Yes, I Admit IT.  I Worked at a Renn Fair(e)

For the uninitiated I will attempt to explain.

Most people, if poled (or tortured), will admit to having attended a Renaissance Fair(e) [some jackass, motherfucker started adding on the “e”] or Renn Fair for short.

And if you are reading this, I KNOW you have, so stop pretending.  You’ve put on that stupid hooded robe that hangs in your closet, or donned the chainmail that you spent hours sitting on your ass bending little metal strips into circles, or strapped yourself into a corset and gotten into your car and driven out to some huge field in the middle of hickville to slap down your 15-30 bucks to be allowed entrance into “a town from the Middle Ages,” which somehow sells items that are made of spandex and stainless steel for prices waaaaaay too high, but you’re drunk, so you dig into your “pouch” and slap down your Benjamins.

Now beyond this humiliation of actually enjoying this little mental game of commerce and history are us poor souls who have actually worked Renn Fairs as actors.

I’ll admit that I used to love these damn things.  I loved RPGs (role playing games like Dungeons and Dragons…column forthwith), and I slipped into my robe and grabbed my “walking stick” (a large tree branch that I stripped of bark) and went and spent my money on Pewter figures, candles, and necklaces (‘cause you are so damn cool if you wear a demon skull on top of a pitchfork).

So when I was hit by the performing bug, it seemed a fantastic idea to go and perform with my local Renn Fair, the Maryland Renaissance Faire (bastards added the “e” recently).

Now, I am 17 at this time…  I’ve won some local awards for my performing, and I have been trained by a state recognized Shakespearean scholar.  I figure I’m a pro.  I also figure the Renn Fair would be a great place to be…  I loved it, and this will be one of my first paying gigs.

Holy Mary Mother of God.

How to describe the humiliation?  How to tell you what you see, the degradation of your soul working one of these dirt infested, incestuous pits of despair?

How to describe to you that there are so goddamn many kids running around losing their virginity, getting drunk for the first time, pissing on tents, smoking pot, dropping mind altering drugs, staying up for days at a time, living out rock and roll lifestyles all the while being the most SOCIALLY INEPT HUMAN BEINGS ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH.

I fit right in.

And yet I didn’t.  Because I did none of these things.  At 17, I had just come out of a two-and-a-half year relationship with a woman who I thought I was going to marry.  I had never done drugs, or drank, and was saving myself for marriage.  I did none of the above things before or during the Fair.  (I have since done…  Well, read other columns for my exploits.)

And yet I fit right in.

These people’s sense of desperation, the reveling in the fact that society… big, evil society was not present.

Here, they could be

kings,

queens,

alpha males or

sexy, desired women.

These were my people…  They were (and are) totally fucked up, escapist, socially decrepit human beings, but they were (and are) beautiful.

This was their debauchery.  Under these robes, armor (mental and physical), and long, long dresses were hard-ons for

each other,

for life,

for escape

…the Renaissance Faire.

Let’s get a little into my “job”.  As an actor, you are expected to walk the “street” and interact with the customers.  These people have paid to stroll into the past and see the people of this “village.”  So you create some flimsy character based on some tiny bit of knowledge that you actually have of some worker from back then, and you wander around engaging the lovely folk.

What this actually amounts to is 8 hours of improv with people who would rather pay 6 bucks for three chances to chuck a “throwing axe” at a balloon for a stuffed Strawberry Shortcake doll.

OR you spend your day

trying to AVOID the psychotic, plastic sword wielding guy who showed up in a chain mail thong and nothing else.

It’s hard not to get bitter.

Every year someone gets fired for being to “abrasive” with the customers.

But it’s hard.

When, on the inside, you are fighting with your own self-respect.

This is a paying gig.

Maybe your first.

You want to do a good job.

But it is so damn hot.  The friggin’ tights you are wearing are still wet from when you tried to wash them in the pump last night because they were starting to get a little fungusy, and you haven’t showered because the water draw was too much, and the shower shut down right before you got there.

And the chain mail thong guy has decided that YOU are his favorite character and won’t leave you alone.

So finally, your one true acting moment of the day comes… your stage show.  You have a script, and you are performing on an outdoor stage (a REAL acting challenge even for the best of them).

So you suit up in your rooster outfit and go out there and knock ‘em dead.

I was Chanticleer from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales… a fucking rooster.

But I was a funny rooster.

I have pictures…  Maybe I’ll show them to you.

I also learned stage combat here for the first time.  I was very good.  By the end of the run, I was choreographing fights in the street and getting huge crowds.

I loved that gig.  I hated that gig.  I am that gig.

Never, ever work a Renn Fair(e).