The Swings
If I were to have a super power, it would be a complete and utter lack of shame. Fighting crime for me would involve a high kick and my pants ripping, presumably to some funny music with ketchup on my face. This story is a testament to my super power (which is how it will be referred to from now on).
Crystal Palace is a place where parents dump their kids so they can cry and smoke in their cars. Growing up in Moncton I found myself there fairly often, doing the many shitty things that shitty kids do; from yanking coins and ticket rolls from selected machines to spitting off the roller coaster.
Aside: On the roller coaster, if you point your head directly up and spit, you will hit the person three seats behind. This is an excellent way to get beaten up by older kids.
A particularly fun game we used to play involved "the swings". They were a merry-go-round of sorts with cable-suspended chairs that would spin. The centripetal forces would angle you outward.
So, not a merry-go-round at all.
When it was running at full speed it would bring you relatively high (about 2 or 3 stories depending on the angle). While you were up there you could do whatever your dumb ass wanted to do, spin or pretend you are a bird - who cares.
What was interesting about this ride, however, was its complete and utter lack of safety.
Now I presume it would be hard to add a safety mechanism in the chair itself, especially since it's hanging from a fairly long cable (the engineer in me can't help but rationalize their thought process). It seems the mechanism that they saw fit to include was a simple cross bar and a little hook. If you can tie a shoe you can defeat this safety system.
Crystal Palace is a place where parents dump their kids so they can cry and smoke in their cars. Growing up in Moncton I found myself there fairly often, doing the many shitty things that shitty kids do; from yanking coins and ticket rolls from selected machines to spitting off the roller coaster.
Aside: On the roller coaster, if you point your head directly up and spit, you will hit the person three seats behind. This is an excellent way to get beaten up by older kids.
A particularly fun game we used to play involved "the swings". They were a merry-go-round of sorts with cable-suspended chairs that would spin. The centripetal forces would angle you outward.
So, not a merry-go-round at all.
When it was running at full speed it would bring you relatively high (about 2 or 3 stories depending on the angle). While you were up there you could do whatever your dumb ass wanted to do, spin or pretend you are a bird - who cares.
What was interesting about this ride, however, was its complete and utter lack of safety.
Now I presume it would be hard to add a safety mechanism in the chair itself, especially since it's hanging from a fairly long cable (the engineer in me can't help but rationalize their thought process). It seems the mechanism that they saw fit to include was a simple cross bar and a little hook. If you can tie a shoe you can defeat this safety system.
Once we figured this out, the next natural course of action (I'm sure you are thinking of it right now) was to jump off the swings early - as in while the ride was still in motion.
The result included kids whizzing through the air at high speed until they hit the ground, whereupon they would roll or slide, or awkwardly stumble-run, their remaining kinetic energy. Then high-fiving and running back in line to do it again. We did this regularly. Amazingly we were never stopped by the underpaid, pimply-faced ride operators.
Back to the story...
One fateful day we were doing our thing. The ride was coming down and slowing, so we unhitched our safety belts and prepared to jump. My friend behind me jumped first, leaving his swing bouncing erratically aft of me. Then it was my turn. With my arms directly in the air and my feet out, I must have looked like the Y in YMCA or a flightless flying squirrel. All was going as expected until I felt it - the empty swing behind me had latched onto my shirt. While the ride was still moving.
For a little (more) background it should be noted that for a couple years I was pretty chubby. It was a time before I fully grasped the repercussions of eating cheese and drinking pop for supper. Every. Day. So the swing latched onto my shirt and immediately ripped it wide open, exposing my glorious gut to the world.
With my YMCA pose, and freshly exposed belly, the sight made women blush within a three-and-a-half mile radius.
But this only lasted for a moment. Because the ride had not stopped.
I was quickly whipped back in motion, this time without the comfort of a chair - instead being yanked into the air by half of a shirt. The ride continued to turn and dragged me, on my back with belly exposed, in circles while onlookers stared.
It should have been over quickly, but instead the operator was laughing so hard he forgot to hit the stop button.
This is a true story.
I imagine how someone else might have handled this situation. Perhaps run home crying, never to return. Or perhaps talk about it with their psychiatrist, claiming that is the reason why they cannot leave the house without wearing a second shirt.
How did I handle it, you ask?
I put on my sweater and went back in line.
The result included kids whizzing through the air at high speed until they hit the ground, whereupon they would roll or slide, or awkwardly stumble-run, their remaining kinetic energy. Then high-fiving and running back in line to do it again. We did this regularly. Amazingly we were never stopped by the underpaid, pimply-faced ride operators.
Back to the story...
One fateful day we were doing our thing. The ride was coming down and slowing, so we unhitched our safety belts and prepared to jump. My friend behind me jumped first, leaving his swing bouncing erratically aft of me. Then it was my turn. With my arms directly in the air and my feet out, I must have looked like the Y in YMCA or a flightless flying squirrel. All was going as expected until I felt it - the empty swing behind me had latched onto my shirt. While the ride was still moving.
For a little (more) background it should be noted that for a couple years I was pretty chubby. It was a time before I fully grasped the repercussions of eating cheese and drinking pop for supper. Every. Day. So the swing latched onto my shirt and immediately ripped it wide open, exposing my glorious gut to the world.
With my YMCA pose, and freshly exposed belly, the sight made women blush within a three-and-a-half mile radius.
But this only lasted for a moment. Because the ride had not stopped.
I was quickly whipped back in motion, this time without the comfort of a chair - instead being yanked into the air by half of a shirt. The ride continued to turn and dragged me, on my back with belly exposed, in circles while onlookers stared.
It should have been over quickly, but instead the operator was laughing so hard he forgot to hit the stop button.
This is a true story.
I imagine how someone else might have handled this situation. Perhaps run home crying, never to return. Or perhaps talk about it with their psychiatrist, claiming that is the reason why they cannot leave the house without wearing a second shirt.
How did I handle it, you ask?
I put on my sweater and went back in line.