Why Does Pedophilia Sound Like "Pet and Feel Ya?"

I know, I know. I let you know that I've been hired as a carnie (carni? how precisely does one spell something that isn't actually a word? carni looks like shorthand for carnivore, something I also am, but is far less interesting then a ride operator, unless of course being a carnivore included actual hunting and pouncing...or if I was both a hunting carnivore and a carnival worker, feasting upon the unsuspecting children...wow, anyway...) and then I don't update again for what I'm sure what must feel like forever. The thing is, nothing's happened yet. I had to sit through a very generic four hour orientation last weekend, the kind that emphasizes that we constantly think about what the customer wants, and then direct them to the Guest Services building (which I was told over twenty times was located by the ferris wheel next to the carousel), because apparently they're the only ones capable of answering questions (or media should we, as humble ignorant ride operators be bombarded by questioning anchor men and women wannabes about the mysterious construction that plagues the west end of the park, or what it's like to work in a theme park that was at one point filled with iconic Minnesotan figures but is now littered with Spongebob and Dora the Explorer, like anyone really cares...). I have training both tomorrow and Friday, so I'll be sure to keep you updated.

So I'm sick of this happening. During orientation I met this attractive female who was sitting through the same process to start her job of cashier in the same park as myself. We chatted, we smiled, and I asked where she went to school. She replied with the name of a prominent hyphenated name high school in the twin city area (I'd like to make it known that it was not the same hyphenated name high school I went to, thus preventing me from already establishing her age). I'm twenty years old, and I've been told I look a little older, but I still have these moments when I'm out and about where I notice a good looking woman and am then instantly hit by my mind saying, "hold up, that's a high schooler." Maybe my ability to judge age is slipping, maybe it's because humans are maturing faster and as such blending what used to be the obvious lines between what level education you have completed, maybe it's because I'm still at the age where dating someone over three years younger than you is taboo, or maybe it's because males are always stereotypically attracted to high school girls. (I would say maybe it's because high schoolers are showing so much damn cleavage nowadays, but that would make it seem like I'm against it, which my manhood informs me I am not.)

I went to a hip-hop festival last weekend where this scenario occurred, well more than once. By this point, I actually appreciated the girl whose t-shirt was meant for the emcee of headliner Atmosphere and read, "Slug, I'll be legal in 2 years" and had her phone number inscribed on the back. As Dos Equis (the pen name for the man formerly known on this blog as Otte) said, at least she's honest.

(I have a habit of nicknaming my friends, something I've integrated into this blog. On one hand, it's to keep an element of anonymity [although I'm sure almost of the readers of this blog know me and the people I'm talking about already], but it's also to keep my creative juices flowing. I've had to come up with nicknames for people solely because I was going to mention them here. It's interesting, I think)

That same festival has me thinking about commercialism/consumerism, but I think I'll save that for a later post. There are dishes to be done.