The fair was a lot more fun as a kid. Nowadays, you're wondering how much it's going to cost. Sure, the fair is filled with interesting things. Artisanal goods, fresh milk and eggs, farm animals, overpriced Jack Skellington hoodies. But at what cost?

I have to wake up quite early for this whole thing. Pack snacks, some reading material, make sure everything is charged. The parking lot will charge at least $20 for a reasonably distanced space from the fairgrounds themselves. Oh, then it'll be $20 or so at the door... Then I'll have access to fair food. Cotton Candy machines covered in wasps. A two mile line for turkey legs the size of your forearm. Someone's kid keeps screaming, as if being around a thousand flashing lights, strangers and loud slide whistle noises distresses them. Some Lion's Club chapter is selling mashed potatoes and gravy in a styrofoam cup for a reasonable price - now we're talking.

I'll grab all the free swag from the Domestic Violence and Opiate Use Awareness kiosks in the vendor barn. Then I'll go grimace at the farm animals. Then, maybe some grimacing at the horse races. Grimace at the hole in my wallet. Grimace at the choices I've made. Then I'll grimace in the long bathroom line and take a mint from the basket near the bathroom attendant. It will not be pleasant using the bathroom. Everything will blur out of focus until I find myself back in line for a dart game. Whatever's left in my pockets will be quickly flushed away to gamble on a big stuffed animal.

However, the fair hungers for more of my money, and craving a beer, I oblige. Yes, but the beer garden is a walled off area near the information booth. You pay to get in, get a bracelet, and then stand in line to pay eight dollars for a seltzer. You become the farm animal. The drunken fool who spends money to sit in a petting zoo for nervous adults. You have to leave the pen to smoke. What kind of country is this? But before I can reflect any further, I must get my face painted. The seltzer has calmed me and strangers are feeding me cashews from their hands. Maybe the fair isn't so bad.

I should probably wash off the face paint before I tell my landlord the rent will be late again. In the green glow of a pretzel stand's lighting, I am alive. They fucked up my face paint a little, but there's no complaining at the fair. Not with the seltzer in me. I look like a tiger. A sloppy, sweaty, broke tiger. As the cool September night sharpens my senses, I realize that money isn't everything. I did have a lot of fun. As I'm pulled over for swerving into the opposing lane while driving home, I can't help but treasure the memories I created with my friends. Maybe this cop will help me create more memories to treasure.