Okay, so anyone who knows me knows that I am like, the biggest chicken when it comes to heights. Therefore, it goes to show that I would also be terrified of roller-coasters. When going to Knott's Berry Farm the biggest thing I'll go on is the Jaguar, and that thing is like, the most tame ride there. Except for the stuff in the kiddie-area, of course. You see, this fear all started when I was about eight years old, and my family talked me into going on the Ghostrider, the big, rickety, wooden dinosaur that those stupid theme-park people have dubbed an "amusement ride". In my family's defense, they had ridden it before and had said that it wasn't that bad. And in a normal circumstance, I believe them to be right. It certainly isn't the worst ride there, and there are a lot of younger children that love the ride. I was not one of them.
We must have waited in line for an hour, I swear. It was a hot Summer afternoon. We got up to the cars finally, and we had decided that I was just barely tall enough to ride. My Mum and I slipped into the car together, because riding with my mom was the most logical decision in order to make me feel more comfortable. Next we had to put our seat-belts on. Now, one thing you must know about Ghostrider seat-belts, is that there is one regular belt for each person, like in a motor vehicle, and then there's a bar that locks down on your lap. One more thing you must know about the Ghostrider seat-belts, is that when I was eight-years-old, that was not the case. When I was eight, there was one single belt restraint that went over both passenger's laps, and it didn't really tighten up that much. So as my Mum and I sat and tried to tighten it enough for me so that it actually touched me, we started to doubt our decision to get on that damn ride. We both knew I wasn't secure, and my Mum, being the responsible, loving parent she is actually tried to inform the Knott's idiots of this restraint error. Unfortunately for her, they did not pay heed to the panicking mother. Instead, they started the ride, and there was nothing more she could do about it. The first hill you climb is the biggest. As you can imagine, the tiny little eight-year-old with no restraints on was not a big fan of that first big drop, and surely I was not a fan of the following drops, twists and turns. I had to sit in the fetal position, holding on to the belt and any bar I could get ahold of. My Mum also had to help by holding her arm around me, as the force of the ride was too much for a wimpy eight-year-old to completely handle by herself. By the time it was over, my Mum's arm was bruised and numb, and I was scarred for life.
Fast-forward eleven years, to a nineteen-year-old me, who is still terrified of roller-coasters, especially that particular one. I nearly died on it as a child, so there is no judging me on this standpoint. When you have a near-death experience on a roller-coaster, then you may tell me whether or not you might have a complex about it. Until then, back off. So there.
Anyway, went off subject a little there...Okay, so there I was, eleven years later, and I had finally worked up the courage to say, "okay, let's go" when my Mum suggests we ride the Ghostrider. I had made up my mind, and there was no changing it. It was just yesterday, in fact, on a Thursday, which surprisingly was a really good day to go, because there was virtually no line. We just walked up to the cars, waited for it to empty out, and got in. As I've said already, the restraints are considerably better than eleven years ago. So Mum and I sat, put our separate belts on tightly, and locked our --also separate-- bars over our laps. It seemed secure, so we were both feeling pretty confident. The ride started, we made it to the first big drop, and then we started climbing. The ride click, click, clicked loudly, but then suddenly, clunk, squeeaak! We stopped in the middle of our climb to the drop. My first thoughts: "Oh my God, I am cursed!"
And I just so happened to say this aloud. The people behind us cussed and said something along the lines of, "I don't want to ride this now". The people in front of us turned around and exclaimed, "oh, so this is your fault?!?" Mum and I explained how I nearly fell to my death when I was eight. They completely blamed me for this second freak accident, because as I had so wisely exclaimed, I was cursed. This was it. It was time for the Ghostrider to exact its revenge on me for surviving the first time. And this time, it was out for blood...
But then, as if a miracle had been sent by God, the ride started, and soon we were plunging down that first big drop. I screamed and closed my eyes. But for some reason, after that, I started laughing and yelling hysterically, as if I had lost too much oxygen and gone completely mad. My Mum tried asking me if I was having fun mid-ride, but all I could do was laugh and shake my head, saying "this is crap, I don't like this...!"
By the end of the ride, I was dizzy from my lack of oxygen, and I was shaking with adrenaline. As we walked off the ride and down the exit lane, I said to my Mum, "that was friggin' crazy. Wanna go again?"
Blog ya later, Miss Eccentric.
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