Life in Ink and Footsteps

I always thought I was good with rollercoasters—until I went to an American amusement park. You see, my whole previous experience with rides came from small local fairs. There were usually pirate ships, car racing rings, spinning swings, and other things like that. In later years, small but ridiculously crazy twisters appeared, but that was pretty much it. I had heard of the fabled Viennese Prater but never visited, so it remained just an unshaped thought in the background of my mind. Not that it would matter; I recently saw Prater, and it doesn’t compare either.

So, imagine what I felt when I entered the land of Six Flags. I was awestruck. It was a land of magic and never-ending food options.

But how did I get there? Interesting way, actually. My time with the family was coming to an end, and I wanted to do something nice for the boy I cared for. Our relationship might have started rocky, but we had found our way—and at long last, even a level of respect and a certain amount of fondness for each other. So, when I came up with the idea to spend the last Friday of summer vacation doing something fun and different, he not only agreed but immediately started talking about an amusement park. Why not? I had never been, so it could be fun for me as well.

He went straight to his mum and told her about my promise to do something cool together. She was ecstatic and agreed. She also mentioned that it might be better if we took a friend or two of his if I would be okay with that. I didn’t mind at all. The more, the merrier. Not to mention they would have more fun together. No teenage boy wants to spend a whole day with just a nanny. So it was settled. Two friends were chosen, their mothers informed and asked for permission. Everything was going smoothly—although the mums wanted to meet me beforehand, just to make sure I was responsible enough to take care of their sons. Understandable. Honestly, I would find it slightly disturbing if they just gave me their kids without hesitation.

The day arrived, but before we went, I sat them all down and gave them the rule for the day. There was only one:

They will always let me know where and what they are about to do. I’m happy to take them anywhere they want. They can spend all their money as they wish, eat whatever they feel like, run and shout if they want to. But they will keep me posted so that I don’t have to panic about losing them. If they break this simple rule, we will be leaving immediately. And I am dead serious about that. My boy told them to trust me. He already knew I always keep my word.

They all promised, and so—on our way we went. Early morning departure for a two-and-a-half-hour drive all the way to New Jersey with three teenage boys in a car.

I’m not going to lie. I was worried about this little adventure. Worried they would get lost, hurt, or injured. That they’d be sick from the rides and food, that they’d fight and bicker or not listen to me and be rude. And you know what? They were absolutely awesome. The only mumbling I heard that day was when I told them they had to wait 30 minutes before going on a ride after lunch. I was not interested in a vomiting session. We already know how badly I handle that.

Kids aside, how did I like it?

I was mind-blown. The whole superhero experience, merch to buy, food to eat, sounds to hear. It was like a wonderland.

But I was also wary of the rides. I had no idea monsters like that were even possible. They didn’t look safe enough for me to feel comfortable going on them at all. The boys made fun of me for a little while, calling me a chicken, and then said it would be a shame if I didn’t try at least one thing. After all, it was my first time, and I was leaving the country soon. They were right, of course. So I asked for a recommendation—something beginner-friendly. After a short discussion, they all agreed: Superman is the one to go for as a first-timer. So to the Superman we went. Long story short: it was the first and only ride I went on. It was freaky, fast, painful, and exhilarating at the same time. Unfortunately, the following nausea fully overcame all the above. In the end, I was able to keep the content of my stomach to myself, but I was not interested in trying again. So I was happy to be the bag holder and carrier for the rest of the day.

It was a happy day full of laughs and jokes. The boys were surprisingly kind and open. They listened and talked, they were polite and yet joyful. I had a great day. Our ride home went smoothly as well, and in the end, I was glad I made this for them. It was a beautiful ending to my time with the boy.

It was not the last time I visited that park. Two weeks later, I went there with Mr. FoodAdventure and his cousins. The park had just started its Halloween season—even though it was just mid-September—and I was told I absolutely, no questions asked, had to see it. I didn’t really agree with this sentiment. I am a chicken shit. I really am. Scary things are not my thing. I can’t watch horror movies. Being afraid is not exciting for me. But once again, I was overruled by the old “you’re leaving, and you might not be able to ever experience it again” argument. And my little FOMO had to be a part of it. So we went.

The people were awesome, fun, and kind. We laughed and laughed and laughed. They were all deeply considerate of my fear and didn’t push me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. Mr. FoodAdventure was a great protector as well. He stayed by my side, always ready to cover me or hold me when people in masks were running around us doing their crazy performances. Although it was slightly terrifying at some moments, and I had a few jump scares, I had a fantastic time and was glad I went with them. We went to the house of optical illusions—which entertained the shit out of me—and the Ferris wheel—which made me feel like I probably wouldn’t be sick there. We just walked around, enjoying the atmosphere, good food, and company.

So, what’s the grand thought behind this little writing?

Don’t be scared. Try new shit.
(But don’t be an idiot; there’s a fine line here.)

And in honor of my FOMO we are listening to:
Aerosmith – I dont wanna miss a thing