Tower of Freaking Terror

“You have to see the décor,” said Susan. “It’s amazing.”

 

She was talking about the Hollywood Tower, one of the key components at Disney’s Hollywood Theme park.

 

I look up, way up, and the first tingles of unease begin spreading through my clenching belly. The Hollywood Tower is big. REALLY big.

 

“Is this a roller coaster?” I ask doubtfully. I’ve long held the fear that I will one day ride a roller coaster that will actually make me pee my pants – which would be decidedly unmanly. I don’t like anything that leaves the ground. I don’t like things that whip me around. I don’t like my body rocketing downward while my not inconsiderable stomach is still somewhere above me. I don’t even like standing on chairs to change a light bulb.

 

Susan looks at me for a moment. “Well…we are just gonna look. It’s amazing in there. We can look at the décor and then take the chicken walk.”

 

“Chicken walk?” I ask. I don’t much like the sound of that either.

 

Susan nods. “You won’t get us on that thing. But we can go look and then just leave. You stand in the line, but you don't get on the ride. That's a Chicken Walk.”

 

I decide I am squarely in favor of this concept and milk a small measure of comfort from the thought of walking AWAY from something designed to send my entire body into the Bad Place.

 

Susan and her husband Bill took great care of us in Florida this past week. Great people.

 

“What does the ride do?” I ask.

 

Susan shudders just a little. “It takes you up there,” she pauses to point WAY up to the building. “And it drops you.”

 

“Drops….?” I squeak. My male orbs begin immediate retraction and frantically seek a safe hiding place. “It just drops you? Like…down?”

 

Susan nods. We share a small shudder. I wonder what kind of moron goes to the top of a building and just so they can be…dropped.

 

“So we’re just gonna like…LOOK…right?” I ask. It’s suddenly critically important to me that we be absolutely clear on this point.

 

Susan nods.

 

“Then we take the chicken walk, right?” I say, smacking that dead horse one last time.

 

She nods again.

 

She leads us toward the building and the long line up. Susan was right. The décor is amazing: rich Disney detail everywhere. Lighting, sounds…creepy attendants…not a single trick missed. I snap image after image.

 

“The last time I rode this, I nearly threw up,” says a young guy in front of us. “It was great.”

 

“What happens?” asks his pal, oozing male bravado.

 

“They freaking drop you. Your freaking crap flies up. Messes you up big time. It’s great,” says the moron. I lay my most pitying gaze on him, which he pretends not to notice

 

I try my very best not to snort and occupy myself taking pictures and wondering if the chicken walk is CLEARLY marked.

 

We’re in the line-up for about fifteen minutes, a bare blink of an eye in Disney terms. I listen to the young man (who I have begun to refer to as “the freaking moron” in my mind) as he recounts in remarkably unvarying terms how he nearly threw up. He tells this story over and over again. I have assumed by now that his companion has had some sort of heinous head injury that prevents him from understanding what is essentially a fairly simple story.

 

We are getting distressingly close to the actual “getting on the puke-o-lator” part. I sense tension from the many other morons in the line-up. They get quieter. Okay…most of them get quieter.

 

“This is gonna be great,” declares The Freaking Moron. “Last time I was on this thing I nearly freaking threw up.”

 

I simultaneously roll my eyes and sigh and begin looking for the Chicken Walk in earnest. Nothing.

 

“I’m going,” says Sheree suddenly.

 

“Where?” I ask.

 

“I’m riding it,” she says.

 

“Are you nuts?” I ask the question which, at this point, feels almost rhetorical. I would rather not believe that my bride has become yet another Freaking Moron.

 

“I’m going,” she says.

 

“You’re probably going to nearly freaking throw up,” I warn sagely.

 

“You can take the Chicken Walk,” she says. “I’m riding.”

 

It’s one thing to take the Chicken Walk with three other people. It’s something else entirely to do so when a girl rides.

 

“You know what happens, right?” I ask. This is, of course, simply a feeble attempt to get her to reconsider. I’ve seen this look before. She's gonna ride.

 

She nods.

 

“They DROP you,” I say. I am now using the tone I reserve for small children and seriously drunken adults. “Why would you want that?”

 

She shrugs. “I didn’t wait in line all this time to walk away.”

 

“I did,” I say a little too softly.

 

“Do what you want,” she says.

 

“There’s a chicken walk,” I say limply.

 

Sheree sniffs. At me.

 

Have you ever done something utterly stupid while in something like a dream state? You don’t really think about it. Your rational mind goes into this strange suspension.

 

I watch myself drifting forward. I step onto the “pre-loading” chamber. The rational part of my mind is gibbering now. It’s saying over and over again: WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU??? KNOW WHAT YOU ARE??? YOU'RE A FREAKING MORON, THAT'S WHAT!!! YOU ARE GONNA PUKE…and pee your pants. JUST LET'S TURN AROUND AND TAKE THE CHICKEN WALK AND WE CAN FORGET ALL ABOUT THIS...OK????

 

I sit down in the ride. My rational mind has gone into a cave because it can’t stand being around someone so stupid. The attendant closes the door. It clangs shut like a cell door. A coffin.

 

Rod Serling appears to tell me that I am about to be sent into the Twilight Zone. Great. He tells me we are in an elevator that once got to the top of a hotel and then inexplicably plummeted to the ground, killing everyone on board.

 

Ghostly figures appear.

 

Not so bad, I think. I can handle this.

 

The lights go out. Creepy sounds.

 

I feel myself being lifted up very quickly. This is a speedy elevator.

 

Dark. Ghostly figures. No problem.

 

Then it all stops. We are in the dark. Not moving. These are never harbingers of good things. Soft creaking sounds. Then a SNAP. Our little elevator lists suddenly to one side.

 

Yeah yeah. I know it’s a ride, okay. But there’s no denying that one of the freaking cables just snapped. We sway a little. (I absolutely believe the absolute worst thing you can do when up high on anything is to sway…)

 

We hang there for a moment.

 

My heart is hammering in my chest. My mouth is dry. I know this is not going to be good. I whisper to Sheree that I have changed my mind and would like to take the Chicken Walk after all.

 

Then IT happens.

 

A sudden shriek of sound, a blaze of light and we are falling…FALLING….and it is a holy crap freaking awful moment. My sunglasses are floating and I am muttering a string of profanity. Sheree is laughing beside me…probably not at me. My stomach is nowhere in sight.

 

Finally the fall comes to an end. I open my eyes and surreptitiously dart a glance at my lap to see if any pee got out. Nope. I fix my eyes on the door like a dog at feeding time.

 

But we are going up. Again….WHY? We rise up….and fall again…and again…and again. My only wishes are for death or deliverance at this point…along with an absolutely reliable sphincter.

 

Eventually it stops…the door opens….and I have survived.

 

“That wasn’t so bad,” says Sheree. “Was it?”

 

“Nah,” I reply. “Is it over already?”

 

My knees wobble just a little as I leave.

 

Only getting out of a dentist chair feels better.

 

*****************************************

This story is for Susan and Bill. Thank you for sharing your corner of the world and your lives so generously with Sheree and me. We loved meeting you and getting to know you both. I hope this has made you smile, my friends.

 

I am currently in the Seattle airport. It’s nearly one in the morning here. It’s 4 am in Florida, where my body has been for the past week. I don’t fly out for another seven hours. But I wanted you to know that at this precise moment, I am thinking of both of you and smiling.

Done