sixflags1

July 2003

Why is Mike Holding Me and Where Did He Get That Hat?

    Okay, so, I'm visiting pal Mike in Athens last Saturday, and he tells me he's taking off the next week for vacation, but it doesn't look like he'll be able to travel -- just hang around the apartment, go to his mom's and help fix up the place, that's about it. Dad had given me a couple of tickets to Six Flags that had limitations, perfect for someone who had a day off in the middle in the week and no fun plans, and I had a day(ish) off for having to work on a Saturday a couple of weeks ago (it was a slammed week of work with lots of people on vacation, so I felt more comfortable putting in a couple of hours instead of blowing off the whole day), and I said "Wanna go to Six Flags?" And he said, "Sure!" He hadn't been in 20 years or something (the aging Georgia Cyclone, my favorite ride, hadn't been built at the time), and pal Mark had talked about going with his friend Joel recently, and pal Ed had just partied at Disneyland, so he was keen to catch up. We debated days, and, after he voiced concern about how it's supposed to rain on Thursday and me assuring him it's ALWAYS supposed to rain, it's summer, it won't rain enough to bother us, we decide on Thursday.
    So Thursday morning, around 11:30, he walked into my dungeon basement office, while I was finishing off some work (and gingerly checking with the boss that it was okay with him that I was bailing for the afternoon -- it was). I'd been beat from scrambling in the wake of IBM laying off my key support people I was suddenly having to be, and Mike was beat from spending the previous two days in the heat working on his mom's house (literally -- on the roof, in the hot sun, stretching... to paint... that... far... corner...)(When he'd told me on Tuesday night how exhausted he was -- and, no, he assured me, it was NOT a good kind of exhausted and he DIDN'T think he'd sleep well that night -- I almost begged him to take Wednesday as easy as possible so he could be rested up for a day in the sun at Six Flags).
    So laptop closed and DVD player shut off (Mike was watching Absolute Beginners while I was finishing up), we hit the road -- a tasty lunch at Chic-Fil-A, which we were both really hungry for, and down 285 and I-20 to Six Flags!
    Yea!!!
    We agree that we have no plans, agenda nor schedule -- we're just going to walk around the park, ride what we feel like, leave when we want. A nice relaxing day. We take the long hike from the parking lot (Mike can't believe they've stopped using the tram -- he LOVED the tram), and walk in through the gates. First, we hit the gift shop so Mike can check out their cookie jars, which they don't have, and all ready we're appreciating the air conditioning (and scoping their penny smashers). It's a hot muggy day, and it's barely one o'clock.
    Our first ride, we decide, is the Free Fall, which is basically sitting on an elevator bench, being taken up several stories and dropped. I like it because it takes the queasy motion feeling out of your stomach on your first ride so you can just enjoy the speed of the other rides. Mike's totally game, and we stand in line. Again, muggy and hot, and the not so pleasant smell of amusement park (what is that? souring drinks on the asphalt?) makes me wonder if that's what's kind of making me not feel so good. That, perhaps, and that syrupy lemonade I had Chic-Fil-A (which I didn't finish, because I know my limit on syrupy lemonade intake). I shake it off, and we get on the ride. A precocious pre-teen girl introduces herself to us, offering to shake hands, but I'm too strapped in for my hand to reach her -- Mike later refers to her as a young Reese Witherspoon in Election -- and she tells us and her gal pal that this ride is much taller than it used to be. Right as we're reaching the top, Mike starts making "whoa -- hey -- umm" noises, and as our car is being pushed away from the tower and dropped, he yells "What am I doing heeeeeere?????" among other things, and I can't stop laughing.
    So we're onto the next ride, Mike's mind blown and me still laughing, and we stop off at the Cartoon Network giftshop (still no cookie jars, but a second penny smasher and glorious air conditioning), and then right around the corner is Gotham City.
    I want Mike to see all the art and set design stuff they've done for Gotham City, making that area look like sets from Batman right down to the Danny Elfman music being piped in. We begin the hike for the Batman line, which is a hike before you reach the actual line with people -- railed sidewalks snaking around Gotham landscaping -- and then there's the stopping and waiting, watching the MindBender, now decorated with Joker question marks and a funky green paint around its name, zip over and around us, and the Batman ride taking off deceptively in front of us (the cruel tease part of the line before you descend into the non-viewing ages of line ahead). And it's hot. I have to keep mopping my eyes with my sleeve to keep the sunscreen from stinging.
    Over a half hour later, we're still in line, and not a lot further. Eventually, we're standing inside a huge Gotham pipeline with no air or breeze, and I'm starting to feel extremely uncomfortable. I'm suddenly wanting to be somewhere cool, sitting down, and drinking water, but there's no where to go. When we get to the turn in the pipeline, there's a break between pipes at the corner, and breeze blows in a bit there, which is a help, but not much. Maybe thirty yards ahead (if that, I'm a lousy judge of distance), the line disappears into another building, which suggests more rows of line. I'm trying to shake it off, but wanting to get to the ride, and then go somewhere and sit down and drink something cold. A couple of vendor guys with trays of lemonade walk by, and I tell Mike I want water, no more lemonade. He agrees.
    A few minutes later and not many more steps ahead, I try to sit on the middle rail, just to rest, but it's not much help. Then, my vision does a funky thing it's only done once before when I worked a hot day on an empty stomach at Zoo Atlanta -- edges of blackness push in and out slightly a couple of times (like in a movie when the darkness whooshes in from the outside and leaves only a decreasing small circle in the middle until it disappears and the screen goes black). I quickly say to Mike, "I think I'm going to black out," and I try to reach for the rail to sit down again.
    Then I open my eyes, and find myself lying on the ground, my legs stretched out, my head and shoulders resting against Mike, and him fanning my face with a little white baseball-style hat. The vendor guys are standing in front of me, one of them minus a cup of lemonade, which is now setting on the ground to the left of me, next to my belt pack with my glasses neatly folded on top. To the right of me, a single line of people are stepping over my feet and gawking down at me, on their way through the line ("Oh, my God, she's amusement ride line roadkill!").

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