Last summer I had a tent at the Blue Hill Fair in Maine pitching slum magic and selling fortunes. The Blue Hill Fair is a great little country fair with a regular carnival midway and a bunch of independents like myself.

Things are a little slow early in the morning, so after getting set up and before getting into costume, I went over to TJ's Drop Inn, a sort of mobile diner set up on the fairgrounds. A friend had told me that this was his favorite part of the fair, going over early in the morning to talk to truckers and carnies before the fair really got going.

It had already been a couple of long, hard days but I was enjoying myself immensely. I ordered blueberry pancakes and coffee and was taking in the atmosphere when a friendly, chatty waitress noticed that two guys a couple seats down from me didn't have Maine accents. She asked them where they were from.

"West Virginia," one of them drawls.

"So are you truck drivers or something?" she asks.

I am filled with inspiration and say, "No, that one's a fire eater and the other guy is a sword swallower."

"Really?" the waitress says, eyes wide with astonishment.

"That's right," the guy says without missing a beat. "You know, a lot of fire eaters don't wear a beard and mustache like I do. You got to be pretty good. I got this stuff like Vaseline that I put on it that helps some."

"A sword swallower and a fire eater! You guys in a show here?" she asks.

"Oh yeah," says the fire eater. "We got a big stage up at the other end of the midway. We got the lady snake charmer, some jugglers, it's a great show."

"And you're a sword swallower?" she asks the other guy.

"Yep," he says, "It takes a while to learn it but it's not so bad once you do. There aren't many sword swallowers these days."

"I have just got to see this show!" she says. She turns to me and asks, "What do you do?"

"I'm a magician," I say. The whole crowd is staring at me. "I'm here with a gypsy fortune teller with a crystal ball."

Surprisingly, this revelation on my part, although true, strains her credulity.

As the two guys are leaving, one of them says to me, "See you at eleven thirty."

"I'll be there!" I say with confidence.

"Don't be late, like yesterday," he adds.

"I won't. Sorry about that," I reply.

After they leave, I figure out that they probably didn't believe me, although the waitress does. I tip the waitress big and tell her I hope to see her at the show.

It's all true! Pictures of everything but this story at:

http://www.memoryelixir.com/summer2003/bluehillfair1.html

Yours,

Paul

They say "truth is stranger than fiction", this story certainly is one of those. Made me chuckle and thanks for sharing it.

Chrystal