Jumbo Mumbo

Uneasy Rider
My Maiden Voyage on a Roller Coaster.

       After years of avoiding it, I finally had my first ride on a roller coaster. I had absolutely no intention of riding a roller coaster, mind you. I get dizzy going through the express check-out line at the grocery store. But on a recent visit to the state fair, my wife said she couldn't wait to ride one. I figured refusing would put my manhood quotient somewhere between that of Peter Pan and Richard Simmons, so I gulped and agreed. I consoled myself with the fact that this fairground's roller coaster was an older, wooden model and didn't have any of those corkscrew loops that turn you upside down. I have a policy--I don't go upside down. I have enough trouble getting through life right-side-up. My nervousness over the impending ride wasn't helped by the fact that it was an overcast and rainy day, which gave everyone a kind of damp and angry look. The sight of scowling adults wearing deely-bobbers and carrying wet cotton candy lends a less-than-festive note to any occasion. Trying to put it off as long as I could, I moved rather slowly as we walked along taking in the sights and sounds unique to state fairs--where else can you find exhibits of human oddities side-by-side with booths hawking corn dogs? After a while the recorded pitches blaring out over loudspeakers for the sideshows and concessions started to blend together. I could swear I heard an announcement for "The Human Scone" and heck, I'd pay to see that.
       I dawdled as long as I could, but when we arrived at the entrance to the roller coaster, I realized I couldn't avoid it any longer. I looked up nervously at the huge wooden structure. It looked not so much like a ride as some junior high shop class project gone awry. I wasn't made to feel any better by the fact that it was being operated by a guy sporting a homemade tattoo with a typographical error. He didn't look like he should be operating the shake machine at McDonald's, much less a roller coaster.
       After about thirty minutes of standing in one of those zigzag crowd control lines that make you feel like the more you advance the farther back you are, it was our turn to get on. As I handed over my ticket, I had that same creepy feeling I get when a stewardess calmly explains that my seat cushion can be used as a flotation device. But it was too late to back out. We wedged ourselves into a tiny metal car and the ticket taker slammed down the safety bar--a device which keeps you from being hurled to your death but pretty much rules out any further chance of having children.
       My sense of dread increased as the car began its slow, steady climb up the first ramp. The ride's jerky, mechanical motion was accompanied by an unsettling grinding noise--like someone eating Grape Nuts underwater. The car stopped briefly at the top of the first turn, a rather sadistic little pause that allowed me to look out on all those lucky people below who weren't on the roller coaster and compare my life to theirs. I realized that if anything really terrible happened to me in the next two minutes, I'd have deserved it. Roller coaster riding--like skydiving and bungee jumping--is an activity that evokes little sympathy for the participant if something goes wrong. My mind was distracted from such morbid thoughts when the car suddenly lurched to the right and plunged down a drop-off causing me to float momentarily, defying the laws of gravity. As I consider myself a law-abiding citizen, this concerned me quite a bit.
       The car hit bottom and then maneuvered around several wavy turns. I began to fear for the safety of my internal organs; the bumpiness of the ride made me feel as if someone was playing Hacky Sack with my pancreas.
       Before I knew it we were climbing again, this time even higher above the fair. As our car zipped through the sky--with me holding on for dear life--my mind turned to the maze-like wooden structure below that was our sole source of support, and I began to pray for its safety. Visions of packs of wild beavers with dramatic overbites and flocks of Type-A woodpeckers looking for a place to vent their pent-up hostilities filled my head. I found myself developing an irrational fear of termites, and the pest control man began to take on a religious significance in my life. I began to contemplate the prospect of death by splinter.
       As the car plunged down the second drop-off, the couple in front of me stood up and screamed. Personally, I prefer to scream sitting down, but to each his own. This time the car was travelling so fast that the G-forces flattened my face, temporarily turning me into a Dick Tracy villain. I was so scared that not only did my current life flash before my eyes, but several previous ones as well.
       Finally, the car slowed to a halt. It was over. The words "never again" echoed in my brain (always a sure sign that a good time's been had). I extricated myself from the tiny car, a process not unlike reliving birth. I tried to act nonchalant, which was difficult considering that only minutes earlier I was shrieking at both the top and the bottom of my lungs. As I staggered off, I began to worry about the possibility of roller coaster flashback. I could hear my coworkers saying "We don't know what happened. One minute Willis was sitting at his desk; the next thing we knew he was standing up waving his arms in the air, screaming 'Wooooooah.'"
       Anyway, I had passed my test of manhood. Granted I got a C-. But I looked the beast directly in the eyes and didn't blink. Although, after the experience, I was left with an involuntary eye twitch that I'll probably carry with me for the rest of my life.

Photoillustration by Barry Willis

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