It’s that time of year again; the Tulsa State Fair is in town. I look forward to the fair all year, no matter how tacky it is or how many toothless carneys whoop as we walk by. I realize that I’m an adult now, because I couldn’t care less about the rides and I actually enjoy walking through the exhibits (except the 4-H stuff, that’s totally boring). Justin and I went on opening night, with one thing on our minds….FOOD. Deep-fried, greasy, fatty fair food. And we got it.
This year was a little different. I always have a plan; I always eat a corn dog and I always eat a shish-kabob. This is all a given. But like I said, this year I had a different plan. That morning on the news I saw a piece about the infamous “Krispy Kreme Doughnut Burger” and promptly remarked to Justin that it was the most disgusting sounding thing ever invented. I knew a ton of people would fall into the greasy Krispy Kreme web of novelty, and I thought they were all ridiculous. My goal became to go to the fair, capture someone eating one of the vile burgers, and take a photo with them and their food. I figured I would just hang out near the stand and snag someone.
We got to the fair shortly after it opened at 5 p.m. Both of us hadn’t eaten much all day, in preparation for the gorging that was going to take place. We made a beeline for the first corn dog stand we saw. Of course, Justin got a jumbo, but I was a lady and chose the regular size. This is mainly because I didn’t want to be too full to eat anything else. We were quite excited about these corn dogs, and naturally, they were delicious. Next we headed to our favorite spot, the International Beer Garden. I refuse to pay six dollars for a can of pisswater Bud Light; I’m definitely an import girl. We found a table and within three minutes, Justin said, “Hey, that guy is eating a doughnut burger.” Of course I immediately swiveled around to stare at him, and watched as he fed his wife and two brainwashed children a bite of grease between two more chunks of grease. I grabbed my camera, and Justin said, “He’s with his family; don’t do that.” Okay, so I would have to find some nerd that was at the fair alone eating one so that I didn’t embarrass my husband. I can handle that.
We were joined shortly after by some family members, who all wanted to help me accomplish my mission. My husband’s stepmother took charge, took hold of my camera and escorted me to the Krispy Kreme booth, where she proceeded to ask two older ladies who were enjoying their heart-attack-on-a-doughnut if I could take a picture with them. They agreed, and I stood next to the lady as she tried to shove the burger into my face and I tried to fight her off. Mission accomplished, we headed back to the beer garden, where my brother-in-law, Alex, looked at me with a mischievous gleam in his eye and said, “We should buy one and all take a bite.” At first I resisted, then my curiosity got the better of me. I told him I would try it IF it didn’t have any crap on it (‘crap’ meaning vegetables of any sort). He agreed, and ran off. He returned shortly with a steaming pile of grease on a piece of paper. I asked if I could take the first bite, since it all started with my mission. Alex handed it over, informing me that he asked for extra bacon, since we didn’t get veggies. I stared at the grease-spotted paper (it was worse than a Pizza Shuttle box) and tried to figure out how to pick the damn thing up; it was huge. I finally took hold of it, my fingers instantly feeling as if they were glued together from the sticky doughnuts. All day I had been telling anyone who would listen that “meat and sweet” don’t mix. I was nervous, but finally took my bite. And it was awesome. I’m serious. I felt flooded with guilt and shame for making fun of all those innocent people who were planning on eating them. I felt bad for thinking the news station was silly for proclaiming the burgers “newsworthy.” I wanted to stand up on the table in the beer garden and issue a formal apology for being close-minded. Of course, I didn’t; I had to pass the grease along to the next family member. It turns out that everyone liked it except for my husband. Five out of six ain’t bad.
After the glorious doughnut burger experience, I recovered from my guilt long enough to get my favorite shish-kabob. I introduced these to Justin a few years ago, and he loves them, too. We can never decide if the beef or chicken is better, so we get both and trade off. (Insert sappy moment here: the first time we went to the fair together, while we were dating, I took him to the shish-kabob stand and it started pouring rain. There was nowhere to take cover, so we sat on some bleachers in the rain, sharing our meat on a stick. It was a moment straight out of “The Notebook”, I’m telling you.) We were fortunate enough to have clear skies this year. We decided that we were through with beer by then, and wanted to hunt down the liquor garden (why is everything a garden?), which was new this year. Unfortunately, nobody knew where it was. About the fifth person we asked said it was near the roller coaster. We walked for what felt like miles, beginning to think the liquor garden was actually a liquor mirage, when we found it. Oklahoma class all the way, it was called the Four Roses Saloon. I’ve never seen a saloon in a tent before, but at least it wasn’t called the Four Roses Garden. That would just be too fruity. We sat outside on a table, watching the very stressful OSU-A&M game on television, and sipping our drinks. Justin pointed out a guy in the tent that was wearing a purple dress shirt and gray slacks (who dresses up for the fair? People don’t even wear their teeth to the fair!) and said that he had a gun in his waistband. What?! Now, Justin and I both took the concealed carry class a few weeks ago, and it was specifically noted that you can NEVER carry a gun in a place where there is alcohol (but the fair is okay, if you’re wondering). And this guy wasn’t even concealing it; it was tucked into the front of his pants, like he was Pretty Boy Floyd. I tried not to stare (Justin told me I didn’t do a good job) and we finally decided to hunt down a deep-fried Snickers. I have heard from numerous people that these are very near orgasmic, and I wanted to try it. Alas, I couldn’t find one, so I settled for chocolate-dipped cheesecake. It was damn near heaven on a stick. We wandered around some more, and then…there he was! The purple shirt guy that wanted to be a gangster! We watched as a swarm of cops surrounded him, talked to him briefly and then…let him go. What? Justin stopped the cops and said, “Was it fake?” Indeed, it was a pellet gun. Not only did he carry around the equivalent of a BB gun at the fair, he BOUGHT it there. That’s right. He got all gussied up in his church clothes, went to the expo center, bought a fake gun, tucked it in his pants and walked around the fair with his boyfriend. What a man, huh?
We stayed to watch the rest of the game (Go, Pokes!), made fun of people, played a rigged game (and lost), and then went home. I learned that doughnuts, beef, cheese and bacon is not a bad combination, and that it’s perfectly legal to walk around with a fake gun in your pants. But please don’t do it, because my husband and I will laugh at you. And you’ll get questioned by the cops. Till next year, fellow fair-lovers! I’ll meet you at the midway…I’ll be the one holding a shish-kabob, a corn dog, and a doughnut burger. And possibly a fried Snickers, if I can ever find one!