You know where I stand on people watching. I love it like I love my pets. It’s fun and entertaining and you can always be assured of seeing something on or about a person that your eyes just won’t believe. Gotta love the county fair circuit.
Peter and I were selling candles at the Richmond Fair. Even though we were inside the curling arena, we could still hear the announcements coming at regular intervals over the tinny loudspeaker system. Well, you could hear them when the pig races weren’t running outside.
Saturday night, Peter heard an announcement that someone was going to be pulling a cement truck with a rope.
Not some THING, some ONE.
I heard snatches of conversation that referred to the ‘World’s Strongest Man’ competitors. Muscles and feats of strength? Someone pass me the smelling salts.
And we were going to be treated to our very own display. One man, one harness, one rope, one cement truck. Oh yeah, I was going to be in the front row.
At eight o’clock, the crowd began forming in two lines on either side of the cement truck. Peter and I were front and center.
Then he came. This muscled, tanned, tights-wearing strong guy strutted down the parted centre of the crowd, tossing souvenirs to screaming kids. The excitement was building. You could feel it as the cement truck driver climbed in the cab.
I secretly hoped Mister Strong Guy would have to move the truck when it was in ‘Park’, then I would be suitably impressed, but was told that the fun started in neutral on that big ol’ truck.
A huge rope was tethered to a small pickup truck. This was to be used as strong guy’s leverage to tow the cement truck from its seemingly mired position on the asphalt. I had doubts that baby was gonna move even one little ol’ inch.
Watching Mister Muscle had many of us women all a-twitter. He was really going to move that giant metal beast, all by his lonesome self? I could almost see the hankies being dropped as favours for our hero.
The tether rope tightened. Goose bumps popped out on my arms. Mister Muscle’s veins popped out in sharp contrast to his tanned skin as he gave a big holler and started to pull that cement mixing truck with every bit of strength he had.
The crowd started cheering. We all wanted him to do it, to be the strongest man in the . . . WAIT. What’s THIS? Who are those other two guys behind him on the harness? Why are they pulling the harness rope? Isn’t he supposed to do this alone?
As the truth became apparent to every woman watching, the cement truck moved forward a few inches. Mister Muscle still squirmed and sweated, but so did the guys helping him pull that truck. And the disappointment we all felt was almost overwhelming.
Though the men watching were quick to defend Mister Muscle, there were enough women that saw the same thing I did, while muttering things that Mister Muscle probably wouldn’t have appreciated.
Even in sharp disappointment, I loved watching the show. That Mister Muscle believes he can pull that truck is a testament to one thing.
He’s obviously got too much time on his hands.
