Sounds Like A Scam

So we attend and watch, the young, who too, know there is a mild con involved. Whether it is the angle of the hoop you are throwing the ball to, the stiffness of the hinge which holds the small metal duck from falling over, when hit by the lower than normal velocity of air rifle pellet. There are of course, guaranteed 'Win!' games and the cleverly staged games. Where your first throw wins level one only (the cheap plastic toys), then subsequent investment and winning throws result in achieving the next level, the small soft toy. Major investment and success is required to achieve the main advertised prize, which drew the player in in that first instance. We all know it's partly a fix, and, it is part of the charm of the event. We know that what we are trying to achieve will possibly not be remembered tomorrow, let alone in three or ten years time (unless she/he really cares for the other).  Then there are the junk stalls. 

These stalls often contained or displayed the small 'Show bag ' items. I am of course referring to show bags when they were truely that. A full bag you took home, which held samples (free samples) from things at the show you had attended. And some were pretty serious free samples. Actual toys, or properly made working items. As opposed to the massive money-making marketing engaged in by today's entrepreneurs of the 'show bag'. Where the majority of items contained in the bags are rubbish, and literally in a few short weeks will usually end up as just that. There were a few clever people who back then held onto those free samples, which today, depending on availability can be serious collectors items. Unfortunately, due to the massive production levels of today's items, the scarcity and potential collectors values of todays expensively purchased items, will be greatly reduced.  (I do still have a real train masters whistle, which came in the 'Age of steam' train show bag given away by the New Zealand Railway some time in the 1970's).

However, this is not so much about the 'showies' (although it does involve one, who appeared as a monster of a man, looming suddenly out of thin air, when the event I am about to relate took place), nor is it about the show bags themselves. It is mainly about a small boy (and even then I was very short). A very long day full of visual excitement, a cheap plastic windmill fixed to the side of a small display stall, an empty pocket with no finance available and a hand the size of my chest (or so it appeared). You've put it together right? I must have walked past that stall ten, or twelve times, with my eyes drawn to the 'bright shiney thing'. The small plastic framed windmill that perched precariously on the very edge of the stand, in which sat a thin, weedy and very disinterested young male. I planned and assessed the situation. Planning when to make my move. Which way would be the best exit, and like a master criminal I put the plan into action.
(Continued tomorrow)