Carny Short Stories Volume 1

by

S.E. Tomas

Copyright © 2017 by S.E. Tomas

All rights reserved.

CONTENTS

Crumpled Twenty  1

All You Can Drink  13

Trouble on Teardown  21

Indecent Exposure  27

Border Crossing  35

Verbal Warning  41

Overnight Low  49

Read the Menu  61

Johnny’s Wet Dreams  71

Layne  81

Petty Theft  89

Florida Crack  97

Brutal Setup  105

Welding Lesson  115

Crumpled Twenty

I was in Edmonton, working in the gun ball joint. I hadn’t given away any stock yet, since almost nobody won the gun ball, so I thought to myself, “Fuck it, I should take twenty bucks.”

Some friends of mine who’d worked on the carnival the previous summer had told me that if you worked in a game, you could tip yourself right out of the apron and the bosses wouldn’t know. Ian, the manager, was in the gun ball with me. It was the two of us in there, working. I didn’t like the guy, really. Something about him just seemed very shady. So it didn’t bother me at all, stealing from behind this guy’s back.

I had a couple of customers at my counter—a mother and her nine- or ten-year-old son. The mother had just handed me two dollars. For the smaller piece of stock, it was a two-dollar game. The kid was waiting to play.

I handed the kid the gun, which was already loaded. The gun was basically just a cork gun. There was a little cork-shaped thing screwed to the end of the ball. You stuck the ball onto the end of the gun, and as soon as you pulled the trigger, the ball ejected and flew forward.

The kid didn’t take much time to aim. He quickly shot at the cups, but only knocked one of them over. The cups were made of thick Plexiglas. It was actually pretty hard to knock over all three of them with that lightweight plastic ball.

“Oh, close!” I said. “Want to play again?”

The mom forked over another two bucks. I put the two-dollar bill in my apron. I quickly set up the cups, reloaded the gun, and then got out of the way.

The kid missed again, of course. I could see the mother wasn’t going to spend any more money.

“OK, thank you,” the mother said. She started to pull her son away from the game.

“All right,” I said. I smiled at the mother and her kid. “Have fun today, guys. Enjoy the fair.”

The customers walked away from my counter. Before I called someone else in, I took out my money like I was counting it, looked over at Ian, seen that his back was turned, and then quickly crumpled up a twenty-dollar bill and dropped it into the back pocket of my apron. The apron had two rows of pockets—three in the front and two in the back.

Ian turned around just as I was putting my money back in my apron. I immediately called someone else in. “Hey, shoot ‘em up!” I yelled.

For a while, it was fairly busy. I grossed some more money. I’d already figured out that a way to keep the customers playing was to let them lean over the counter as much as the chain would let them. The gun was attached to a chain, which was bolted to the counter. So they could only lean so far. It wasn’t enough to give the person an actual advantage.

“Go ahead,” I said to one guy. “Lean as much as you want, man.”

The guy thought I was letting him cheat. I got him to play a couple of times before he walked away empty-handed.

Not long before I was scheduled to go on break, the office broad, Lana, came by to pick up the aprons. Lana was the wife of Marty Bennett, the guy who co-owned the company that I was working for.

Lana went over to Ian’s counter first. She picked up his money. Then she came over to my counter. “Hey, Jimmy, how’s it going?” she said.

“Good,” I said.

I took out my money and counted it. I realized, for the first time, what I actually had in there.

I handed Lana the money. She put it into something that looked like a pencil case with my name written on it. She didn’t count the money or anything. She was going to do that in the office and then write down what I’d grossed.

Lana took off to the next Bennett-owned joint. On the midway, some joints were owned by Conklin Shows. These were company joints. Other joints were owned by independents like Bennett.

As soon as Lana was gone, Ian turned to me suddenly. “Hey, Jimmy,” he said.

Ian had barely talked to me all day. I was new. It was literally my first day in the joint. And even though Ian had worked on the carnival for years, he wasn’t trying to teach me anything. The gun ball was pretty simple, though. I was just picking things up as I went along.

“Yeah, Ian?” I said.

“Go on your break now,” Ian said.

I looked at my watch. “It’s only ten to,” I said.

“That’s OK,” Ian said. “You can go early.”

Shit, I thought.

This really fucked up my plan. The twenty dollars I’d crumpled up was still in the back pocket of my apron. I hadn’t gotten it into the pocket of my pants yet. I was planning on doing this right before I went on break. Ian’s eyes were on me now. I couldn’t exactly take it.

