Rawhide

A couple of years ago before C’s dad relinquished season tickets to the rodeo, this time of the year represented a sort of a drunken hell week. We waited patiently for the performers to be announced then snapped up the performances that seemed promising and in an instant our calendars were filled. Our daily routine went something like this:

Wake up go to work
Rush home from work to change
Rush to rodeo
Visit main Chorral Club for a few handfuls of Spanish peanuts and stale popcorn to wash down the drinks
Head off to the Chute Club for more drinks (no snacks this time thanks to full blown buzz)
Watch entire rodeo from Chute Club
Run to seats to see performance
Stop on way home for a night cap (or two)
Go to sleep (a.k.a. passout)
Next day do it all over again

One night somewhere between number eight and nine, C and another friend of ours decided we should go to the hideout for night caps. I protested. They whined and nagged. I protested. I really didn’t want to go. They whined and nagged me into submission, but a funny thing happened on the way to the hideout and I can only look back and call it KARMA.

Walking through the carnival, C decided to empty her Vodka filled bladder in a Port-O-Potty. Although some are in well lit areas so the already creepy, germ infested inside is not quite as scary, this one was not. There she stood, squatting over the smelly abyss wondering why there was no splash. As she tells it, she thought the thing was so full it might overflow at any moment. Alas, it wasn’t too full. Someone had left the lid down.

When she emerged from the Blue Palace her camel colored pants betrayed the stream that had run down the lid and filled the seat of her pants. Where once there was nothing a BIG dark spot covered her backside. I could have been understanding, but what sweet revenge after the whining and nagging. Instead I bought a book of carnival tickets to ride the greatest ride in the world The Scrambler. Unfortunately Karma wasn’t through with us yet because before the carnie could close the gate and start the car a’spinnin, a nice gentleman gave C his ride pass. There is nothing like being stuck in a two-seater glittery car slinging back and forth on someone else’s pee.