Ruminations, etc..

(For the past two decades of my life, I’ve participated, with varying levels of commitment, at both the Arizona and Southern/Northern California Renaissance Faires.  I’m going to start chronicling some of the stories here.  It’ll be sort of like Get in the Van, but lamer. Please note, the names have been changed to protect all parties.)

You won't look at Cheetos the same way again...

Okay, so when I was 17 (it was a very good year), there was a flood of SCA types into the AZ Ren Faire.  Most civilians don’t know this, but there’s a fair amount of animosity between the SCA and the Rennies.  I have no idea why there’s a feud, but I’m sure the reason is stupid. I never really got it, but that didn’t stop me from joining in the hate.  I just went with the crowd and fell in with my tribe. It was just like Munich in ’39, man!

Anyway, there was this guy who called himself Mongo.  He probably told me his real name, but I forgot it.   Besides the event that I’m going to tell you about, he really wasn’t memorable.

Mongo  hung out with the front gate crew.  That’s the crew that takes attendance and ticket stubs.  They were really clique-y and hung out with each other in various trailers, including one which we used to call the Playboy mansion. More on that in a future installment.

As you might have guessed, the last weekend is usually the wildest.   All sorts of substances are ingested, people hook up, and goodbyes are said.  It’s sort of like a combination of Animal House and the last episode of M*A*S*H.  Well, that year, the last Saturday night I was sleeping in my tent  and Mongo and his crowd were sitting around a nearby campfire talking loudly.

I was in my tent, doing a slow burn, listening to Mongo and his crew become drunken idiots.  Suddenly, I heard Mongo’s deep scratchy voice say, “Mongo like Southern Comfort and Cheetos.” This annoyed me.  I was around that clown Mongo for the entire run of fair and I had enough of his nonsense.

I yelled an epithet at Mongo, insinuating that Mongo prefers the company of men, and told him to shut the fuck up.  We yelled back and forth, exchanging insults.  Mongo then came and rattled my tent.

Periodically during that run of faire, my friend Jerry would crash in my tent.  Usually without letting me know about it ahead of time.  I had no problem with that, since he is a good friend and all, but it was weird coming to my tent and finding a sleeping man in there.  Anyway, that night was one of those nights.

When Mongo rattled my tent, it woke Jerry up.  This pissed Jerry off to no end because I think he was either a) really tired, b) sleeping something off or c) both.   Jerry, pissed off and grunting in anger, pulled himself out of my tent and the following exchange happened.  I am not making this up.

Jerry: What the hell’s the matter with you?  Can’t a person take a sleep around here?

Mongo: Your friends are fruit loops.

Jerry: I don’t care if they’re Frosted Flakes! Don’t mess with my tent when I’m sleeping.

Me: Your tent?

Jerry: Shut the fuck up!

Eventually, security came by and told them to shut up.  All was well. I fell into a deep sleep.

Do I have to explain why this is here?

The next morning I woke up and got out of my tent.  Across the way, I saw Mongo, wearing a white, fluffy Ren Faire pirate shirt and steadying himself over a trash can.  There was a wide orange stain that started up at his collar and went all the way down his shirt.  Upon seeing me he sneered and I started laughing.  His crew were shaking their fists and swearing oaths at him.  I could barely stand up I was laughing so hard.

But, seeing my enemy covered in orange puke wasn’t the best part.  Oh no.  As Mongo upchucked again, I saw some of his crew pulling out stained foam mattresses. Normally tan, these mattresses were now covered, stem to stern, in thick, goopy orange liquid.

Mongo eventually got control of himself and went to go take a shower and get cleaned up.  While he was gone, I got ready and went over to his campsite to get the dirt.  Apparently, around 2:00 AM, Mongo started projectile vomiting all over the trailer.  This one guy, Carl I think, got the worst of it. He looked like Bill Murray in Ghostbusters after being slimed.  I didn’t have the guts to look inside, but from what I was told, there was stuff all over the walls.  And, to make matters worse, I also heard that Mongo might have had a double blow-out. But that was never confirmed.  Mostly cause I wanted to drop the subject as soon as I heard about it.

That was Mongo’s first and last year at the Faire.