The Other Person's Shoes

     Last week I represented the Pennsylvania Center for Dairy Excellence at their booth at Ag Progress Days, located in Pennsylvania Furnace, PA. This is a three day-event where Agricultural vendors can interact with the public and explain or demonstrate their products and services.  Approximately 45,000 people attend over the course of the event, with about 400 exhibitors. All of this is spread across what I estimate to be one hundred acres, with exhibitors using tents or buildings as protection from the elements.

     As you would expect, parking the cars for these many people requires some management. Exhibitors can obtain a parking pass which enables them to park close to their booth, while the general public is restricted to lots further away. A fair amount of walking is involved with making the rounds.

     I always enjoy being there, because I get to see many of my former dairy clients as they pass by our booth. Actually, it is more often that I interact with their children, who have taken over the farm since the times 25 years ago when I was in veterinary practice. Sometime parents and children come by together, and we reminisce. 

     This year I attended on Thursday, which tends to have fewer visitors than other days. Although the event does not officially end until 6:00, by 2:00 few people are coming by our booth, and we often pack it up and return home. This year a fierce thunderstorm took place around that time, and when it ended, the crowd was very sparse. My co-worker, Allen Hess, and I decided to call it a day.

     Allen had been delayed arriving due to traffic, and when he got there at 9:15, he was denied access to park exhibitor parking, and thus parked with the general public and walked in. This presented a problem now that we wanted to pack up, because he needed to put the booth material in his car to return it to storage. As my car was right next to the booth, I suggested that we put it in my car and take it to his. We proceeded with this plan. However, when we got to the passage from exhibitor parking to the general lot, a uniformed lady told us we could not leave the exhibit area until 4:00. It was now 2:30.

     Allen and I were incredulous and asked the reason behind this edict. She explained that because of the large crowds, cars were not allowed to exit the exhibit area between the hours of 9:00 and 4:00. We looked over that area, noting that there was no crowd now. She was adamant. I told her I needed to leave, and that I had not been informed of this rule. She said that our organization had signed an agreement that included this condition. She did say that Allen could bring his vehicle close to where we stood, and that we could move the material from my car to his, so that at least he could leave. I would have to remain until four.

      Once we made the transfer, I approached her again. “Are you really going to detain me here against my will?” I asked. “Your organization agreed to these terms,” was her reply. I was dubious of this, as I was quite sure I would have been told if this were true. I pondered how to proceed, realizing that worst case scenario was I would read a book until four, but I much preferred to get on the road.

     There were other exits from the exhibit area and I decided to try my luck at one of those. I thought it ironic that my car was about one hundred yards from a public highway, with only a closed gate and a determined lady blocking me, yet I could not leave. By contrast, I could drive about the exhibit area, with the few remaining visitors, at will.  Yet this policy was in place to protect the pedestrians.

     I proceeded to another exit, to find it blocked with orange cones. Another uniformed person stood by. I lowered my window and said, “I really need to leave.” “Pointing to my left, he said “Go down this lane, and you will find an open exit.” I did so and was soon on my way home. 

     As I drove, I reflected on the anger and frustration I had experienced upon hearing that I could not leave. That caused me to think of how it must be for people who are arrested and jailed without cause. For many of them, an hour and a half are not at stake, but days or weeks or months or years. I felt that for a few minutes, I had been in their shoes. It was very uncomfortable.