I scanned the list of attractions — chainsaw carving (of timber) and auto shows among them — all of which seemed mercifully more humane than this one.
At 1 pm, it was 95 degrees and the sunshine was relentless. An ant crept slowly down my spine — no, it was just perspiration.
Why, exactly, was I here? From my climate-controlled office in New York City's Financial District, spending opening day at the biggest state fair in the US seemed a delightful experience. I was headed to Dallas anyway, for a conference: How could I not seize the opportunity?
In the days leading up to the fair, I told multiple people about my plans to visit. Everyone wanted to know: Was I going alone? (Yes.) Did I often travel by myself? (More or less first-timer.) Had I ever been to Texas? (No; lifelong New Yorker here.) Did I like barbecue? (Vegetarian.) Then ... why was I going? (Adventure?)
The roughly six hours I spent at the fair proved exhausting and exhilarating. At one point, I wandered dehydrated over to a concession stand selling cold water bottles, only to learn that each one cost eight coupons (the equivalent of $4).
"Eight coupons!" I shouted, in my best rendition of a Take-No-Crap New Yorker. "That's a ripoff!"
The proprietor looked at me and smirked. "Lady," he said, "you're at the State Fair."