“Uh, all right,” I said to Ian.

I took off my apron, rolled it up, and then put it on the back counter, in the corner, where no customers could reach it. There was no money in the thing now, aside from the crumpled twenty, because Lana had taken all of it. She hadn’t even left me a float so that I could break a big bill. There were a lot of people on the midway, though. It was better to keep the apron out of plain sight.

Once I had my apron put away, I took off my show shirt, grabbed my regular shirt from underneath the counter, and then jumped out of the joint.

“Take an hour,” Ian said to me.

“All right,” I said. “See ya.”

I walked down the midway and threw on my shirt. I weaved through the crowd and went straight to the beer tent. I was underage to drink in Alberta—I was only seventeen—but I walked in there no problem. I’d already been drinking in the bars in Edmonton for quite a while. I never got asked for ID.

I found my dad. He was already trashed or getting there.

“Fuck, dad, you’re drunk already?” I said. “We’re supposed to go on that ride. Remember that ride I was telling you about?”

There was this ride that looked pretty cool. It was this big crane with a cable on it. You had to lie on your stomach, two people side by side, in this harness-type thing, with most of your body hanging out of the harness. Then they lifted you up in the air, and then took you with another crane or whatever it was, and then pulled you all the way over, so that you were even with the crane arm, basically. And then they let you go and you just swung. It was like a giant swing.

“I think I’m a little too fucked up for that ride right now, Jim,” my dad said. “We’ll go another time, OK?”

It really pissed me off that my dad had already gotten so trashed. I’d wanted to go on this ride with him. I was on my break. This was my opportunity.

“Can I borrow a few bucks?” my dad said.

“Why, so you can go spend it on more beer?” I said.

“What do you think?”

“The only way you’re getting money off me is if you go on that ride.”

“Jesus Murphy.”

“You said you’d go with me, dad.”

“Can’t you go by yourself?”

“No, it’s a two-person ride.”

“Go with someone in the line, then.”

“I don’t want to go with some random person in the line, man.”

“All right, all right . . .”

My dad finished his drink. We left the beer tent and then walked through the crowd of people over to the ride.

As soon as we got into the lineup for the ride, my dad turned to me. “OK, give me my money now,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “We haven’t even gone on the ride yet.”

“So?”

“So, you’ll get it after.”

“Ah, come on.”

“Why would I give it to you now, dad? You’re just going to duck out of the line and go back to the beer tent.”

My dad laughed. “What makes you think that?” he said.

Normally, my dad would have been scared to go on a ride like this. But because he was loaded, and because he wanted the money so badly, he hadn’t tried to back out of the line yet.

Finally, my dad and I were at the front of the line. The ride attendant strapped us into our harnesses, and then we were lifted into the air.

When we got to the point where we were level with the crane arm, a buzzer sounded, letting us know that they were about to drop us. Suddenly, we started falling. Then we started to swing. It was pretty intense. I felt like I was flying through the air.

The ride ended. My dad stumbled a bit as we walked towards the exit.

“What a rush, eh?” I said to my dad.

“I feel kind of sick,” my dad said.

“You’ll be all right, old man.”

I gave my dad ten bucks and then looked at my watch. “I don’t have much time left on my break,” I said. “I’ve got to go eat and then get back to the game.”

“OK,” my dad said. “See you later.”

I watched my dad disappear into the crowd of people on the midway, as he stumbled back to the beer tent. The guy was a hopeless alcoholic. All he wanted was to be plastered all day, every single day.

I grabbed something quick to eat, pissed, and then went back to the gun ball.

When I got back to the joint, there was another guy in there, working next to Ian.

“It got really busy while you were gone,” Ian said to me. “It’s going to be two in the joint now for the rest of the day.”

Ian jumped out of the game and went on his break. The breaker went over to Ian’s counter.

I got in the joint, put on my show shirt and my apron. I immediately got to work, calling people in.

The hour went by quickly. When Ian came back, the breaker took off to the next joint.

When it was almost time for my next break, I waited until Ian’s back was turned, and then I quickly got the twenty-dollar bill I’d crumpled up into my own pocket. I didn’t wait until the very last minute this time, just in case Ian decided to push me out early again.

I got out of the joint and walked through the fairgrounds to the main road, which was 118th Avenue. Now that I had the twenty dollars in my pocket, and I had some time on my hands, I was going to go play the video lottery terminal in the bar across the street from the lot. This had been my plan all along, in terms of stealing the money. I wanted it, so that I could go play the VLT.

