Almost Ate a Bug

One year at the fair that I was going to eat a bug. There was an exterminator's booth in the not-fun part of the fair, the part where local businesses try to get you to pay attention to them by offering free stuff. I like free stuff, so I'm one of the few people who actually attends that part of the fair. It's better than the 6 or 7 booths that are people trying to sell various emu-derived compounds and foodstuffs.

Once, the U-Haul people gave out little model U-Haul truck kits, made out of heavy paperboard. Those were fun to assemble, and I glued a couple on my ceiling. Usually, though, it was key chains and magnets.

The exterminator's booth was standard -- pamphlets, pictures, and a couple guys from the store standing there, trying to stay awake. In a clear plastic box was displayed a smallish dung beetle, long dead and skewered with a pin. Under the beetle on the pin, like an alien kebab, was a folded $20 bill. A sign said something to the effect of "EAT THIS BUG AND WIN $20." Matie and I looked at the bug -- small, dried up, compact -- and promptly went to the Telecommunications of Future tent outside. We used the free telephones and called the Video Café, an establishment owned and frequented by friends of ours.

"Hey, Bill," I said, "how many friends of ours are in the shop?"

I should point out that I didn't mean "friends of ours" as opposed to "people we hate." I meant "friends of ours" as opposed to "regular customers who actually rent things."

"About a dozen," answered Bill, "and they're all eating pizza and watching Ryan play Super Mario Kart."

"Okay, could you take a quick vote as to whether I should eat a bug or not? If I do, I get $20."

Equipped with the specifics, Bill left for a couple of minutes.

"They want to know if the bug is alive, and what kind of bug it is."

"Um, it's a dung beetle, about the size of half a Pink Pearl eraser, and it's been dead for a long time. I think it came from a scientific supply store. It's probably just exoskeleton by now."

Another pause.

"They don't think you should."

So of course, Matie and I decided we would eat the bug. We stopped at a refreshments cart and bought a large, overpriced bottle of water to wash the bugs down.

We got to the booth and looked at the bug display some more, hanging back enough so we wouldn't trigger the attendants' freak radar.

Matie voiced her misgivings first. "What if that's their only bug, and nobody else has volunteered? Maybe they don't really let you eat it. Maybe they just send your name to some government bureau."

"Nah!" I was pretty sure of myself, "They probably have a box full of 'em, from some school supply company."

We were about to sign up when a young Hispanic man and his date inquired about the bug-eating. We hung back and eavesdropped while the particulars were explained to them.

As it turned out, signing up didn't mean you ate the bug right there. No, you had to come back on the last day of the fair, Sunday, pay another admission, and then meet these guys on stage where they would pick ONE of the applicants at random to eat the bug on TV.

Matie and I decided not to sign up. Sure, we'd eat a bug on TV. We'd even ask our parents to tape it. But we weren't coming back to the fair for a lousy $20.

I suppose it was also likely that if we had a couple of days' cooling off period, we would think better of bug eating. If you're offering people money to do something disgusting or stupid, it's probably best not to let them think it over too long.

Matie and I shared an order of curly fries instead. They were probably equally disgusting, but without the sense of accomplishment we'd have gotten from eating a bug.