This passage may entail a bit of hyperbole but it follows a factual set of circumstances.

 I came across an article this morning describing the Christmas craft fair held at the empty mall last weekend.

That wasn’t in and of itself unusual, what was odd is that we were there, at that exact same spot the night before this alleged craft fair and there was nothing.. I mean nothing going down. The place appeared haunted in fact. No lights, no wreaths, no signs, just a large cavernous building hosting a shuttered Great Clips and a stubborn little Bath & Body Works, a flickering glow in a few acres of dark mall.

We were there because in my confused and vulnerable Black Friday frenzy, I decided J.C. Penney might yet be lurking inside, even though they actually closed that down before we moved here. I went and peered in the glass. Dark. Eerie. If the fortune telling machine from ‘Big’ had been in there, it wouldn’t have been surprising.

The ensuing craft fair was not even a whisper on the breeze (or a flyer on the door). And yet the local news has PICTURES of the event in full thrum 24 hrs later.

They kept it a big ass secret. And that’s not the first time.

Last year we had an address on Snake River Drive for the Episcopalian Bake Off and Craft Fair, but despite driving frustrated oblongs up and down the road, the address we had appeared not to exist. 

We stopped at a gas station to ask but the woman behind the counter just looked us up and down and finally said we better ask Leroy.

I figured Leroy was the manager but he turned out to be a customer sitting next to the window in the shitty plastic seats with a cup and two open containers of chaw laid out before him. His hands and face looked like those of an entity forged in craggy stone and  he was staring into the middle distance with a frown. I lost my nerve a little, but Chris went up and asked about the fair. 

Despite Chris initiating, Leroy directed all of his communications to me in the booming voice of a stone Solomon. He wanted to know who had sent us.

“Um, Debbie…behind the counter? She thought you might know where to find this place.”

“Debbie Keaner or Debbie Munroe?” Leroy rumbled majestically.

“Um, i donno, she’s right over there… behind the counter?” I pointed helpfully.

“I see, I see…” Leroy said without looking, then he chawed for a bit, and spit. “I dont attend church functions. They don’t do me no good.”

“Well this is more of a crafter’s fair, but we can’t find the address…” Chris read it off to him.

“Oh, that’s up yonder-” said Leroy, suddenly growing animated, and he proceeded to dash off a list of instructions breathless in their scope, and remarkably lacking a single recognizable land mark.

We attempted to clarify, but got the same list of instructions and around that time we made like good Americans, thanked him, gave up and went home to watch television.

So much for that.

This week we couldn’t find the holiday deals at Big Lots and after some back and forth with a rather cagey employee determined that the ads flyer next to the store door was just a front and the *real* flyer could be obtained at the checkout desk.. -if- you knew the secret handshake, that is.

I dont know what the deal is but a couple of greenhorns can get themselves in a lot of trouble asking too many questions. Clearly Santa has some kind of clandestine network at play here in the lawless west, and who are we to try and ferret out the elusive elf? I will leave hand made  goods and other dark arts to the shadowy realm of the episcopalians. No good ever came of nosing about where you dont belong.

-A