19 July 1998
I've decided that for the rest of July, I have to tell only Sidewalk Sales stories. I can't stand it. There are
too many itching to get out.
Of course, knowing how often I update, that may not be very many. But you really need to hear about The Town Club, where they have Tables For Ladies.
Later. That will be later. First, some background.
Saturday was Sidewalk Sales, the pinnacle event in McHenry's two-week extravaganza of summer goodness--Fiesta
Days. Allegedly, people leave their homes for Sidewalk Sales to shop all the bargains around town, but no one I
know does that, not even my friend's moms. The reason most people in McHenry go out during Sidewalk Sales is for
quarter beers.
On the last Saturday during Fiesta Days, Riverside Drive is closed for most of the day, and right there at the corner of Riverside Drive and Route 120, Foxhole Pizza sells plastic cups of beer for a quarter. Now, the surrounding area is ripe with bars, and there are plenty of deals going on all over town, what with everyone in an uproar over Fiesta Days and all. But most of the revelers cram themselves as close to the Foxhole and the quarter beer stand as they can get. In fact, the moment that you catch sight of the activity on the south end of Riverside Drive, your heart is sure to leap...from anticipation or horror, depending on how you feel about quarter beers and a lot of moist McHenryians.
So on Saturday, Colleen and I were standing in the vacant parking lot used as the home base for the quarter beer stand. It was about 1:15 p.m., the crowd was nearing its peak, and there were probably 120 people standing in or around the beer line. 90 degrees in the sun. Both of our faces were shiny with perspiration. Out on the street, the Fireball 8 was playing...elderly men who arrive, play jazzy horns on, and leave on an antique fire engine...imagine the hysteria that ensues when they arrive...and I was keeping an eye on an ex-boyfriend who is too horrifying to describe, lest he get any closer to us and acknowledgments have to be made. We were pressed tightly together, moving only slightly forward as at least ten people at a time reached the front of the line and tried to get the attention of five beer distributors, shoving sweaty dollar bills at them and plunging their fingers and thumbs into cups of beer so they could be carried four at a time through the mass of Sidewalk Salers. It was hot. Lawdy, it was hot.
"My lid," I told Colleen, indicating my dark-brown-or-maybe-black-hair, "is going to burst into flames."
She wiped the moisture from her upper lip. "I can feel sweat running down my back."
"Wipe under your eyes," I told her, staring at them through her sunglasses. "It's pretty shiny in there."
"I could give a shit." she told me.
A few more seconds passed. An elderly woman cut in front of me, nearly tripping over a discarded beer cup. I began to smell the body odor from a nearby man wearing black jeans and a black leather vest.
"If psychiatrists were to study this town today..." I began.
"Shut up," she said. " Just shut up. I don't want to know."