Another Post that Has Nothing to Do with Telecommuting

I figure if all I discuss is telecommuting, everyone (most especially me) is going to get bored. Therefore, I’ll do what comes naturally to me and stray (often) from the topic at hand. Just in case you were wondering, I was the undergrad who would go to the library to research Roman gods, get completely sidetracked by a book on the difference between the way Ancient Greeks and Ancient Romans treated women, then another book on the role of elephants in ancient history (I was a victim of what my colleagues in the library profession called “browsing the shelves,” which is a wonderful thing when one doesn’t have a paper due in three days), and emerge from the library hours later without a single source for my paper.

So the topic today is amusement parks. More specifically, what happens when two people over the age of forty, neither of whom has been to one in at least twelve years, decide it’s been too long since they rode a roller coaster. They were right: it had been too long since they’d ridden a roller coaster.

When I was fifteen and eager to ride any roller coaster I could find within a 200-mile radius of where I lived (which means not too many, since I grew up in North Carolina, and the fair only came to town once a year), I had no idea that I was setting the stage for what would, in later years, become my tendency towards lower back and neck problems. Let’s just say one of the most renowned roller coasters in this country is not the best thing for such a person to ride. However, it was fun (why do some of us think being terrorized at speeds of sixty miles per hour on rickety rails in little carts that could fly off the tracks without the least warning is "fun?") as hell (maybe that’s it. Those of us who would describe hell as fun deserve this sort of torture, I suppose), so I still rode it three times, managing to grab that most-popular front-row seat on the third ride.

Other rides were not quite so pleasant. What’s happened to us that we can no longer ride something like the “Tilt-a-Whirl” without making sure we haven’t eaten anything in the past 24-hours? Why does it make us moan instead of giggle, the way it used to do? I was the one who would brag at age ten about how many times she’d ridden the “Oaken Bucket,” what our amusement park called that big bucket-like ride in which everyone lines up against the wall, and it spins so fast the pressure sucks everyone against the wall, and then the floor drops. Now, I can imagine, I’d be looking for a different sort of bucket, if I were to ride such a thing.

Then there are the bumper cars. They should be renamed “legalized whiplash cars.” Ambulance chasers should be lining themselves up at the entrances to these rides instead of wasting their time out on real streets. But no, somehow doing permanent damage to one’s neck, all in the name of fun, seems to be one of the last of the lawsuit-free arenas in this country.

Massaging our necks after a spin in the bumper cars, Bob and I sat watching those who were either brave or stupid enough to ride something that would have made Spanish Inquisitors green with envy. Not only did it swing people up and around and upside down numerous times, but it also paused in the face-down position and sprayed all the riders with cold water. Bob turned to me and asked, “What is it about human beings that makes them want to subject themselves to that?” Just as amazed as he was, I answered, “I haven’t a clue,” then suggested we go try again for that front-row position on the roller coaster.