Un-Fair

My mom drops me off in a giant parking lot in front of an empty fairground. She tells me, “Smile, Janie. This is the first day of your future.” If my future is anything like this, I think I’ll take up video game addiction.

I follow the crowd of volunteers heading towards the front gate of the fairgrounds, where we’re supposed to meet for training. Looking around, I see several fat kids who definitely play trading card games in their spare time, a couple big-breasted bimbos, those random old men who always work jobs that are meant for teenagers, and your typical Kurt Cobain wannabes.

Once we enter the gates, we cluster in front of a woman in a burlap skirt, a man with a pink and purple-checkered one-piece suit on, and a guy in long underwear or something, holding a sword.

“Welcome to the county fair!” they all shout in unison. Oh, what fun we shall have. They then lead us to a large building painted to look medieval – covered with fake cracks in the brickwork – and we all go inside. It’s some sort of coliseum, with benches surrounding a sandy pit. We’re told to sit down: apparently it’s time for general training.

Ms. Burlap stands in front of our cluster of losers and tells us, “Our main aims at the county fair are to make people believe they’re actually in the medieval times, and to smile our biggest and brightest!”

I sigh. I’ve chosen the very backmost bench in the coliseum, and thank God. If I zone out, I can’t hear Ms. Burlap. She’s just out of easy hearing range.

Four years of near-perfect grades (save, of course, for ninth grade PE) and I’m somehow still not exempt from doing volunteer hours. I just don’t understand why someone like me has to volunteer at dismal jobs to graduate high school. People who think and learn the way I do don’t need conventional jobs; we get through university on scholarships and get high-paying careers where we never need to learn how to socialize.

So I told the guidance councillor, “No.”

“Well, yes,” she said, and I could tell she had to try very hard not to sound annoyed. “You need those hours to graduate and you only have two months left to earn them.”

“We’ll see about that,” I told her.

A week later and my slack-witted parents still firmly agreed with the dolts that make up our education system. By then the only jobs left for me to choose from were police officer-in-training or wench. That’s right. Wench.

But the only thing worse than being a wench is a physical stamina test. Which is why I’m sitting on this bench being trained to serve people that would all be working for me, were it not for my youth.

Oh, shit. Maybe I zoned out a bit too hard; everyone’s getting up and I have no idea what’s going on. Great, now I’ll actually have to ask someone.

There’s a boy probably my age a little ways to my left. He hasn’t even gotten up yet, he’s just sitting there looking unamused, chewing gum with one sneakered foot propped up on the bench in front of him. He has the right idea, sitting far at the back and away from the crowd, so I decide to ask him.

“Hey,” I say, standing up. “What’s going on right now? I was too mortified that I even have to be here to listen.”

He rolls his brown eyes up at me and gives me a loose, understanding smile from underneath some poorly-grown stubble. “See those kids down there?” He points to a group standing right next to the pit. Either they already know each other, or they’ve figured since they’re all attractive that they’ll get along. They’re leaning on each other and giggling and flirting and such. As if they’re happy to be here. Morons. “The hobo lady numbered us off and you’re in a group with them.”

I give him a single brisk chuckle. He’s funny, but I haven’t decided how much I actually care for him yet. “Do you think you’re hilarious?” I ask him.

“Mildly,” he tells me. “But I think those kids are funnier. That one tall guy, we’re always in drama class together.” He finally gets up, slides his book bag over his shoulder, and takes a step to stand beside me. “I’ll tell you some stories about him. We’re actually supposed to be heading outside for a tour of the fairgrounds, but clearly you’re not one to spend your time listening during job training, so we’ll chat instead.” Sounds adequate.

The next two hours of training are pretty much spent with me and this kid – Brett – huddling at the back of the group as he tells me stories of the tall guy’s – Evan’s his name – stupidity and his promiscuity gone wrong. It’s more fun than learning the terms we are and aren’t allowed to use when greeting guests.

After that we have to break off into our individual jobs and learn about those. Brett’s finishing up a story about Evan trying to jump across a stream and failing, so we haven’t quite dispersed yet.

“So he ends up coming back to class because I told him he wouldn’t, and…” Brett gets a weird look on his face and suddenly there’s someone leaning on my shoulder.

I’m about to tell them to get the hell away from me, whoever they are. It ends up being Evan, and suddenly the whole thing’s just funny to me. I struggle to hold in my laughter.

“I didn’t know you were working here, Brett,” he says. He holds his hand a little too close to my face, and I take a step back before shaking it. “Evan,” he tells me.

“I know.”

“Oh, you do?” He and Brett exchange a look for a second, but I’m unable to see Evan’s face to know exactly what that look is. He hurriedly puts on a smile and says, “Well, I’m off to join the knightly masses. Coming, Brett?”

