I’m not big on crowds and thought the $25 entrance fee (which has since nearly quadrupled) was outrageous, but there we were. More distressing was the terrifying number of persons under the age of 12. On this sticky hot morning, I found myself in a long line for some “scenic” ride because — OK, because I’m terrified of roller coasters. The slow-moving queue snaked back and forth, embedding us in a sea of large, sweating people with smaller versions cavorting, stepping on my toes, shoving and whining, and alternately being yelled at or ignored by the parents. Two mothers were congratulating themselves on having secured lunch reservations because the park restaurants were full; I was entertaining wicked thoughts about how these ample ladies in shorts would benefit by skipping a few lunches. To put it mildly, I was not having a good time.
I took deep breaths, reminding myself, “Chill out, Martha, there are just some things in life you have to endure.”