VLTs were a new form of gambling in Alberta. They were in all the bars in the city. I’d played them already and had even won some money a couple of times. I figured what the hell? If I lost the money, it wouldn’t matter because it wasn’t my money in the first place. It was the show’s money.

The bar was called Fireside. I walked in the door and went straight to the VLTs. They had a whole bunch of these machines at this bar. You walked in the door and they were right by the entrance, in their own separate section from the rest of the bar.

It was a Friday night and the bar was busy. A bunch of people were playing the VLTs. I found one that was free, took the twenty-dollar bill out of my pocket, and then fed it into the machine. Because the bill was all crumpled, the machine wouldn’t take it.

I tried to smooth out the creases in the bill and feed it back into the slot. But the machine spit it right back out again.

“Goddamnit,” I said.

I took the bill and went over to the bartender.

“What can I get you?” the bartender said to me.

“I want to play the VLT,” I said. “It won’t take this bill. Could you exchange it for me?”

The bartender took the bill, opened the register, and then gave me another bill.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem,” the bartender said.

I went back to the VLT that I’d been sitting at. I sat down and put the money into the slot. This time, the machine took it.

A list of games came up on the screen. I picked five reel. This was the game I usually liked to play.

As usual, I started out feeling optimistic. I knew that my chances of winning weren’t good, but I wasn’t expecting to win big or anything. I was just hoping to win more money than I’d spent. If I won a lot more than that, it’d be a bonus.

On a couple plays, I got pretty close to winning. I was starting to get excited.

Within a couple of minutes, however, I was almost out of money. It didn’t take long at the VLT to blow twenty bucks.

Ah, well, I thought. So much for that.

Then, all of a sudden, on nearly my last spin, I had two lines match up.

“Holy shit!” I said out loud.

I looked at the lines. They were blinking on the screen. I had double sevens. I’d just won five hundred dollars.

The machine made a noise and then spat out a ticket. I couldn’t believe it. There was a guy sitting a couple of machines over from me. He looked over at me, as I pulled the ticket out of the machine. Then he went back to his game.

I took the ticket and went back over to the bartender. “I’ve got a winning ticket,” I said.

The bartender took the ticket from me and looked at it. “Five hundred big ones,” he said. “Good for you.” He opened the register and gave me the money. He gave me a combination of fifty- and hundred-dollar bills.

I put the money in my wallet and then left the bar. As I walked back to the fairgrounds, I thought about swinging by the beer tent and telling my dad how I’d just won at five reel. I was excited. I just wanted to tell someone about it. I realized almost immediately, though, that it would be pointless for me to do this. My dad would only try to get some more money off me so that he could buy more booze.

I decided to just walk around the midway. When my break was almost over, I headed back to the gun ball joint.

When I got back there, there was something going on at the counter. The two big bosses, Larry and Marty Bennett, were standing there, talking to Ian.

I approached the joint slowly.

Ian and the two bosses turned and seen me coming.

I walked up to the counter. “Hey, what’s going on?” I said.

“Oh, not much,” Ian said. “I was just telling Larry and Marty, here, about how you stole some money out of the apron.”

“Huh?” I said.

I was in shock. I didn’t know how Ian had known I’d taken the money.

The Bennett brothers looked really angry. They were big guys, too, so they were pretty intimidating when they were mad.

“Is this true, Jimmy?” Larry asked me. “Did you take money out of the apron and then put it in your own pocket?”

“No,” I said.

I was just going to deny it all the way. That was my plan.  I didn’t have the money on me anymore so I knew they couldn’t prove nothing anyway.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about, Larry,” I said. “I didn’t steal any money.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ian said. “Then where’s that crumpled up twenty-dollar bill that was in your apron?”

I immediately realized why Ian had pushed me out on my break, earlier. There had just been an apron pickup. He wanted to see if I’d turned it all in.

“Look, I’ve only got fifties and hundreds on me,” I said. “You guys want to check me? Go ahead.”

“Yeah, we’ll need you to empty your pockets, Jimmy,” Larry said.

I emptied my pockets onto the counter of the joint. People walking down the midway turned their heads, as they walked by, and looked at me.

In my pockets, I had some change, a lighter, a pack of smokes, and my wallet.

“Let’s see the wallet,” Larry said.

I handed Larry the wallet. He opened it. He thumbed through the bills that were in there, and then quickly closed it. Then he handed it back to me.