“Wait, you’re a knight?” I have to ask. Brett doesn’t seem like much of a knight by stereotype. He’s lanky and quiet, with an automatic frown and dull brown hair. The opposite of Evan, basically.

He tells me, “Try squire. I'll have to follow one of the knights around all the time.” He turns and begins to walk away without Evan. Brett seems to understand the world well enough that he probably can’t stand being around someone like Evan: some oaf that gets everything handed to him thanks to his looks.

“Lucky knight,” Evan says, and even though he’s smiling it sounds sarcastic. He turns to me and says, “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Was it?” It clearly wasn’t.

“Yeah, sure. You’re nice, don’t worry.” Oh, apparently he thinks I was worried.

Evan’s saying good-bye and meeting up with some blonde girl who’s all breasts and butt, Brett’s joined a bunch of muscular guys who all look obnoxious, and I have absolutely no knowledge of how to do my job.

Thank God I truly don’t care.



And now here I stand, in a tattered floor-length skirt, with a fake missing tooth, on my first day working at a renaissance fair. With that idiot Evan handing me a flower and smiling at me.

See, Evan thinks he’s actually a knight. Can’t blame him, he’s gorgeous – with muscles, blonde wavy hair, a lopsided grin and a slight accent thanks to a childhood spent in Manchester. It’s just awful.

There’s also the fact that he’s getting paid to play a knight. Getting paid in real money. Because he’s an actor and he’s not forced to be here, unlike me and Brett. Apparently good-looking people get paid to act (and ugly people die in every movie they’re in, like Steve Buscemi).

Brett’s an aspiring actor too, which is why he ultimately picked this job to volunteer at. And guess who he got randomly assigned to squire. Evan, of all twenty-four possible jocks to follow around. I’m not sure which is more awful: being an aspiring actor, having to hang around Evan all day, or being a squire. I actually feel quite bad for him.

We’re in the crowded, overheated kitchen and it’s fifteen minutes until we open for the first time. Us wenches are supposed to be pouring soda – ale, we’re supposed to call it – into plastic tankards, but a certain knight’s leeching my fellow servers’ attention with his teeth and his eyes and his voice.

After giving me the flower, which I immediately drop on the table because I have a feeling he’s trying to make me feel awkward, he calls me lovely.

God, he’s stupid.

I mean, I’m not hideous, but I’m not his kind of good-looking. Glasses, mouse-brown hair and pale skin: nobody would fall for a guy like him calling me lovely.

I grab a platter of full tankards to bring to the picnic tables outside and roll my eyes. They happen to fall on Brett leaning in the doorway, dressed in red-and-gold to match Evan’s cape and shirt. When he catches my eye, he pretends to pull one of Evan’s roses out of his butt. It’s more pleasing than any dumb-ass thing Evan’s done all day, so I give him a smirk. This one blonde, big-breasted girl that follows Evan around everywhere rolls her eyes now. I couldn’t really care less, but I think her name’s Riley.

The head wench (which cannot be historically accurate) takes my platter from me, shouting, “Go outside! We’re inviting guests in early! Point them in the direction of things that cost money! Chop, chop!” Well, at least she’s honest.

But hey, I slip a peek at my phone (no one texts me but my mom, but who wears watches anymore?) and I’ve killed one hour of volunteer service. Thirty-nine left. It was kind of tough sneaking my phone into work: most jobs just don’t like you having one on your person because it’s a distraction, but here they kill the verisimilitude. They actually check us before shifts. Luckily there’s probably a law against checking for cell phones in a minor’s boobs. Mine aren’t big, but they can still hide a phone.

I leave the crowded kitchen and I’m in the fairground. It’s a big open field littered with dirt paths, busy with women in flowing gowns, young men in armour and younger men leading around horses. There’s a bunch of jesters on smoke break, too.

I just kind of stand there awkwardly, waiting for the first guests to trickle in. The main gate’s a straight walk to the kitchen, it’s just a long walk. I should probably go closer to the gate, but I don’t really feel much need.

First off, I don’t really feel like saying hi to a bunch of strangers, and second, I have no idea where the merchandise area is. All the more reason to just hover awkwardly.

But as I’m waiting for guests to show up, or pretending to, I feel a touch on my elbow.

Evan’s smiling at me, with possibly-Riley’s arm intertwined with his.

“Hello, wench.” He nods and I respond with the most lacklustre curtsy in all of history – real or fake. “Tell me, have you seen my squire?”

“He’s in the kitchen.” I turn to leave, but Riley or whoever blocks my path.

“He’s in the kitchens…?” She gives me an expectant look.

