Sure, the Italian Festival is about paisans of all ages eating, enjoying rides, trying to win basically unwinnable games, eating, listening to vaguely familiar music, seeing fellow Westporters while wondering where everyone else came from, and then having food.
But some folks have to work — and we’re not talking about the hard-working Sons of Italy volunteers (and others) who make it happen every year. Who ever thinks about — or really sees — the carnies?
Early on the 1st day, this woman waited for customers. The stuffed animal waited to be won.
Elvis came to Luciano Park. Long live The King.
This woman was selling Italy hats, t-shirts and trinkets. I asked if she was Italian. She said no. Then again, at the Italian Fest, everyone is.
Damn! I forgot to ask the psychics who's going to win on Sunday: Spain or the Netherlands?
This guy (left) had one of the toughest jobs around: standing knee-deep in water, playing with heavy kid-filled ballons, unloading them, then blowing them up for the next customer.
This dude was working hard too. Although the Surgeon General does not approve of the message.
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