heatherbeck
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The Age of Shrieks and Vomits
🕑 Added 2021-07-22 15:29:10 +0000 UTCEveryone gets everything they want. I wanted an adventure; for my sins, they gave me one.
I can't remember the year, exactly. It was when I was about 10, so it was sometime in that Golden Age of local broadcast journalism, long before the days when the oddities of the medium were chronicled on platforms like Youtube.
It was summertime, so peak season for an amusement park I lived not-too-far from. One of those operations that couldn't hold a candle to a place like Walt Disney World, but large-enough in its own right, and a frequent destination for fun-lovers from throughout the region.
One of the signature rides at this place was a roller coaster, the name of which I can't recall off the top of my head (let's call it 'Frank'). It was made of wood, which apparently, is a pretty unique thing for a roller coaster to be made of. In the age of space-age materials and advanced large-scale metallurgy, probably not the ideal material for such a diversion. But I suppose one of the draws is that it earned bonus points for nostalgia.
The ride, according to the best of my recollection, lasted the typical amount of time for a roller coaster — about three minutes: four, tops. It had one chain of cars that people would board; it would make a single revolution, return to the place from which it started; the people would depart, and a new batch of thrill seekers would start the process anew.
The ride would creak, the timber would bend, as those on the ground below would hear the Doppler din of voices squealing with delight before being transported up, down, around. The noises the ride itself made were, I can only gather, part of the thrill — surely, a roller coaster such as this would simply not be in operation if it could topple down at any moment. Rather, like a faithful skyscraper or a centuries-old galleon, its noises and groans were signs that it was still healthy, its motions and squeaks a cherished part of its storied heritage in a Barnumesque, "do you dare to ride the oldest coaster in such-and-such a place?!" A sort of challenge for the courageous, the strong of fortitude.
A family tradition was watching the evening news. Or, at least having it on in the background while we were doing whatever it was we were doing. Top of the hour — a pre-recorded segment that contained all the elements a primo piece of news is supposed to contain: local appeal and familiarity; the normal turned on its head; stakes involved; a not-inconsiderable amount of human suffering; a healthy dose of irony... 'a fun day at the amusement park, turned sour;' and, an overall happy ending — but an ending that was hard-won. The ultimate amount of trauma and turmoil, but no death, no injuries. The line producer must have orgasmed, right on the spot, on the newsroom floor.
I remember the segment clearly, on the cathode tube TV in the living room. Clear as day. The blue, broad-shouldered blazer the field reporter was wearing as she hoisted the microphone to her mouth and spoke loudly, deliberately, at Jim Cantore-hurricane-coverage levels, about the drama that was unfolding behind her. Towering over her padded shoulders, the wooden roller coaster, the periodic bemused laughter and whole-hearted whoops of joy replaced by... what I can only describe as the wails of human misery.
I was only 10, and try as I have, I cannot find any record of this event online. I can only presume it's lost to time, or (hopefully) tucked safely away on some VHS in the W-station's archive. So, I must paraphrase.
"Confusion today, at a place otherwise known for family fun — Frank, the famed roller coaster, has run out of control, the park goers stuck on an adventure that will not end." (Insert some B roll footage with a voice over, some background, etc). "For 75 minutes, the ride has been running continuously, the passengers of the coaster's cars unable to stop, or depart." Another swell of screams, before they faded.
Back to the anchor's desk, with a brief update — the officials at the park were able to get the coaster to stop, finally, and with nobody seriously hurt. At the time of the broadcast, no comment was available as to the origin of the incident. I think it made all the papers the next day, and in all likelihood, people were sued.
I remember it so clearly, though. The news anchor trying to find the will, deep inside of his soul, not to laugh. I think that was the emotion that clung to all of our brainstems. It was the talk of the town for a while, there. Like any good tragedy that isn't ultimately tragic, the human propensity to find the humor took over. Because by God: it was funny.
Think about it. These were normal people, like you and me. They came to the park to eat fried food, spend too much money, and get whipped around on a bunch of rides. American Dream type of stuff. This unwitting bunch signed up for what they thought would be a three-minute trip on a roller coaster, only to slowly become more and more confused. Three minutes turned into 6, as they passed, for the second time, the origin point. Then, it got passed again. And again. And again.
You can't confer with your fellow humans very easily on a roller coaster. There's not much of an opportunity to lean over and casually whisper into your boyfriend's ear, "Hey... is it just me, or is this ride running just a little... too long? Shouldn't we, I dunno... have stopped by now?"
Instead, we're left to our own devices: our own perceptions of what is taking place. Our survival instincts have overwhelmed the advanced human emotions on which we have so carefully crafted our society. The attention to the well-being of others, even our own children in the rows behind us, have been usurped by adrenaline's affect. In such a situation, we're no longer humans. We're beasts, in fight-or-flight mode.
I guess the closest analogy I can think of — the one that most closely resembles the parable of being stuck, so perilously, on a piece of technology run amok — is being on an airplane that's going down. Sure. We hear miraculous stories from time to time (Sully on the Hudson, and the like), but if you're seated on that plane? You know the odds are stacked against you. You cry, you scream, you sit there, paralyzed. The end is nigh — you knew the end was going to come, eventually, but... so soon? Please, not now. Not this way. Is your soul prepared?
