Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Penance, Purgatory

If going to the ballpark is the best way to spend three-odd hours, what is the worst?

Let me tell you right now, it's a place called Chuck E. Cheese. The day after I took my nephew to his first game, it rained all day, and with three wild hooligans in the household, we had to find some kind of energy buster. The kids agreed on the House of Horrors, and I didn't have the heart to quibble.

There is no faster way to a monstrous headache than CEC, I assure you. The 500 video games meld into a cacophony of electronic noise more grating than a bad 80s hair band. The myriad video screens blare disturbing mutant puppets that would send any two year old screaming into his parents arms. And believe me, plenty of little tots were screaming and crying their lungs out, adding to the charm of it all. The tunnels overhead are surely never disinfected, teeming with bacterial life--hence a friend's nickname, Chuck E. Diseases. The food is pricey and putrid. Thank goodness we had the sense to eat before stepping foot on CEC property. I don't think I have the gastric fortitude for the place. Anyway, as I did my time in the joint, I had to chuck-le (sorry) at the dichotomy between the place I had spent the previous evening, and the sensory overload factory I was sitting in.

Finally, after eight hours of soaking rain, the skies cleared, and I was released from Hades. I didn't mind that it was 95% humidity and my hair frizzled like a mad woman's the moment I walked out the doors, I tasted sweet freedom and wasn't turning back. Or so I thought. In a show of solidarity for the way my day had gone, the Tigers proceeded to take a beat down to the tune of 11-0 that night. Finish me off, guys, go ahead. Thank goodness I was too occupied with the three little rascals to pay more than passing attention to part two of the day's house of horrors.

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