The Days of the Pow-Wow

It felt like such a Midwest thing.  The Pow-Wow Days.  It's a term I would hear growing up.  Pow-wow.  People would use it to describe an event or a friendly gathering.  But all I want do is hold out my hand like a gun and go powpowpowpow.  I can't explain why.



If you live around here, it's a festival over the course of four days.  There is music, mostly a carnival, typical carnival food, and a few other miscellaneous areas.  Especially all the carnies.  On Saturday there was a parade, so we thought we should probably attend, just to check it out.  After all, we need to become locals.



After watching said parade, I'm not sure we want to be locals, at least not associated with the locals that we found ourselves standing next to.  In our defense, we were standing there first.  And we kept being pushed over as their group kept expanding.  They never actually asked us to move, but when someone stands on my foot and shoves against my purse, yeah, I'm going to move.  It kept happening.  And I kept moving.



They spoke inappropriately, including the teenager with them.  One of the guys came up to the group speaking about his prostate, just because.  As though this is a usual reference for him.  And not in that little-old-man-from-church kind of way, talking about his health ailments.  No, this was more like a, "I have to scratch my balls" announcement.  I instantly felt uncomfortable and that feeling continued until the parade was over, partially because I kept getting stepped on and pushed against, and partially because I can be a bit of an anti-social snob.



My husband used to say this was a Midwest behavior.  Not mine, but the people there at the parade.  Obviously it doesn't matter whether you're in The Midwest or the West Coast.  These people exist.  So do their "pow-wows" and inappropriate comments.  Regardless of where they live, there are going to people with a complete lack of regard for others.  They're going to shove their way through, speak terribly around other people's children, spit on the sidewalk as it splatters on you, and see absolutely nothing wrong with their behaviors.



It doesn't matter where you live.


Next time, we'll stand on the other side of the street.  And when we end up next to the same people, we'll move.  But I'll still take photos.  Because no matter where we live or who is standing beside me, that's what I do.