The Shrill of It All

The latest roller coaster has warning signs all over. Do not board if you are not tall enough, not feeling well, suffer from emotional disorders, have heart trouble, might be pregnant, have taken an erectile dysfunction drug, suffer from hysterical fits, have TMJ, plates in your head, had a lung collapse recently, suffer from migraines, are a little bit hungry, have pigeon toes, a weak chin, didn't sleep well last night, or have issues with your mother, or bad credit.

It is amazing how long the line is.

Seriously. It even warns you that the contents of your pockets, no matter how deep the pocket, will be separated from you by the G-force and will be irretrievably lost, probably clunk someone on the head rendering them unconscious, and BTW, the park is not responsible for your damn iPhone.

Hil and I wait in line and try to guess at what the coaster is like from the faces of the riders walking limply from the ride. It is hard to tell. Some seem exhilarated. Some are pale and shaking. Some are laughing and high-five-ing.

We look at the photo booth at the pictures snapped at the perfect spot in the monstrous first drop. The people all seem to be doing the customary screaming their heads off. But there is something odd. 

The riders are seated in rows of four, and in every picture, the people on the ends of the rows seem, well, crooked. Limp. Like floppy little babies strapped too loosely into car seats by neurotic mothers who do not want to squish them, even though a little moderate squishing would save their lives in a car crash.

It makes me wonder. But only for a few minutes.

Soon, Hil and I are in the warm up circle. Next to board. She is panicking.

I ask her what she is afraid of. What is the worst that could happen?

She replies, very earnestly, that we could die. 

Concealing my laughter I explain that at least a thousand people have ridden this very ride just today, and so far no one has left on a stretcher or in a body bag, so odds are, we won't either.

We board. She panics that I am on the end and not in the middle with her. But it is the way the seating works. She freaks out momentarily when I leave the seat to take our shoes to be stored while we ride, at the suggestion of the ride attendant.  She is suddenly convinced that something awful is about to happen to our feet. I tell her there is nothing to worry about, at least she has a floor under her feet. Being on the end, my feet are dangling. I have to admit it is a little unnerving.

And she is panicking that she can't secure her lap bar. Frantic that the ride will take off and she'll be on the loose. No such luck, the same attendant who helped me ditch our shoes has made sure that she is safe in her moorings.

Good thing. The lap bar is the only thing restraining you in the seat. Your upper body is left to thrash and flail at the whims of the ride.

And then we are off. A 26 feet per second rise, followed by a forceful 75 mph astonishingly steep straight drop that twists sharply at the bottom to rise dramatically at the end only to corkscrew Earthward before flying high into a loop.

Hil is screaming things that can't be repeated in polite company. I am trying to remain in my seat.  I am not so much thrilled by the thrill ride as I am driven to survive it. It is like being in a bad car accident.

It finally screeches to a halt. Hil is sobbing. I feel like I have been beaten about the head and torso.  Neither of us is walking very steadily.

We descend the stairs together. I am holding Hil close and convincing her that she did actually live and is not actually injured (though I am not sure the same can be said for me). We stop at the photo booth and immediately burst into laughter.

We will not be purchasing this photo either. In the picture, snapped at precisely the right moment, Hil is contorting her face in horror movie fashion. You can almost hear the screaming.

I am probably screaming too, but you'd never know.

Being on the end, feet dangling, and nothing to stabilize myself, the force of the drop and the sharp turn had evidently thrashed me wildly to one side. Only my legs and torso are in the picture. My shoulders and entire head are outside of the frame.  I am headless. It is hilarious.

Hil is laughing through tears. I think we'll survive long enough to tell the tale to Pat. We decide what we need is dinner, and maybe something gooey for dessert before we decide how to close out the evening. We will be here from gate open to gate closed, and I want the kids to soak in every moment.