That's bleak. And I don't want to make this essay bleak, because again, this isn't a story about 259 fatalities. It's a story about a roller coaster, and nobody died. That's always a good thing. And because it's a story about an otherwise purely recreational amusement, and because nobody died, there's something in it that both defies and exceeds mere schadenfreude — it's objectively hysterical.
I still remember friends and relatives talking about it in the days that followed, in our part of the country that must have routinely experienced slow news days (remember those?). People just couldn't stop talking about the vomiting. How screams got gurgled, and how wind and inertia would blow a seemingly endless flow of amusement park puke into the faces and bodies of the people packing the cars.
In hindsight, I know it's human instinct to feel close to a story that's on everyone's lips. Had I been more mature, I would have seen through the ruse, and would have realized that not everyone "was at the park that day/knew someone on the ride/was on the ride/knew a guy at the park who explained the malfunction/etc." People always have their own theories, and want to back those theories up as much as possible.
But it always revolved around the shrieks, and the vomiting. The extremes of the norm. Because, unlike an airplane, that's what we are supposed to do on a roller coaster. Scream, and get a little upset in the tummy. It's a fun adventure, that we're supposed to have. When those qualities are elevated, through time and fear, whoops turn to shrieks, and nausea turns to vomits.
Close your eyes. For just a moment. Put yourself into minute... 45. You're covered in the puke of so many people. You can't stop screaming. You know you want to, but the last time you did, you got someone's puke in your mouth, and that made you throw up, too! You don't have the mental fortitude anymore. Is this how I'm going to die? On a stupid roller coaster, covered in semi-digested funnel cake? With every turn, are you just gonna careen off the edge? Might not that fate be better? Dear God, what if this is hell? What if I'm already dead, and this is hell?
And you're only halfway through.
From the point of view of one of the 60-some-odd people on board who are still around, I'm sure the hindsight is only trauma. In a litigious American society, we frequently sue for "pain and suffering," and it's usually bullshit. But in this case? I get it. I hope these folks got a nice big payout. It must have been sheer horror.
For the rest of us, it was positively hysterical.
Because, isn't that just the way we are, sometimes? Don't feel bad about it. Shows like "Breaking Bad," "Better Call Saul," and to a greater extent, "Ozark" are so popular because they feature normal people just trying to do their thing in as streamlined a way a possible, only to have the absurdity of the world get in their way at every step. We love to identify with people going through something impossibly difficult — we've been there, too! But, we can't help but laugh at the dark humor of (spoilers till end of graf) Jimmy McGill stumbling down a dirt road in the desert, wrapped in a space blanket, dying of thirst, $7,000,000 in a pair of duffels, with a car flipping behind him; Walter White wailing with destroyed delight because the cash that needs to get to the cartel now has been stolen by his wife for her former boss/fuck buddy; Marty Byrds face when Camino Del Rio gets pumped in the chest by a shotgun because he "went into business with a bunch of fucking rednecks." Hooooly shit — how the hell are they gonna get out of this one?!
The Bible had Job. The Greeks had Oedipus. Jay Gatsby. Romeo Montague. Creon. Ted Kennedy, James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Willy Loman, Michael Corleone, Lady MacBeth, Capt. Ahab, Faust, the supporting cast of Dante's Inferno, half the characters in Game of Thrones. Whether or not the dark humor of Icarus, flying too close to the sun, comes across to us is dependent on each one of us, and on our experiences. Stories rely on conflict, and the best ones excel because... We identify; we're glad we're not them. We can relate; we've been there. We have to laugh; otherwise, we'd cry.
During this last bit of time, I've been on an adventure of sorts. Some of it has been internal, in relative seclusion; most recently, parts of it have manifested into blazing what-the-fuck technicolor. In the quiet, our fears become manifest; in the open, dominoes, and dominoes, and dominoes: backup plans begetting new backup plans: exploding pickups, cartel cash, shotguns to the chest.
I wanted to get onto this ride because I thought it would be fun — so why the hell won't the fun just fucking stop for a second?!
In my case, I do tend to catastrophize — and for my sins, when something bad inevitably does happen, I get that little tick in my brain. See? You KNEW something shitty was gonna go down — it did, you were RIGHT, so keep thinking that way. Even if it's not the same thing, the electrocuted mouse skittering around in your brain got its piece of cheese.
I don't think anybody has really viewed this shared experience of the last year-and-a-half as "an adventure." Not yet, because in the general view, adventures are supposed to be good things. But we're social creatures, and when society radically changes, we encounter experiences and interactions that somehow feel like shades, shadows, poor interpretations of what we've been trained to consider as "normal."
Not to be one of those people, but the dictionary defines "adventure" as "an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity." (For reference, while the dictionary defines exciting in favorable terms, I contend that it is one of those words that can carry a foreboding Monkey's Paw vibe.)
"Be careful what you wish for — you might just get it."
I wished for an adventure. And for my sins, they gave me one.
Comments
emmymalone
Just joined your club. And what an article to start out with — enjoyed the Hades out of it. What started out a light chuckle turned into one of those uncontrolled fits of laughter, where your gut hurts and the eyes tear up. “Am I dead — is this hell?!” Haven’t laughed so hard in — well, the last year-and-a-half? But gods, I can’t imagine the horror of a never-ending roller coaster ride. Well, yeah I can... we’ve all been on ‘track’ with that during this helluva-loopy Covid (I hope to never hear that term again) ride. Anyhow, again, so enjoyed the read. Entertaining, enlightening and relatable... and funny as fuck! Say, you should write for a living. 😜 Looking forward!
