If you know my father very well, you know that to him, every good story starts with, “There I was…”
So, hoping the line will deliver the goods, there I was…
… on my way to work one morning, later than usual – not late mind you,
just latER – when the radio tells me
about speed dating
wait for it
on a rollercoaster. A gosh gollly darned rollercoaster! I know, right!
That’s what I said! Before I know it, I’m sitting in front of a computer,
looking at a sign-up screen for Mix 93.3’s “Rollercoaster of Love” event. I couldn’t
wait to tell people about it, because there’s no way to do so without applying my
best Kool-Aid man voice. So there! I had no legitimate reason to NOT put my
name down immediately! Except for the part where this rollercoaster happens to
be the Mamba.
And I’ve never ridden the Mamba.
And it’s the tallest rollercoaster in the entire world.
And people die on it every day.
And there’s an actual snake at the top that eats 1/3 of the riders.
And no one has EVER made it to the end of the ride.
So now, not only do I have to worry about not dying, but there’s also
the added pressure of being a lady-killer. Of course, even referring to myself
as a potential lady-killer puts me pretty far behind in the running. However,
the way I saw it, in twenty years, it’d make a great story for my kids: “You
know son, one time I signed up for a speed dating session on the tallest
rollercoaster in the world. Too bad I didn’t win,” followed by a heavy sigh and
an “oh-well” gesture.
Two days before the event, I got the call from the station
“congratulating” me on my win.
Yeah. Thanks.
You see, I never win anything, except the occasional game of Pong
against my incredibly talented laptop. So all I really felt I had gained from
this phone call was two days to sweat, get excited, ponder all the different
ways one could die on a rollercoaster, and seriously consider opting out. Then it
dawned on me that at least to some degree, a shortage of us handsome, daring
devils had to be the culprit in my so-called victory.
Much to my forty-year old, story-telling self’s disappointment, I was
right. Very few guys had actually signed up. So few, in fact, that most of the
guys participating were either friends of the radio station’s interns or the
plus-ones of actual winners (including mine, but we’ll get to that later). But
you know what? I didn’t care. *WARNING: SERIOUS MOMENT* I wasn’t going to back
out. I’ve realized more and more that my life is too routine, and I need to get
out there and have good, clean fun with my friends.
(ENTER plus one, stage left)
At this point, I called my best friend, Bobby Jimmy Eddy, or as many of
you know him, Bobby Edmonds. The day on which this event was planned happened
to coincide with Bobby’s 16th birthday (happy birthday, by the way
bro. Enjoy your learner’s permit). I called him up, asked if he was interested,
and he said yes, only he doesn’t like rollercoasters, large amounts of people,
or fun.
Well played, my comically young friend.
So I called someone else who would also be fun to take. They were busy.
So was everyone else I could possibly think of, so I finally resorted to
calling Marcus Titterington. I have nothing against him personally, he just has
a lot of consonants in his name and far too few vowels. Regardless, Marcus and
I showed up that Friday, looking fly as ever. And instead of easing my mind by
distracting me, Marcus decided to take it upon himself to tell me every story
he could think of that even remotely involved a rollercoaster and fear, “The
first time I rode the Mamba, I was so scared, and it took me forever to stop
shaking when I got off.” Great. Thanks Marcus. I mean, that’s on the list of
things you don’t do right up there with mentioning ex-girlfriends in your best
man speech.
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| Our tour guide, Jessica. Not the bald one. Or the creepy one on the tv. The one in the middle. |
When I had called Marcus originally, he had made it very clear that he
did not want to talk to eight random girls, he just wanted to get into Worlds
of Fun for free. I told him to relax, and that ten guys had already been picked
and were jumping at the chance to do this. Little did I know, as soon as we
were getting ready to begin the short walk to our imminent doom, Jessica, our
Worlds of fun tour guide of sorts, asked if the plus-ones wanted to
participate, but it was more of a statement than it was a question. Just like
that, Marcus was pressured into doing this with me, and what ended up being the
eight of us men prepared ourselves for the experience of a lifetime. Well, more
along the lines of the experience of the year. Meeeehh the summer. Yeah, let’s
go with summer.
And so began the Rollercoaster of Love.
Marcus had the very front seat, and I picked the seat right behind him.
