Drift Reality > Washington, DC > Maryland Renaissance Festival

When I was a wee lad, I used to play with swords. Not in the disgusting metaphorical sense that you are probably thinking, but in the literal sense.

For this reason, I used to badger my parents into taking me to the Renaissance Festival every year, where I would buy a wooden sword and then promptly shatter it into pieces within twenty-four hours.

The one memory that sticks in my head from when I was young, was of a heavy-set woman with breasts popping out of her dress, asking a man to eat a grape from between her bosoms. Why my parents let me watch this is unbeknownst to me, but my parents let me eat goat turds (I have the photographic evidence to prove it) so I suppose it's not that surprising.

Later, as we were leaving, we stumbled upon the large-boned wench walking around once again, and this time she had dollar bills coming out of her cleavage.

"Why do you have dollar bills there," I asked, while pointing to her bosoms.

"Because men like me," she answered curtly before walking away.

This is not the picaresque memory one would really expect from a childhood memory of the Renaissance Festival. Perhaps I should have remembered this memory more clearly when I ventured to the event this past week.

After walking around for a bit and watching the obligatory joust competition, my friends and I decided to participate in the knife throwing game. The game was conducted in a small booth, with a circular wooden target at the far end. At the near end, the booth was partitioned into four sections, so that four individuals could throw knives at the same time.

A thin unctuous-looking fellow dressed as a peasant stood between the throwing platform and the targets, picking up the stray knives as I approached with a lady friend of mine. He looked up at me, disinterestedly, and then turned his eyes towards my friend. A perceptible smile crawled onto his lips as he set the knives in front of us.

"So," another one of the participants asked. "What do you get if you win?"

"Well," the peasant answered. "You get a free beer. But for you," he said while turning to my friend. "You get a special prize that I will give to you later."

"What," I blurted reflexively. "My foot up your ass?"

He turned his peasant stare in my direction before answering dryly, "If you're into that kind of thing I suppose," before walking to the corner of the booth.

With effort, I managed to resist the urge to throw the knife into the face of the peasant and turned towards the target as newspaper headlines like "Upset Festival Patron Kills Peasant!" ran through my head.

Unfortunately, this interaction turned out to be the rule; not the exception, as I first proceeded to get into an argument with the condescending peasant at the axe throwing booth, followed by an altercation which resulted in me once again fantasizing about killing a peasant with a medieval weapon.

By the end of the day I was irritated, disgusted, and fatigued by all that had transpired. I realized that the Renaissance Festival isn't a happy time, spent interacting with wizards and knights. Rather, it is a bunch of drifters and heroin addicts dressed up like peasants, yelling rude things to you and your friends while a strange mix of Goths and Dungeons&Dragons fanatics wander around.

Don't make the same mistake I did. Save your ten bucks and just go rent Braveheart.

Addendum: On May 1, I received an e-mail from one of the guys I wrote about above. It read:

Thanks. You brought a tear to our eyes. No one has ever written about us before. Tell all your friends about us. By the way the Star throwing guy is upset because he is by far the rudest of us, and he never got to insult you.

Nigel the knife thrower

Harry J. Marble the Axe thrower

Kyle the Star thrower. ( he's gay )

You think you don't make a difference in this world, but to know we ruined one jackasses day, makes it all worth it. See ya next year.

I have to admit that's pretty funny. It's almost enough to make me want to go back next year.