Larry turned to Ian. “He doesn’t have it,” he said. “It’s just fifties and hundreds in there. They’re all crisp bills.”

“Well, he doesn’t have it now,” Ian said. “He obviously spent it, Larry. He was just on break.”

I glanced at Marty. He hadn’t said a word yet.

“Marty, what do you think?” Larry said.

“He doesn’t have the twenty dollars,” Marty said. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

It was my word against Ian’s and the bosses obviously weren’t taking Ian’s word for it. I was making Ian look like a fucking asshole, basically.

Maybe they don’t even like this guy, I thought.

Larry got in close to Marty. He said something into his ear. Marty nodded.

“OK,” Marty said. “You can get back in the joint now, Jimmy. Get back to work.”

“OK,” I said.

Then Marty turned to Ian. “As for you,” he said. “I don’t want you looking in that kid’s apron again. Is that understood?”

Ian glanced at the ground and then looked at Marty. “OK, Marty,” he said.

Larry and Marty turned and then walked down the midway.

I got back into the joint. I put my show shirt and my apron on and then started to call people in.

Some people walked in right away—a guy and his girlfriend. As I started talking to them, I glanced over at Ian. I noticed that he was giving me a dirty look.

The guy at my counter wanted to play the five-dollar game. “How many chances do I get?” he asked me.

“Just one,” I said. “But if you knock ‘em all down, you win the big one.”

“All right.”

As the guy handed me the money, I glanced over at Ian again. He was still scowling at me.

I couldn’t give a fuck, really, what the guy thought. I knew I wasn’t going to have to deal with him much longer. Once the spot finished, I was going to go work for this guy named Frank. Frank was the one who had actually hired me. But he couldn’t use me for the spot, so he’d put me on loan to Bennett. In Regina, which was the next spot the show was going to be playing, I was going to be working for Frank in the plate smash.

I laughed to myself and then gave Ian a nice little smirk, as I put buddy’s five-dollar bill into my apron.

End of Crumpled Twenty

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Emmett Grogan

★★★★★

May 26, 2022

Man, this guy can write! He has a great voice. His stories are very entertaining. The next time I see S.E. Tomas on the street in downtown Toronto, I'm going walk right up and shake his hand, give him $25, and grab Volume 2 of "Carny". If you're reading this review, you should do the same.

Jay

★★★☆☆

August 18, 2021

3.5 rounded down

A short collection of hilarious stories about Jim, the teenage carny. You follow Jim from Edmonton to Florida as he works different jobs within the carny world (games, parking, set-up, teardown) and goes on exciting adventures (after-hours bars, crack binges, petty theft). The stories flow into one another seamlessly and are told in honest detail; if you've gone to carnivals in North America there's almost a sense of nostalgic feel to S.E. Tomas' short descriptions.

One downfall of the stories flowing into each other is that some stories seem more like segues rather than complete stories that stand on their own. It's not a big deal though, because the collection reads like one big book. Another small grievance is how thin the collection is...I think every person who read it wanted a few more stories :p

My favorite story was the first one - Crumpled Twenty. I also liked the final three, when he was influenced in various ways by crack.

Patricia Atkinson

★★★★☆

June 24, 2020

the stories of jimmy when he worked at the carnivals and things he did.

Cathy

★★★★★

October 6, 2019

Welcome to the world of precarious employment! Jim takes you on a helluva rollercoaster ride during his daily adventures as a freelance carny and temp worker. Again, told with great story telling deets, you feel the weather of that day, see the people and situations he encounters, and root for this likeable character. I especially enjoyed the story about the lazar pointer. You won't want the stories to end, and will soon realize, there's a little carny in all of us!

Krista-Marie

★★★★★

December 19, 2017

I really enjoyed the insight into the carnival world behind the scenes and it's really interesting to hear about the various stages of the author's life from squeegeeing to carnival-ing and his addiction to crack. It's been quite the journey!

Amazon Customer

★★★★★ They're excellent, engaging

Reviewed in Canada on December 15, 2017

This is the third S.E. Tomas book I've bought and read, cover to cover. They're excellent, engaging, illuminating and candid. As with Crackilton and Squeegie Kid, they offer rare insight into a life that you're aware exists, but don't know a thing about. The characters are shady, rough, a little crooked and live day to day...yet somehow get by. One of Canada's most honest authors sits outside Union Station, peddling his works and (no doubt) gathering experiences and stories for his next great work. If you see him, spend the $20.