Noelle has got a record, and we’re not talking about a Grammy award winning album. She and her sister, Amy, are trying to escape their criminal past, but habits and finances prevent them from walking the straight and narrow. Here she gives you the details.
I have to be extra careful when I engage in criminal activity, due to the fact that the FBI has my fingerprints on file. Most of my criminal acts include things like stealing extra ketchup from Wendy’s, breaking the speed limit, smuggling jelly beans into movie theaters, or cutting tags off of mattresses. You know, small stuff.
I got involved in a life of crime at the tender age of 14, when my father insisted to the ticket seller at an amusement park that I was 12 so that I could get in for free.
Since then, my criminal activity has grown exponentially. Take last Friday, for example. I wanted to go to the county fair, as I have done every year since the fourth grade. I have never had to pay to get into the county fair. This is because I was involved with 4-H for nine years and pretty much lived at the fairgrounds every summer for a week while I showed horses or did performing arts. 4-H is only for people grade 12 or younger. The year after I graduated from 4-H, my sister (who is also a criminal) and I snuck in to the fair via a hole in the fence. This hole is located near some remote horse stables and the only reason that I knew about it was because it was there when I was in 4-H. So this year, I assumed my sister and I would do the same thing as we had done before. We would drive back to where the 4-H camp is set up and casually walk through the hole in the fence. But nothing ever happens the way it should, even for criminals.
When we arrived, we found out that the hole was missing. They put up a brand new chain link fence, as if they were trying to keep a pack of rabies infected Great Danes out. This was the one day I left my grappling gear at home, so climbing the fence was out of the question. I was raised to be determined and stubborn. I am rarely ever stubborn (unlike my sister and father) but I am determined to think of alternative solutions should a problem arise. It’s called being resourceful. My sister, Amy, and I walked the perimeter of the fence. Like the criminals that we were, we cased the place. It reminded me of a job we pulled in
It didn’t matter; we would get in somehow. We decided to go visit our old 4-H leader in her camper. Actually, it was more of a gargantuan motor home that could house a small African village. There were a couple of 4-Hers resting in the motor home, and we chatted about old times. While reminiscing, we noticed a glittery show outfit draped over a wooden hanger, like a savior. It was much like Jesus hanging on the cross, except that the Christ didn’t have sequins or matching Wrangler jeans. The outfit had an entry number pinned to the back, and quite obviously, our solution was clear. We would disguise ourselves as 4-Hers. We could put on some show clothes, pin some numbers to our backs, and walk through the gate with our cowboy hats tilted inconspicuously over our faces. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I made a mental note to add a cowboy outfit to my box of costumes that I house in my car trunk.
We asked if we could borrow the clothes, but unfortunately, the person who owned the clothes had to go into a show soon and needed the outfit. Foiled again—just like two binomials in an algebra equation. All hope seemed to be lost, much like when you are stuck in the snowy mountains for seven days with nothing but a candlestick, a gum wrapper chain necklace, and a mentally unstable ski instructor named Herman.
Amy and I refused to give up. Where there’s a will there’s a way. We considered doing the honest thing and coughing up the money for tickets. We might as well have been trying to cough up diamonds. I counted the eleven tired dollars nestled comfortably in my wallet. The only cash that my sister had consisted of a pocketful of dead presidents. Thirty-two cents. Who only carries thirty-two cents in their purse? Beggars have more money.
Tickets were $7.50 each. We couldn’t even be honest if we had wanted. We were too poor. Defeated, we walked back to our cars. I dug around in every compartment and found a few emergency dollars and coins (usually reserved for parking meters). My sister was very helpful and found another nickel that she had been hoarding. We were determined. We did not waste an hour of our time thinking of ways to enter the fair to come all this way and not get in. With our money, we realized that once we paid for tickets we wouldn’t be able to buy dinner, or any other item for that matter. Amy was quick to think of an elaborate scheme. Her boyfriend’s mother is a 4-H leader and was currently at the fair. She called the woman and talked for a bit. Then she told me the plan.