I have no idea why she’s making that face, but I take a stab at answering her because she’s honestly scary. Like she may blow up at any moment or something. “Over thither?” I point with my thumb.

She rolls her big eyes at me. “No. I know where the kitchens are, wench.” The way she says that word makes me clench my fists. “Sir. He’s in the kitchen, sir. You have to call knights sir. What were you even doing during training?”

I long to say, “Studying, so I don’t have to go to school with you next year”, but I don’t. I’d rather not start a fight with someone who looks like they could be a professional cat-fighter. Instead I say, “Oh, right. Sorry, Sir Evan. Sir’s just something I tend to call old guys.”

Evan laughs; it even sounds sincere.

Princess Whoever scoffs and calls me rude. She’s running low on vocabulary, it seems. She gives me a final hateful look and begins to walk away. I decide doing my job would actually be better than sticking around Evan, so I start to walk towards the fairgrounds entrance.

Except no. Suddenly Evan’s big, muscular arm is linked with mine and I shoot him a look. I’m a third annoyed, a third confused and a third frightened that big-boobs will kick my ass. Seriously. I’m not a fighter and she gets pissed about everything.

“Uh, dear wench, I need your assistance.” It's like this kid’s always in his role when he’s at work. It’s embarrassing.

The issue is, I need to do what I’m told by my boss, not some self-absorbed teenager. And he’s pulling me towards the stables, but that’s not where I should be headed. The gates’ll be open to the public soon and how will they know where to buy stuff, if not for me?

I tell him, “Whatever you need me for, Evan – sir Evan – I’m sure Brett can do most adequately.”

Evan bites his lip and tries to give me some shy seductive look, but I’m immune. “No, miss, I think you’ll be more useful.” He tugs me really hard towards the stables, and he’s way stronger than me. When I fight against him, I think he realises how bad it looks for a guy to lug a girl off to a stables, kicking and screaming. He says, “Please,” like it should somehow make me more understanding.

We’re at a stalemate: I don’t want to move, and he doesn’t want to let go.

Luckily, I’m skinny, and I manage to slip my arm out of his. I give him an angry look. “Listen. Stop being selfish and get your squire! I need to do the work I’ve actually been assigned so I can get my hours done and get out of here.” I’m trying to mutter this to him, but my annoyance makes it difficult.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Oh, boohoo, you have to work at a fair. God forbid you might have to do something that’ll force you to smile, Jane.”

He sighs and I can see his shoulders sag. He tells me, “Listen Jane, if you work for me and help me with my horse and armour tonight, I’ll talk to my boss and get you paid in double hours for tonight’s shift. She loves me, she’d arrange it.” He looks at me and he actually seems a little freaked out. “Please, Jane. I don’t want to work with Brett.”

This is his petty little reason for trying to drag me to the stables to deal with those obnoxious knights? I have to try not to laugh in his face. “Oh, why? Is he too smart and clever for you?”

He looks away from me and chews his lip again. I’m starting to think it isn’t just something he does on purpose, but some kind of legitimately awkward habit of his. “Not exactly,” he mutters.

Whatever his reason for not wanting to work with Brett, clearly my reason for not wanting to work with Evan is better. He’s genuinely terrible to be around, with his unnecessary kindnesses and his thinks-he’s-so-suave attitude. And at least Brett’s funny on purpose.

But he’s starting to haul me towards the stupid stables again, and this time he’s just got me. I reach out to grab something, anything, to help hold me in place.

What my hands fall on is a sword that’s leaning on the kitchen wall. The swords the knights use here are made out of some super-light plastic stuff, which is stupid because the knights are all ripped. But it’s good for me because I clock him with it. Right in the forehead. He lets go of me and looks a little dazed, but I think it’s just shock. I take another swing, just because the first one felt spectacular. He sidesteps to avoid it.

“What are you doing?” He definitely isn’t smiling at me now.

“I’m … I’m taking a stand, that’s what I’m doing.”

“He laughs, but it sounds pretty bitter. “I just don’t get it,” he tells me. “When did this hatred you have for me even start?”

“You know, that’s a damn hard question to answer. I mean, it’s crappy enough I have to be here at all. But to make it that much worse, I have to work with a bunch of stuck-up plebeians. You’re all assholes!” I take another swing. He hardly has to move to avoid it.

“Oh, yeah?” I’m pretty sure he’s actually mad, I can see it in his stance and his movements, but he’s kind of smiling again now. “Everyone’s a dickhead but you, right?”

“Everyone except Brett. But how would you know? You’re too high and mighty to even work with him!” I thrust the sword at him.

Evan catches it and twists it. I’m too flustered to think to let go of the plastic sword and the action almost bring me to my knees.

“Ah. So Brett’s the victim here, right? What’d he tell you about me? That I steal his girls with my accent and my smile, that I’m a complete idiot jock?”

