we take cues from other workers on how to lure in customers? Yes. Should we have had to flirt all day for a job that was not meant to be sexual? Absolutely not.
I feel the same way about Rocky Horror Picture Show. Enough audience members cannot differentiate between people playing a role from people asking to be fondled.
Several times during the weekend, Jamie, who I went to a concert with so many months ago, visited our booth.
James transitioned several years ago, but it was easy to slide from Jamie to James. It was plain that he was always male. He could never quite get the swing of presenting as a woman. Now, bearded and gruff, no one would mistake him for a woman.
He looks considerably manlier than I do.
Emily raised a good point and valid observation. People who dress up for Renaissance Faires, who do not work there, are incredibly annoying. By this, we do not mean those who wear light period clothing. No, we mean those people who wear thousands of dollars of metal armor on the hottest day of the year.
I want to tell you not to yuck their yum, but these were the people who most tended to believe your presence in a booth meant you were fair game for their roleplaying. Beyond saying, "If milord is not in the mood to buy, then sire should stop feigning axe throws in front of the booth," you did not have to obey the pretense.
But you didn't get to be people for the heavily costumed. They had paid for entrance, and they were going to try to extensively roleplay with people who just wanted to do their jobs and go home.
All of this is more than slightly reminiscent of Zack's complaint when we took him to a supposed ren fest, that it was just of bunch of adults living out some fantasy and it was creepy.
On the other hand, that's absolutely yucking someone's yum. The point of the endeavor is that people get to play. What they do not get to do is dehumanize.
Sales were ridiculously slow for our booth Saturday. When Rozalisa inquired as to how much money we made, her eyes did a combination of a sad puppy dog and a mouse that had been kicked. She summarily informed us that we were approximately $1500 short of the expected sales for the day.
Oh, my sweet boy, you never make even close to that. I'm not sure why she was so optimistic.
One large and ugly man offered to buy stuff if Emily would escort him around the fair for an hour.
We respect sex workers in this household, but they get to set more affirming prices than "the price of an oversized turkey leg."
Emily and I walked to Rozalisa's as though to our own doom. We sat and waited for her to be done, expecting one of us would be fired.
This is the scene every Sunday. You never stop believing this will be the one where she fires at least one of you.
Your booth did not need two main workers and an apprentice, which could be why the apprentice vanished after a few weeks.
Emily and I split an appetizer platter and a pineapple chicken concoction, as well as an M&M sundae. We are very good at sharing, actually preferring it to separate meals.
I still maintain that this is the superior way of dining with a loved one since you can get two things you want rather than one.
Few people agree with this assessment.
I spoke with Sarah last night. Evidently the lass may have been discovered, in that Hollywood way. She was working at her grocery store when a model approached Sarah and insisted that she should do some modeling.
Sarah was not, in fact, discovered. I do not know how accurate this story is. Was Sarah lovely? She was indeed. She had full lips and a heart-shaped face, with playful blue eyes. She could have modeled. She could have been in rotation on the radio, playing shows every week.
Life and different opportunities got in her way.
To me, this is a fulfillment of her destiny. I always knew something like this would happen for her, as did she. It makes me wonder when I will find my destiny, or at least a road map to it.
This is more worthy of my comment than Sarah being attractive from a distance.
First of all, this didn't happen for her. Did anyone offer her a contract or money? That is not what the story says. Someone who was reportedly a model told Sarah that she could be a model.
So, let us talk about *your* destiny, which you weirdly seem to pretend you do not know.
You are a writer. What are you even doing here if that is not what is in the very marrow of your bones? You want to talk about destiny and when you will find the road. With these entries, you set down each cobblestone -- and they are small indeed. You earn that path by shedding bad habits and smoothing stones with your constant trodding.
You were born this way, gifted linguistically. It was a blessing of nature. The rest of our life will be earning the right to that genetic good fortune.
What destiny did you think you could have than ink-soaked fingers and books on shelves? Who would hand it to you? You grabbed for it and clutched it always, even when that tight hand meant you could not hold things others may have found more valuable. You had made your choice -- you have been made for this -- and you could not do anything but pursue it.
We spoke of Mardi Gras, for the most part. The hotel got changed again, owing to the lack of reliable transportation in New Orleans and the illegality of walking on throughways.
I don't know when this became only something about which the four of you only fantasized. When did it transition from a plan to a story?