Objects of Impermanence

Caravan at the Marin County Fair

Immediately after exiting the freeway and turning onto a quiet suburban road, I wonder if the pop-up carnival is in fact real.

I hold onto faith, though, because we had double-checked online and it seemed to be an actual event.

Silently, I peer out the windows of Shayla’s sedan to see a well-groomed park with a peaceful pond, contrasted with a state prison in the backdrop.

“Where are we?”

A minute later, a ferris wheel and vendors selling light-up balloons and trinkets of every kind outside of the parking lot come into the picture.

After purchasing tickets at the makeshift entryway, I consider how long this setup has been here. There is a swirling ferris wheel, a caterpillar-themed roller coaster, a merry-go-round, and dozens of other contraptions to launch, swing, and bounce people around for their amusement. For people who prefer to stay on their two feet, there are carnival games that include throwing, punching, magnet fishing, and everything in between. 

And, of course, there is a large pop-up food stand that could be multiple stories tall, drawing attention from anywhere in the carnival.

With 28 collective tickets in hand, we wonder: How does this place come to be? How is it possible that something like a carnival ride that propels people hundreds of feet in the air was assembled just a few days ago? After all, the carnival had only just arrived on Friday. How did they do this? Where does the equipment go when they are done? How do they recruit so many employees for just this weekend? How do they know what to do?

I consider how this was a reflection of humanity’s beautiful triumphs — the brightly-colored  collection of lights, paints, and posters. Ginormous metal objects, intricately constructed to perform dangerous operations yet in an artful and seemingly safe way — as well as its inability to establish sustainable permanence.

We speak to Jenna, who operates the water gun race. To our surprise, Jenna is a marketing director for the company that owns the carnival games. She explains that the company is family run, and currently on its third generation of owners. We were curious about how a carnival game company operates when the one we are visiting only lasts a few days. “We set everything up from scratch and tear it down… everything that you see here is packed up into a few trucks and we move it all by truck,” Jenna explains.

Curious about the logistics of operation, Miranda inquires about how many people it takes to make this possible. “Currently we have about 100 people employed and by the summer we have 250 because it is our high season and we do alot of large fairs along the west coast.”

Jenna presents herself as a happy, free-spirited person — it makes sense that she would enjoy a job like this, where she’s tasked with constant movement and amusement.

We leave our conversation with Jenna both amazed and puzzled.

Later, Miranda and I run into the owner’s son, Brandon. We’re happy to meet someone who knows the operations inside and out. He explains that he is the third generation of carnival game owners, and that his company supplies the games to carnivals and fairs like this across the West Coast. He informs us that their family business puts on 43 events per year; upon further inquiry, he tells us that they open on Thursday, close on Sunday, move, and repeat the same process the next week. Within the span of one week they bring upon, indulge in, and tear down a carnival for the creation of another.

Looking around at the arcade-sized games, I ask how they manage this and where the workers stay during this exodus. Brandon explains that most of the staff moves around with the company, living in either RVs or trailers: “Probably about 95% of our employees are on work visas from Mexico and South Africa. A lot of the people have been here for about 20 years, and now their kids are coming out.”

We ask Brandon what the employees do during the off-season — which he tells us was between October and February — and he responds: “the Dollar is a lot stronger than the Peso, so they come here they send money back to their families all year long and then most of them go home [during the off-season] and they relax… and party.” I consider how this relates to the state of the economy in Mexico, and whether workers really are happier relying on this migratory lifestyle for their livelihood. Why does this company rely on foreign labor? Is it simply cheaper or do they truly have decades long family-ties to their employees like they claim to?

“We are on the road for 8 months out of the year, starting in Indio by Coachella then the Bay Area and Seattle.” Despite the hectic schedule, he seems to love the lifestyle, explaining that there are no set hours and yet always something to do. 

He tells us how his family started the business, “my grandpa grew up [around the Del Mar Fair] and began hanging out with the carnies at a young age and then he grew up and ran away with the carnival. He thought he could do it better.” Ever since then, his family has owned a carnival games company. His father now runs the business, and now he follows in his footsteps.

We experience skips of bodily emotion: warmth, of the overhead lights’ color paint on my paper limbs; nostalgia, of the stuffed bear’s exchange of a parting glance; fear, of the caterpillar ride’s drop on each quick turn. 

I should treasure it all. For I am a temporal actor for the temporal scene. 

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Words: Sakeena Baxamusa

Photos: James Nguyen

Design: Sakeena Baxamusa