After what seems like three weeks of standing in line, you finally get to the front. You sit down in the hard plastic bucket seat and strap yourself in, good and tight. Then a man, in high-wasted khaki shorts pulls on the seat belt with all his strength, pinching your waist smaller than you thought humanly possible. As if that's not enough, a second pair of khaki shorts walks up and pushes down on the body harness squeezing your lady-bits or manhood to nonexistence. The thought of there being even the slightest possibility of you falling out of this miniature locomotive while being flipped and twisted backwards and upside down, is now completely diminished. Yes sir. You. Are. Safe.
The crew all put their approving thumbs high up in the air, and the track lets out a great sigh of relief as the brakes are released and the carts begin to roll forward. As you exit the loading platform, the apologetic eyes of onlookers stare deep into your soul, judging your ability to handle what comes next by the expression you wear on your face. "Oh, she's done this a million times." "Uh oh, someone must have lost a bet, they're as white as a ghost," "That one's gonna hurl for sure."
But as a first-time rider, nobody dares to tell you that fifteen seconds in you will drop at a ninety-degree angle straight to the ground just before being ripped back up into the sky and violently twisted upside down eight hundred times in a row. If they told you these things, you'd never even get in that seat. If they told you that when you get off the ride you'll be so dizzy that you can't walk straight for days, you would tie yourself to a tree and dare them to even try to get you to go. If they told you that you'd come out on the other side looking like all the green things in the world took residence on your skin, you'd tell them to get lost. So instead, they smile a bright smile and tell you it will be the ride of your life.
