(If you know what today is, raise your right hand. Great! If you know what we do here each Sunday, raise your left hand. Fantastic! Now, with both hands in the air, walk to the medicine cabinet and take your medication — because if you believe I can actually see what you’re doing, there are more important things you need to deal with than reading today’s Flashback Sunday. For the rest of you, it’s time once again to delve into the Flashback archives, back to a time when all comments left by readers started with “I am liking your site very well!”; back when I made the empty promise of a free kitten to every new follower; back to a time when I thought “Freshly Pressed” was website offering the latest weight lifting records…)
I have a basic rule of thumb when it comes to carnival rides: If the person running a ride, such as the Squirrel Cages, keeps a garden hose available for spraying out the seats, I stay away.
That’s because this person’s sole ambition is to make me — and others like me — vomit. I realize this person may be a trained professional who, on a daily basis, makes countless split-second decisions on whether to push the red or green button to stop the ride. And, yes, I realize this individual has nothing but the safety of his passengers in mind when he secures a safety latch by removing his boot and whacking it until his arm gets tired, at which point, being a trained professional, he bolsters the confidence of his nervous riders by hacking up a cheekful of phlegm and shrugging his shoulders before walking off.
Yet somehow, in spite of these assurances, I’m still terrified of carnival rides. I think it’s because, when I was 10, my “friends” talked me into riding The Drop Out, which wasn’t actually a ride as much as it was a barf-a-torium with an observation deck. Basically, 30 people entered a circular room and found a spot along the wall. Gradually, the walls would begin to rotate faster and faster, creating enough centrifugal force to suck the cotton candy from the mouth of anyone standing within 100 feet. Once the ride reached optimum centrifuge, occupants would be stuck to the wall as the floor dropped out, leaving them suspended 20 feet above a pit of (presumably fake) spikes.
All of this was visible through a series of windows surrounding the ride so that, while waiting in line, people such as myself could prepare for the experience by, very slowly, having a bowel movement. I still don’t know how I got talked into this ride.
All I know is that I ended up next to someone whose stomach contents went on display the instant the floor dropped out. Due to the force of gravity, I couldn’t move my head without blacking out, which meant watching the sum total of this person’s food consumption — which was considerable — reconfigure itself on the wall next to me.
This was, without question, the longest ride of my life. To this day, I can still see the apologetic look on that person’s face as the ride came to an end and the three of us — him, his vomit and I — gradually slid down the wall together.
Since that fateful encounter I’ve had no interest in being strapped down, cinched up or buckled into something specifically designed to do things I wouldn’t normally do without a flight suit and full medical coverage. My son gets frustrated by this because he’s one of those people who is exhilarated by having his stomach in his mouth. The one time he talked me into riding with him was on the Squirrel Cages, where there was no chance of me flying out of my seat or getting vomited on. Everything was fine until that part in the ride when — and you know the part I mean — it starts to actually move.
Granted, I’m not a professional carnival ride operator, but I think I could recognize some of the subtle signs exhibited by a rider who is in distress. For example: Someone who is pressed so hard against the cage that his lips are actually outside the door while screaming “LET-ME-OFF-LET-ME-OFF-LET-ME-OFF!” would be a red flag to me. Particularly if the rider in question began doing this after traveling less than two feet. In my case, these signs were somehow missed by our ride operator.
I’m not saying it was all his fault.
Who knows, he might’ve been busy looking for a garden hose?
(Ned is a syndicated columnist for News Media Corporation. Write to him at nedhickson@icloud.com or at Siuslaw News, P.O. Box 10, Florence, Ore. 97439)
Ned's Blog 
Yikes! I hated that ride. The same thing happened to my sister. Only that’s not the grossest part. They guy who threw up asked her to dance later.
Hahaha! I guess he figured he already had a great ice breaker!
Nothing like a corn dog, an elephant ear, and a jumbo frozen coke to lead off a good spin on a carnival ride.
Absolutely. I remember thinking, as we both stared at his stomach contents, “This guy really needs to chew his food more…”
mmm wonderful images to send me into dreamland, thank you Ned. I shall dream of scary clowns and spinning g-force rides with vomit.
Yeah, my kids stopped asking for bedtime stories from me when they were about five years old.
Hmm.
Garden hose ya say….
You sure that’s he cleaned those cages? I mean….
I was trying to think positive…
OH shoot.
no pun intended.
The purpose of youth is to destroy the body, so that we have something to complain about in old age.
I’m making a list of complaints, just in case I forget them.
Excellent! No where did you put that list? 😉
I was hoping YOU knew. Oh well…. wait, what were we talking about?
I’m with you, Dude! No carnival rides for me! I find Ferris wheels particularly menacing!
I can’t even watch Ferris Bueller…
Oh, I can watch that movie…. one of my faves! LOL!
LOL…I am still getting comments “I am liking your site very well”… I went on Disney’s 5 G Journey to Mars. I got triple vision and thought that I was time traveling to the most hellish moment of my life. Heck, who am I kidding, that was the most hellish moment of my life. I couldn’t get out of it without 3 people helping me. I sat on a chair for 45 minutes looking like a green, sweaty alien. Needless to say, they couldn’t even get me on the “softer 3 g” ride 3 years later. Unlike pregnancy, I felt and remembered every damn minute of that ride. 🙂
I get like that on It’s a Small World…
The weird thing is, as a firefighter, I go up three-story ladders and rooftops, no problem. But get me on The Spinning Cups and I’m a basket case. Still haven’t figured that one out yet!
Coincidentally the photo of the ride that you have there (here called “The Zipper”) is the only ride I’ve actually vomited inside of. I was with my sister– so the guilt n shame factors weren’t too severe. 😉 Enjoyed the post, Ned!
Yes! The Zipper! I’ve seen it called that, too. You and your sister must be close. In most cases, your sibling is the LAST person you want to vomit in front of… on…around…etc.
Glad you enjoyed the post, Faye — good to hear from you again 😉 Enjoy your summer!
I am liking your site very well. Want to buy a glow in the dark pen?
I am also liking the picture chosen for your blog. The Zipper is one of my favorite carnival rides, especially when I was a newlywed. That just goes without saying, although I know where your mind is going with that one. Yes, that was not a carnival ride. It was just as dangerous.
Hopefully, without the vomiting…
Dramamine usually helps with that.
So does a rufie.
I usually use a mallet, although I am tired of buying new mallets.
I recognize your M.O. from an episode of Law & Order: WTF?
Busted.
And that explains the bra.
I am a Tilt-A-Whirl girl, almost exclusively. My life in general, is a roller coaster ride, and I definitely don’t need to pay any carnies to run the thing! 😉
Somehow, I knew that 😉
Do you live inside my mind?? Or are you stalking me??
Hahaha! *but not in a creep way*
That’s what they all say.
But I really mean it…. wait, they say that too. Dang it.
Don’t you think I’ve heard about every line ever thrown out there?? hahaha
Hmmm. I thought freshly pressed meant they’d do my ironing. No wonder those shirts never came back…
Completely understandable. To be honest, I originally thought Freshly Pressed was a website for people with a Pilsbury Dough Boy fettish. I’m glad I was wrong about that one…
Wouldn’t that be freshly poked though?
Um… that’s a completely different website I’m not comfortable talking about here.
I know this is gross, but if that person would have just done emptied his stomach (or tried) while the ride was still in motion it would have just gone back down his esophagus or on them. But as fate usually likes to play things, there’s nothing funnier or memorable (in an awful way) than having a stranger’s puke as a neighbor.
Lol! I don’t thing even Mr. Rogers wanted a neighbor like that 😉