Tickets are a dollar each, little rides are 3 tickets, “big” rides that make you question the safety of frequently-moved carney rides are 4 tickets, and all rides last roughly 34 seconds. Throw in the fact that Abby needs an adult with her on big rides and the money burn rate is impressive.
The dart game is $5; the rubber turtle we won retails for 5 cents. The magnetic duckling fishing game is $3; the plastic shark prizes retail for 4 cents. The cotton candy is $4; there is no U.S. currency low enough to represent the manufacturing costs of such a small portion of cotton candy.
Still… Abby’s excitement over the carnival (and her susceptibility to parental good behavior blackmail related to its arrival) is priceless. “Didn’t do your kindergarten homework? No carnival for you! Didn’t eat your vegetables? No carnival for you! Didn’t repaint the house? NO CARNIVAL FOR YOU!!
Jackson, however, remains an uncooperative carnival skeptic. He will only go on “safe” rides and eyes most of the carnival experience suspiciously… if not with outright hostility. Carnival blackmail does not work on Jackson at this point. “You had better stop tackling your sister, Jackson, or no carnival for you!,” will get you a small person shrug and a, “I don’t want to go to Carnival. Carnival is not so good. Carnival for girls and doo doo heads.”
Carnival will probably never be Brady Waterslide exciting (or even fishbuckets exciting!) for Jackson… that is until carnival unveils the dinosaur fishbucket ride. There is no doubt in my mind that they are working on such a ride right now. Somewhere sits an older crusted carney, smoking a camel, leaning over a wooden crate and drawing dinosaur fishbucket ride blue prints with axle greased hands on the back of a napkin.