Bouncy Houses and Food Trucks

Today we went to Hometown Holidays at our local Town Center, which is basically a collection of bouncy houses. There are food booths (and of course: food trucks) and volunteer org booths, and they close down the streets and whatnot. We ran into our friends (occasional house-guests) because they live basically on top of the place and have two toddlers and an eight-year-old, so where else would they be? This was actually pretty great because Ari knows them and was psyched. And then the kids played with each other, so the adults all got to sit around doing nothing, which is Our Deepest Aspiration. Then there was frozen custard. From a food truck. I avoid food trucks on principle, but I caved because my kid wanted ice cream, and it was soft serve custard, a particular weakness, and we shared. It's pretty funny about the food truck craze because the suburb we live in is the kind of place where the very ground would have shuddered at the mere thought of a food truck (Where do they wash their hands?! etc.) a few years ago. But it has eaten its hat, as any trend-oid county should, and embraced the food truck like every other person or organization that has ever existed except me.

Ari went in 697 bouncy houses, and the fair or whatever was actually really well run, with only a couple of exceptions. The first was no big deal--an enormous booth dedicated to the local GOP, which had nobody in it. I don't think there is a republican in this town. Again with the ground shuddering at the thought. Whatever--I didn't care about that, obvs. But! I did care about the other ridiculousness, which was. . . I am so traumatized by the experience I'm not sure I am ready to talk about it, but sharing is healing and blah blah blah. Are you ready?

There were different, non-interchangeable, non-refundable tickets for food and rides, and you had to buy them (cash only) in different places! The vendors took only tickets, no cash or card. Oh, except! This one place randomly took cash only, no tickets, and they sold--oh, nothing important at all--just WATER!! There was a British guy at the register there, who must've thought he was exempt from the laws or something. Freaking immigrants. (Kidding--I love immigrants.) The whole thing was absurd, and it was impossible to pay. You can imagine. Right? People were freaking the fuck out. Thank goodness we ran into our friends because if we hadn't, the strategics involved in getting the right amount of the right tickets at the right time without losing our child might have killed us. With four adults it went much better. Still, I do not understand. Do these people want to make us prove ourselves worthy of having our child in their bouncy house by assigning us A Quest?

The Southwest Quadrant of the Biggest Bouncy House

Here is another problem I had. There were a couple of parents in the larger bouncy houses. To them I say: Dear Parents Who Go Into Bouncy Houses, Please stop. You think you're so cool, but you're making the rest of us look bad. We do not want to go into the bouncy houses. We just want to sit the fuck down. So, buy your own personal goddamn bouncy house, and use it in private, if you must, but don't go into the thing in front of my son. Because then what the fuck do I tell him when he asks me to come with him in there? I can't say parents aren't allowed because there you people are, jumping around like exhausted fools, revealing my lies.

I must admit I've gone into a bouncy house or two myself, but that was in the company of close friends who didn't mind, and I totally had their backs. When their kids asked why their mommies and daddies weren't coming in I said they couldn't because only one adult was allowed per birthday party, and in that manner I aided my fellow soldiers. The one parent per party rumor spread through the preschool and was helpful to everyone. I am a hero. Can't you tell?