I haven’t been this anxious in years. See, what happened was I visited the tenth circle of hell yesterday. If only Chuck E. Cheese had been around in Dante’s day, I’m sure he would have included it in his Inferno.
I had no idea what to expect when I took little G to her friend’s 4th birthday party. When we walked in, the friendly Chuck E. Cheese greeter informed us that we’d be at table 8. I looked around. The first table I saw was #79. Good God. We finally made our way to the back and found the party. The birthday boy’s mother gave us a cup of tokens, and little G and I entered the games area, which can only be described as being utterly chaotic. Kids jacked up on sugar were bouncing all over the place; random shoes were in the floor; music and games were beeping, talking, and blaring so loudly you could hardly hear all of the children screaming at the top of their lungs. Before long, I became one of the dozens of exasperated parents walking in circles asking other parents if they’d seen my child. “Nope. Have you seen mine?” they’d ask.
I finally located G and dragged her out of the pit. I felt like we were running out of a burning building, and only felt safe when we were comfortably seated at table 8. We all ate pizza and enjoyed talking for a few minutes before the “Birthday Show” began. This entails Chuck E. employees getting kids pumped up and screaming for a guy in a giant mouse outfit to come out. Once he finally shows, Chuck E. (hereafter I think he should be known as “Chuckie”, because he is something of my nightmares) comes out and is practically tackled by dozens of maniacal kids trying to hug him. He did something on the main stage- I don’t know what, as I was gasping into a paper bag at that point – and all the kids went mad and G’s friend blew out his candles simultaneously with the million other kids celebrating their birthdays there.
Next we braved the pit again. I know, it was hard enough getting out the first time; why on earth would I risk going back in? Because little G wanted some tickets to trade for one of the fabulous prizes they were hawking. I played skeeball a couple of times, which gave her a grand total of 16 tickets. We escaped the pit and went to the prize counter. “I want that one!” she said, pointing at a Sleeping Beauty doll that required 4000 tickets. “Um, I think you need to look much lower,” I advised, but she wasn’t interested in any of the cheap items so we decided to save the tickets for another time. (Not that I’m insane enough to go back there before they install Xanax candy machines.)
G screamed and cried all the way home because 1)she was crashing after her sugar high, and 2)she couldn’t play the paddle ball she got in her treat bag. It was a lovely drive.
I think the Chuck E. Cheese slogan “Where a kid can be a kid!” is a misrepresentation. More likely, it’s where a kid can turn into a little monster you hardly recognize. I may get my lawyer on that. At the very least, I’m due some damages for suffering emotional trauma, don’t you think?