I don’t remember them all, because, for the most part, the
conversations consisted of the same topics:
·
Where you from? I’m from Tonganoxie. Yeah, it’s
okay, most people haven’t.
·
Any brothers and sisters? Cool, cool. I’m the
youngest of six. (General freak out here.) Yeah, holidays are pretty crazy.
·
You like rollercoasters? Me too, but this is my
first time doing the Mamba.
By that point, we’re at the top of the hill, and it’s really windy, so
it’s hard to talk. I do however, remember a few of them specifically.
Brie was the first date. If I was nervous to ride it, then she was
about to have a meltdown. I comforted her with my super verbal comforting
power, and convinced her it would be fun, but other than that, she was one of
the above-mentioned conversationists. She did, however, have really pretty
eyes.
Haley was three or four dates in. The first thing she did when I sat
down was, “Here, quick, take a picture with me,” and held out her iPhone. If
there’s one thing about me I don’t like, it’s how bad I think I look in
pictures of this nature. Plus, I made the mistake at looking at the screen of
the phone instead of the actual camera, so I’m not even participating in the
picture taking process! Not the greatest start. After I introduced myself and
we passed the usual banter back and forth, she said she only had one rule:
after the first two big hills on the Mamba, I had to put my hands all the way
up for the rest of the ride. “What about the first big hill?” I asked. She
looked at me like I was crazy. “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun.” And after some convincing
she did, and it was. Haley was really nice, and I really liked talking to her.
The fifth or so date was a woman named Stephanie. We spent the entire
ride talking about movies. Go team.
In the second-to-last car was Shane – apparently, I’m the only guy who
didn’t question the fact that she had a strange name – and all the way in the
last car was Audrey. I remember these two because they were friends, and their
names put together sound like a folk/alternative band, the likes of which I
would never listen to: Shane & Audrey. We also orchestrated a four-person
in-ride picture once Marcus was sitting with Shane and I was with Audrey. We
were pretty proud of ourselves.
Finally, my last date was in the first seat in the first car at the
front of the Mamba. This was with Natalie. She had that kind of quality to her
voice to where “Natalie” kind of sounded like “Natalie-uh,” but it was still
fun. This was the windiest ride, so by the end when we stopped, I had water
running out of my eyes. Seizing the opportunity as I saw fit, I looked at
Natalie-uh and said in my best Miss America crying winner voice, “Natalie,
thank you so much for riding this with me, I’m sorry I got so emotional!” She
laughed, etc., etc.
 |
| Funny picture, exhibit A. |
Afterwards, we went to a restaurant on the Worlds of Fun campus and had so
much food. It was ridiculous. Fries, more fries, more fries, and even more fries, followed by large
amounts of sweet potato fries, chicken tenders, and buffalo chicken. All of
which was amazing. Marcus and I sat at a table with Haley, her plus one, Katie
(another one of my dates), and Stephanie. We all talked and had a good time,
and after a good half hour of good food and good company, Marcus and I went to
explore the park with conquerous spirits. I know that’s not a word, but it is
now. Deal. We mostly just took funny/cool pictures and rode every rollercoaster in the park.
 |
| Funny caption. |
 |
| Look at his eyes. Creepy weightlifting eyes, if you ask me. Not that anyone did. |
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| That's Brandon. Not the bald guy. Or the creepy guy with his collar flipped up. The one in the middle. |
We also picked up one of the guys who was there by himself for that
last hour and a half. His name is Brandon, and he’s a pretty cool guy (that was for you, Brandon).
On a closing note, I would just like to say that Marcus has, in the
past, been representative of the side of the spectrum where new people made him
somewhat visibly uncomfortable. So it was no surprise to me that he didn’t want
to participate. But when he got on that rollercoaster he owned the night. Most
of the stuff I ended up using to break the ice with my dates, I got from
hearing him talking to his. Who is this silver-tongued man and what did he do
with my friend?? He also went up and tried to talk to one of the station’s
interns who he thought was really pretty. He got shot down, but still. Props,
yo. Mad props.
So while neither of us ended up meeting our future wife, we put
ourselves out there into an unusual situation and still had a blast. Next up,
freestyle rapping at Lego Land. Yeah, boi.
(drops microphone and walks off stage, seemingly for no reason)
 |
| I'm pretty sure there's a Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin is running away like this. Awwww yeeeaaahhh... |
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