Return of the Flies

OK, Morocco made me appreciate cleanliness and lack of flies. There were so many flies in Ras L’ma it was scary – I remember a big piece of concrete literally covered in flies. I remember flies at the souk, flies in the eyes of little kids and donkeys.

And I swore I’d never complain about the occasional U.S. fly again. After all, it’ll be dead in a few days anyway, right?

Well, I am reneging on that oath and whining about them.

This week, Hope Village had the opportunity to receive a portion of the gate proceeds of the Bakken Oil conference. Half of the $5 admission fee is being split between us, the Dakota Boys’ and Girls’ Ranch and the Williston Salvation Army. This is a good thing, of course, and I am appreciative. Thank you, oil people.

In return, we were given the opportunity to have a booth at the conference. This seemed easy enough, although the email directions started getting very, very confusing and detailed about two weeks ago.

Got all that settled and finally, the three-day conference has begun. I’m sitting, “Breakfast Club”-style, in one room for eight hours a day for three days as I type this. Exciting it’s not.

The first morning went by fast enough as I was off discovering what funky booths they have at oil conferences. Would you believe AP is here as a sponsor? I had a nice chat with Michelle Morgante, who is either the bureau chief or the news editor of the Dakotas, but she’s based in Minneapolis or something like that.

Of course, she had been through Detroit, though it was in 1991. She knew a couple of people I worked with, like Jim Irwin and Paula Froke. She was kind of astounded that I knew where some were and what they were up to these days. (Hi Bree!)

I also got an AP bag, which was kind of cool since most of my AP going away package got lost on the shipment back from Morocco. I need another bag like Rally needs more fleas, but I like it.

So the morning was pleasant enough, but the afternoons were just brutal. The nice little spot they gave the three charities is smack in the sun on a sunny, 94-degree day. Possibly Tuesday was the hottest we had all year, and man, it was just like roasting in an oven.

But what was worse was the flies. They just swarmed. I’ve no idea why, but they were everywhere. Just five and six on my feet at any one time.

And even though every single booth but Hope Village’s was giving away some little trinket, there was not a fly swatter to be found. I brought my reporter’s notebook and looked like a crazy woman, just whacking away at the air. I think in all the spasms, I maybe got one. Maybe.

The second day, someone found a giveaway fly swatter.

At these exhibitions, everyone gives away something. There’s a lot of candy and a lot of pens, neither of which I need. There are some funky stuff out there, let me tell you. Toothpick dispensers, fidgets shaped like chickens and oil rigs, golf tees and more.

We three charity booths apprehended one fly swatter among us and on the third day I figured what the heck, I’d go get a fly swatter of my own. I’d gotten the name off the first one and looked up where it was so that I didn’t have to wander.

Well, I got there, and no fly swatter, save the one the absent booth-minder had left behind hit computer monitor, clearly intended for him. I couldn’t bear to steal it. No more fly swatters. Apparently that was a hot item at this show, where the flies were just insane.

But the guy did have another freebie. I thought it was a moist towelette and thought, wow, what a weird, weird freebie. And I picked it up to look at it.

And it wasn’t a moist towelette. It was a condom. Grape.

Given the choice between a condom and a fly swatter, in Minot at this conference, it’s just no contest. Fly swatter. Hands down. I don't even like grape.

I saw some lady wandering by, the kind of white trash people you see in Walmart at 3 a.m. She three bags she’d picked up as freebies, and each one was completely laden with freebies. I guess she got her money’s worth in coming here.

When she passed me by, I hid the one remaining T-shirt I had left. It was a medium, and she was NOT a medium, and I figured I’m not going to help her out in her pilfering. Heck, she reminded me of Frick and Frack from the Red Wings games, stealing media guides and everything else that wasn’t nailed down.

So she didn’t get a T-shirt and since she came on the third day, she didn’t get a fly swatter.

I wonder how many grape condoms she took.