You Go Ahead, I'll Hold Your Coats and Bags

I hate rides. Not mustache rides, but your everyday, carnival, midway, amusement park rides. Now, I don't hate them because I want to hate them, I hate them because I actually physically hate them, have to hate them, forced to hate them because they hate me. My aversion to rides surprises most people, I guess it's incongruous with my free spirited personality, but I'm a ringer. Hate rides. Again, don't want to, have to. I've always been desperate to be one of those daredevils who gets on rides with reckless abandon, takes the bull by the horns (maybe runs with 'em), sky dives and jet skis all that exciting adventure crap. But I'm not. I'm the person who is not only scared shitless on any ride that goes like this (I'm now motioning left to right) or like this (I'm now motioning up and down) or this (I'm now motioning round and round) but even the baby roller coaster freaks me out and it goes in damn circle with one small "hill" which is more like a slope. Can't deal. Yet people don't want to hear it. They want me to like rides.

I blame it on an inner ear imbalance. I can't read in the car without feeling like I'm going to vomit, airplane turbulence gives me an anxiety attack, and people want me to get on a goddamned roller coaster? Please! People, I cannot. My mom says that even when I was a little kid and I begged to go on the Tilt-A-Whirl at Salem Willows, I'd end up burrowing my head into her abdomen the entire time. When the Junior High School class of 1983 went on the annual trip to that amusement park near Hampton Beach, NH and I was bullied into getting onto the roller coaster even though I knew I was waiting in a long line only to die, it was absolutely worse than I had prepared myself for. After when I was green and shaking did I squeak out an "I told you so..." and nobody gave a shit, they were onto the next ride. I believe I was also forced onto the Turkish Twist that day, the ride where it spins around so fast that the centrifugal force makes you stick to the sides and somebody pukes. And that rock n' roll ride where they blare the music really loud and you go forwards and backwards and round and round and round? Not a chance. But the cool kids? Always go on that ride, like bums on baloney, lovin' life, havin' the best time! And I'm holding the coats.

But I'll gladly hold the coats. Don't even get me started on that broken elevator Tower of Terror horseshit ride at Disney World. Once they drop you 250 feet a few times in the dark, they then have the balls to shoot you out of the thing 250 feet in the air and snap your picture, mid-ride. I knew we had to spend the $15 on the picture just so I'd have a keepsake of how terrified I looked. And also in the picture? A baby. On the ride. With a smile on it's face! A baby! My mother, father, sister? All fine. Me? I've got my eyes closed, mouth agape, pleading for my life, convinced it's my last ride. Not last ride for the day, but last ride like "read-about- it -in -the- paper- how- she- was- flung -to -her- death- into -the -parking- lot-and/or had-a-heart-attack" last ride.

All this ride hating doesn't mean I don't like amusement parks. I kick ass at Skee-Ball, and I'm fascinated with carneys. Fried dough? Love it. And I will go on some rides. Take the Haunted House for example. I'll go on that shit, I ain't a-scared of black light! I've also been on Coney Island's Wonder Wheel a few times (stationary car, of course). And although I think I'm totally lame for not loving rides, I do believe that extreme ride lovers must be missing out on something themselves. Their constant thrill seeking prevents them from being really in the moment. Instead of enjoying the last ride they took, they're already onto the next ride, skimming through life looking for adventure instead of looking at what's in front of them. That can't be good for you. Those people don't ponder life's terror and sorrow like I truly can, they're too busy smiling all the time. Do people who love rides love rainy days? No. Do they wonder what their fellow riders on the subway would look like without their skin and hair? Doubtful.