the below is 100% true
Last night I vomited on the inverter.
I was at a little traveling fair, set up in the parking lot of the local Walmart. It wasn't much of a setup; just enough in the way of rides and stands to get some money out of local parents who thought that it'd be fun for their children. I probably wouldn't have stuck around at all, but my date thought that having arrived, it was silly to leave immediately without at least trying a few of the more dynamic rides.
I have always liked carnival rides, rollercoasters, inverters; any machine designed to produce dizziness and disorientation has always seemed like a great way to spend my time. Growing up, my parents never seemed as enthusiastic as me for this, but I figured that they just had weak stomachs. Since the age of 10 or so, when I could go on the rides on my own anyway, it never really mattered. I figured that I was immune to all forms of motion sickness, so I may as well enjoy the opportunities that such an immunity afforded.
The inverter is perhaps the most basic carnival ride past a ferris wheel: A 15-foot pole rises from the center of the trailer. On the cap of this pole is mounted a motor and a short crossbeam. Long arms run out from each end of the crossbeam, parallel to the pole; on one end of the arm is a counterweight, and on the other is a cramped little car. The arms swing you up and about.
Having sampled each of the rides that seemed interesting, the inverter was the clear winner, so we decided to ride it once again before heading out. My stomach was complaining a little, but it'd been doing that all week. Ignoring it turned out to be a bad idea.
As we rose to the top of the swing, paused momentarily upside down, unsuppressable reflexes began to kick in. I knew that I had seen a movie at some point in my life in which someone vomits on a carnival ride, setting off a chain reaction of puking as it hits innocent bystanders. I wanted to avoid that, if possible, so I thought I would try only to release as we were on the downswing. Any ejecta would fall harmlessly to the ground, or so I figured. It doesn't take a lot of time to decide the best course of action in a bad situation, but there wasn't any time for examination of that plan to see if anything could go wrong.
As it happened, there was: I timed it late. I watched the stream flowing up into the night, and thought "At least that's over with now." Then we arced over the top, came down and accelerated through the downswing--and into the vomit, which fell with uncanny precision directly into our path.
I have never considered myself a master of romance. That experience, however, goes past any worries I had considered, into the realm of the comically awful. I can't prove that this was in fact the worst first date in history, but if any of you have ever even heard of a worse, I'd like to know about it.
I was at a little traveling fair, set up in the parking lot of the local Walmart. It wasn't much of a setup; just enough in the way of rides and stands to get some money out of local parents who thought that it'd be fun for their children. I probably wouldn't have stuck around at all, but my date thought that having arrived, it was silly to leave immediately without at least trying a few of the more dynamic rides.
I have always liked carnival rides, rollercoasters, inverters; any machine designed to produce dizziness and disorientation has always seemed like a great way to spend my time. Growing up, my parents never seemed as enthusiastic as me for this, but I figured that they just had weak stomachs. Since the age of 10 or so, when I could go on the rides on my own anyway, it never really mattered. I figured that I was immune to all forms of motion sickness, so I may as well enjoy the opportunities that such an immunity afforded.
The inverter is perhaps the most basic carnival ride past a ferris wheel: A 15-foot pole rises from the center of the trailer. On the cap of this pole is mounted a motor and a short crossbeam. Long arms run out from each end of the crossbeam, parallel to the pole; on one end of the arm is a counterweight, and on the other is a cramped little car. The arms swing you up and about.
Having sampled each of the rides that seemed interesting, the inverter was the clear winner, so we decided to ride it once again before heading out. My stomach was complaining a little, but it'd been doing that all week. Ignoring it turned out to be a bad idea.
As we rose to the top of the swing, paused momentarily upside down, unsuppressable reflexes began to kick in. I knew that I had seen a movie at some point in my life in which someone vomits on a carnival ride, setting off a chain reaction of puking as it hits innocent bystanders. I wanted to avoid that, if possible, so I thought I would try only to release as we were on the downswing. Any ejecta would fall harmlessly to the ground, or so I figured. It doesn't take a lot of time to decide the best course of action in a bad situation, but there wasn't any time for examination of that plan to see if anything could go wrong.
As it happened, there was: I timed it late. I watched the stream flowing up into the night, and thought "At least that's over with now." Then we arced over the top, came down and accelerated through the downswing--and into the vomit, which fell with uncanny precision directly into our path.
I have never considered myself a master of romance. That experience, however, goes past any worries I had considered, into the realm of the comically awful. I can't prove that this was in fact the worst first date in history, but if any of you have ever even heard of a worse, I'd like to know about it.