Being Predictable

Being Predictable

On Sunday we went to the San Diego County Fair, ostensibly to watch Kim perform with her vocal group, but really because who doesn’t like an old fashioned county fair? I was not part of the 4H crowd like my friend Frank. He was a real farm boy who drove tractors and kept chickens to sell the eggs. For him, going to the county fair was like the culmination of all the hard work he and others like him had invested in their prize animals. It’s like winning any other trophy, its all about being recognized for your efforts and your capabilities as a young farmer of the future. Frank didn’t grow up to be a farmer, but he did study agricultural economics and spent the early part of his career working for various food companies, helping them to sell their packaged goods faster and in bigger volume than they might otherwise. Since I wrote his biography, I am well aware of his success with everything from bread to king crab. And I am sure that if you peel back all the layers of education and work experience, Frank would say that his quest for business excellence had a lot to do with what he learned preparing for and participating in the 4H county fair events.

My experience with the county fair probably starts in the early 1960’s when we lived in Wisconsin for four years. I remember going to the Dane County Fair with all its taffy and dime tossing games. It was all about games, cheezy kids rides and cotton candy. Then when we moved to Maine and it was the Androscoggin County Fair held in Windsor and, better yet, the Maine State Fair in Oxford near the racetrack where both stock cars and sulkies raced. Needless to say, there was a hiatus from fairs as we know them here in the U.S. while I lived in Rome. When I returned to school in Upstate New York, I don’t recall much emphasis on the country fairs, but do recall going to the New York State Fair, which was just an hour north of Ithaca in Syracuse. One quirk of all these fairs was that they were held on fairgrounds that were mostly idle for all but the few weeks of the year when those events were underway. I imagine there were a few minor events held there over the year, but they were called the fairgrounds because that was their primary purpose. Out here, the San Diego County Fair used to be called the Del Mar County Fair because it’s held at the Del Mar Racetrack, which already has the dedicated services for the most part and can accommodate the county fair in between the thoroughbred racing schedule, which is the primary role of the venue. We’ve actually been to the Racetrack in Del Mar during the racing season, with my old colleague Deron when he kept a stable of racehorses. I don’t recall being that impressed by the Owner’s Box in the clubhouse, but watching the horses in the paddock was interesting.

Because Kim was to be a performer at the fair, we got preferred parking privileges, which was convenient. As Kim started to go back to the long entry line, I walked up to an usher and asked where the performer’s entrance was. Bingo, we were in and walking through the midway in no time. One thing I will say about modern county fairs is that the signage around the vendors is considerately better than it used to be. The screaming signage for the various food vendors was nothing if not inundating. The choices of savory and sweet were in full array. Everything from corn on the cob to Maui chicken in a pineapple bowl. We ate lunch while we watched Kim and her group sing retro tunes from the past six decades.

After that, the kids said in no uncertain words that they were not done with the fair. They had designs on all manner of fun rides and all had the energy to see the afternoon through. Meanwhile, Kim and I wandered through the various vendor stalls looking for a place that sold insole inserts guaranteed to relieve all sorts of back and joint pains through better posture. My son-in-law, John, had found a coupon for money off on these indispensable medical prophylactics, so we were determined to find them. On the way, my aching back/sciatica was flaring on the hard surfaces of the fair. One of the most prolific vendors at this particular fair (and probably many others, since it appears to be a specific sales strategy) was, strangely enough, a bedding company that offered all kinds of modern sleeping furniture ranging from regular beds to pillow-tops to ones with dual heating and cooling elements as well as articulation to put the user into almost any position they desire. These are the whiz-bang beds you see on late night TV infomercials. Lucky for us, we don’t need any beds. But they also sold a full array of massage chairs. We have all seen and even tried these things, usually at malls or airports. They feel good for a few minutes when you have time to kill, but I have always thought I would never buy one. But my back was screaming at me and the salesman was offering a free sample of what the signage said was the “best ride at the fair.”

I was directed to the chair that was like something off the Starship Enterprise, which the salesman said was the best one for “big guys like us”. See how he did that, that’s salesmanship 101, create an affinity with your mark and do it while upselling. So I sat down and was instructed about how to put my legs (sans shoes) and my arms into the appropriate sleeves of the chair. This chair has a flat control panel which the salesman dialed up for a 10 minute ride while Kim asked me how it felt and I was sent into spasms of delight. This chair was unlike any I had ever tried at a mall or airport. It moved in ways I had never seen before, it leaned back and rocked me as it systematically massaged my back, my neck, my ass, my hamstrings, all while the bladders surrounding my lower legs and arms squeezed them on and off for the whole time. Small massage elements did a number on the soles of my feet as well. This thing really was a better mousetrap than I was expecting. When it ended its cycle, and I removed my arms and legs from the respective sleeves, I looked down at my ankles and to my amazement, they looked like normal ankles and not the edema-inflated ankles I usually have by this time of day. I don’t have diabetes, but my size makes it hard for my ankles to release all the accumulated fluid, so I take a diuretic, but cannot stand taking enough of the stuff since it keeps me in the bathroom all day if I do. I have been told by my doctor to consider compression socks, but no one has ever suggested a massage chair with leg sleeves that inflate and compress my ankles.

I know I was being predictable, but I was sold. All that was left was for me to sign the papers. I am now the proud owner of what I never thought I would own, a top-flight massage chair. How predictable is that?