“Pretty much.” I pull my sword from his grip; he’s not paying attention to it right now anyway. At the last moment he notices and stops me, though.

“Stop, Jane. Listen to me.” He hauls me up by the sword, so I’m only inches away from his face. “Brett loves to act all boo-hoo, he loves to treat me like the bad guy. But really, actually, he’s mean. He’s a mean, mean guy. Since ninth grade, he’s called me dumb and gone out of his way to make me feel like I’m bad at acting, the only thing I love to do. When I break up with a girl he tells me she got bored because she only ever liked me for my looks. He’s always there to make me feel like crap, waiting around every corner to make everyone hate me because he’s jealous. He’s just manipulative. He’s the bully. Not me. And you think you’re so smart, but you fell for his little act.”

He releases the sword and I take a step back, steadying myself. I let the silly plastic thing fall to my side. I don’t know what to think exactly. For all I know, Evan is the manipulative one. Attractive people tend to be, I find.

I tell him, “I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, big surprise.”

“But even if you’re being honest, that just makes you a hypocrite.” He puts his hands on his hips and gives me a tired look. It just feeds my annoyance. “Even if you’re getting bullied by this perfectly normal guy, you still befriend bullies yourself. You’re always around Riley. She’s been nothing but a bitch to me all day – you even witnessed it.” This time I just swing my sword at the air out of pure frustration.

“Who’s Riley? Do you mean Rikki?” Was that her name? “Damn, Jane. You have no leg to stand on here. You can’t even get the name of your so-called bully right. And honestly, she acts like that to everyone. Literally everyone. It’s just hard for her to be all peppy; her family life is awful. She got a job here to get out of her house, and she gets to be a princess and everything. She got mad at you about calling me sir because she wants to take this seriously, because in reality life’s really hard for her. What do you go home to? Parents you think are morons?”

Throughout Evan’s speech, my eyes have become glued to the ground. I haven’t managed to look at him yet. “Maybe,” is all I can say.

I haven’t even realised that guests have begun to stream in and the fair’s starting to get loud and bustling. Someone comes up beside me and I finally look up. It’s Brett.

“Evan. You need to get to the stables. It’s the place with the horses.” He points with his thumb.

“I know,” Evan tells him. As soon as Brett starts talking to him he gets this uncomfortable look.

“Yeah, alright. Just wanted to make sure you knew what a stables is. When you spend all day with your head up your own asshole, you miss some stuff.” I grit my teeth at how needlessly mean he’s being. Brett chuckles at his own joke and gives me a glance, I guess to see if I’m laughing, too.

Instead I say, “Oh, shut the fuck up, Brett.” I just can’t handle how wrong I was. Realising I’m wrong is kind of new to me.

Brett hardly even reacts, he’s so confused. He just starts walking towards the stables again.

And I’m at a loss. Everything I had thought about the people I’d met here had been wrong. Totally, completely wrong. Who was I even telling myself I was all along? Some victim of everyone else’s ignorance and stupidity? Right now, it looks like everyone else was a victim of mine. My inability to see past how someone seems, my blindly believing everything I’m told. My horrible attitude towards everything. I can’t even smile about working at a fair. People can’t stand to be around me, they’re probably scared to talk to me. And I can’t find a way to blame them; I’ve been looking down on everyone here except the one guy who deserves it.

I end up dropping the sword and making weird noises instead of apologizing like I just wish I could.

“Can’t even find it in you to say sorry?” Evan asks me.

“I’m trying, I just don’t know how.”

“Guess you’d better learn. There’s quite a few things you should learn, actually. Friendliness, happiness, acceptance.”

I let him lecture me. He deserves to say anything he wants to me. But I have to look away in shame, at the guests wandering through the fairgrounds without any idea where to spend their money. I think about getting back to work. Reality’s too crappy right now. I’d rather be a wench, missing tooth and everything, than the real me. I turn to walk away.

“What are you doing?” Evan asks me. He catches me by the arm yet again. “You need my help. I have to turn you into a proper lady. Or at least someone a lot less frightening than the current you.” He’s giving me that lopsided smile.

“What?” The friendliness in his voice has me confused.

“I’m going to fix you. Save you from yourself. Be your knight in shining armour.” Wow. After all this, he’s still being nice to me. Maybe I should try to take after him … except maybe be smarter.

He puts his arm through mine and starts leading me to the stables once more. Makes sense, I guess. I owe him that at least, and I’m willing to help. But I hesitate because the bottom line is, that’s not where I’m supposed to be. But Evan smiles and tells me not to worry, he’ll get me my forty hours.

And then he’s a knight again, and he tells me, “Come wench.”