“Okay, Noelle, this is what we are going to do. I’ll pay for a ticket, go inside, and meet Lynette. Lynette will give me her green bracelet, then I’ll come back outside and give it to you. That way, only one of us has to pay.” Normally, it would have sounded like a legit plan. Only, I was too nervous to go along with it. I’m a bit apprehensive now, ever since I did time in Folsom prison.
“Let’s just pay. Just pay and get it over with,” I said. Amy and I walked along the fence a bit more, just checking one last time to see if there were any openings.
My sister made another phone call. Lynette would loan us money to buy dinner. We really were beggars.
Here’s where it gets interesting. We got our money out, all ready to surrender and pay the men at the gate. But when we got there, they told us they couldn’t sell us tickets. For a moment I was afraid that they had photos of us from our warrants. But no, we had arrived at the exhibitor’s only gate. I very congenially asked “So do we need to go around to another entrance?” I was tired. I just wanted to get into the fair. The beefy guard in a blue polo told us we could buy tickets about 50 feet away at one of the other gates. To my shock, he gestured for us to follow him through the gate. It was like the Angel Gabriel inviting Satan through the pearly gates.
Once I was about nine feet through the gate and into the fair, I started to freak out. I grabbed my sister’s shoulder and gave her a non-verbal signal. We were really in. My brain went into a frenzy. Should I throw myself over a bale of hay and make a run for it? Dive into the goat pens? After five more steps I took action. I yelled “Lookout! A loose Longhorn bull!” The concerned guard looked to where I had pointed. My sister ran into the quickly dispersing and terrified crowd while I hurled myself into the cow pen on my right. I hid myself among the straw until the chaos died down. It didn’t take long since there wasn’t actually a loose animal. I peeked out from the hay, only to be greeted by two brown cow eyes glaring at me. The bovine started blowing its nostrils in rage. I watched as its eyes went from cow pie brown to rooster red. “MOOOOO!!!” it practically growled. Then it lunged at me…
Actually, that didn’t happen at all. Sorry. This is what really happened: I considered throwing myself into the goat pen, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, I followed the guard over to the ticket booth. He stopped leading us about half way, then turned back around and went to his post. My sister and I didn’t need any encouragement. We adjusted our steps to a sloth-like pace, glanced over our shoulder, and hid behind a blue structure while the guard wasn’t looking. We stayed there for about three minutes, using up the time it would have taken to buy tickets. We were about 20 feet from the ticket booth. Nobody noticed us. I couldn’t believe how idiotic and trusting the guard had been. Like I was really going to buy a ticket once I got in for free.
We hid for another minute. Waiting for the opportune moment, we casually joined a group of middle school boys when they strolled past us. Amy and I tried to hide behind them, walking quickly, ready to get lost among the crowd. I was terrified that the guard would remember us and seek us out to look at our tickets. Just when I thought my gut could settle down, I nearly threw up on my shoes.
“Hey! Over here!” It was Lynette. She emerged from the rabbit area and began to talk to us. The three of us were in plain sight of the guards. I half listened as Lynette babbled on, carefully watching the man in the blue polo out of the corner of my eye. Good thing too, because he soon whistled and marched over to us, not unlike the Gestapo. I thought to myself “It’s all over. Once the guard finds out I’m on parole, it’s back to prison.” Instead of handcuffing me or beating me with a large stick as I had previously experienced in other countries, he reprimanded a blond girl a mere five feet away. Apparently she hadn’t bought tickets either. I felt quite relieved, like when you’ve just drank a 64 ounce Pepsi and have been holding your bladder for three and a half hours during a showing of the musical Les Miserables and you finally get to leave and rush to the restroom. Needless to say, my sister and I quickly evacuated the area to a safer location where the guards could no longer see us. Once again, we did not have to pay overpriced fair admission. We walked away from the animal barns, feeling both clever and content.
Then I ate a greasy corn dog, a blue snow cone, an elephant ear, a raspberry shake, some pop corn, and cotton candy. I also threw up on the Ferris wheel. You get what you pay for.
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