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October /
November 2006 Contest Results |
Whadda
You Lookin At!
By Kevin McDermott,
Maryland
Does anyone
remember how tortuously hot the summer of 1999 was? Well I do, because
that’s the summer I took Danny, then nine-months old, and Tim, four at
the time, to visit my mother in New York City. My lovely bride needed a
break, so being the caring husband I am, I escaped with the boys for
four days of fun. There was, however, one gaping flaw in my plan. My
mother didn’t have air conditioning.
After chasing
the kids for three days in Sahara-like temperatures I finally got some
relief when we went to an air-conditioned arcade/restaurant. Relaxing in
the cool air, I treated myself to an extra-large root beer followed by
four slices of nasty pizza. Unfortunately, my rest was short lived. Just
when my core body temperature finally dipped below 120 degrees, Tim
begged me to join him in the enormous tubular play set. Reluctantly, I
agreed.
We weren’t in
the colossal tube and net torture device long when all the bending,
smells, slimy surfaces, ear-piercing yelps and kids’ buttocks in my face
were getting the best of me. Being hunched over in there after downing
four, okay it was five, slices of pizza was making me nauseous. I knew I
had to get out soon so I started looking for an exit.
Five minutes of
climbing and crawling passed with still no sign of an exit from my
tubular hell. I started to wonder if they had welded us into the
nauseating play set. Signaling through several small, grease-smeared,
smelly, Plexiglas windows I tried to get help from the pimply-faced
staff members, but, to my dismay, none responded.
It looked like I
was on my own while a root beer bubble was reaching critical mass within
my 34-year-old body. I visualized the mayhem that would ensue if I blew
chunks trapped in that smelly, airless, tubular structure with about 50
kids. It wouldn’t be pretty. I started to panic.
“Enough of this
father/son bonding nonsense, I need out of here,” I thought to myself. I
told my son, “Tim we gotta get out of here!” Tim was having too much fun
and retorted, “But Daaaaaaaad!” He hadn’t finished his two-word sentence
when I shouted, “DON’T START MISTER! WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE NOW!”
Seeing my head spin for the first time, Tim realized the gravity of the
situation and fell in line.
I crazily led my
son through the maze of tubes, nets, ball pits, and kids’ elevated
buttocks while desperately trying to find a way out. The safety of other
children was of no concern to me at the time and if Tim lost sight of
me, he was on his own. I barreled through one small group of children
playing in the balls then literally climbed over three children on the
net ladder. My next obstacle was a group of three greased-back New York
kids blocking passage over a bridge. Apparently, two of the boys were
shaking down everyone for prize tickets to get past.
Well, this
percolating middle-aged man didn’t have time for Tony Soprano Jr.’s
extortion. Before the boys could say “Badda Bing,” I elbowed those
little mobsters-in-training into a nearby tube slide and heard “Yaw
gonna pay fauw dissssssssssssssss” as they slid into another junior
gangster’s turf.
The smells,
sights, and physical exertion had my puke-o-meter pegged. I needed out
and I needed out now! Crawling through the tube section I suddenly
smelled something other than fermented sock odor coming from one of
several hundred tube slides. It smelled like…. REAL NASTY PIZZA….It must
be a way out! I dove headfirst into the tube and flopped out of my
tortured maze onto the floor of the dining area.
I lay spread
eagle on the floor, gasping the fresh air as if I was a rescued drowning
victim when I started to make out fuzzy images of small people gathered
around me. One stout little New Yorker observed, “Gee Mista, yooo doan
look too good.”
Short on
patience--and white blood cells--I screamed “Whadda you lookin at!”
Stress always brings out the native “New Yawka” in me.
Realizing I had
blown every last style point available to an adult male, I gathered my
two sons and mother and ventured out into the heat.
So much for a
cool, relaxing summer afternoon.
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