"I'm in the middle of your picture lying in the reeds"
I promised a story about the haunted house. That was ages ago. It doesn't even seem relevant now that everyone is getting their fucking Easter shit out, but tonight's a great night for going home to the cat and dog, slipping into the hot tub for a while, then falling asleep watching television while laying on the floor in front of the fire. (Oh wait, that was years/lifetimes ago.) How 'bout I just tell the damn story. Yeah? No? Too bad. (on or off? to baaaadddddd)
We (the five of us in our party) met at a bar a few blocks from the building that was hosting this fiasco awaiting to step forth. I was the last to arrive (naturally) due to some unexpected circumstances which will not be expanded on other than the phrase "unexpected dinner invitation/old friend from out of town".
Everyone was one up on the drinks end of the spectrum so they let me play catch up. Cans of broth were handed out, and stuff was talked about. Some guy was talking to us about "West Coast" or something. He was throwin' sets but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Just noise.
We walked down the street to the place and realized several things. We were the oldest people there (and we're not THAT old. Old enough to know better, sure.) The M____ and D____ forgot their canned food item. In line, a girl walks down the row and tells us that from where we are, it'll be about an hour wait. There was time to go get the food and make it back for the unpredictable "Awesome-ness" that was going to scare the hell out of us. I mean, I would expect nothing less from a place that had so many grim reapers with glow-in-the-dark scythes roaming around... and a guy in a clown mask stroking what appeared to be a soiled cabbage patch doll.
As we neared the front of the queue we had to pay the entrance fee and fill out a raffle ticket. I didn't want to enter the raffle on the grounds that the only lottery I play is the death lotto. (No one remembers that one) The friendly girls taking our cans of broth laughed a little but it was that nervous, you're creeping me the fuck out kind of laugh--usual routine from someone who would have liked Edie Brickell if they had been around in those days. There was merchandise shit that they were giving away but best of all, there was a flier for a Halloween Wearhouse with all kinds of models wearing those cliched sexy insert-occupation-here costumes. On the front page? Sexy Bee. "Watch out for that stinger. Yowzaa!"
We edged closer the elevator that was going to take us to our doom when yet another girl came up and asked us how many were in our party (like we were in line for a ski lift... that would have been better.) We said five and she moved on down the line. Once it was our turn to get on, she comes back with some old guy that looked like he was going as Hans Moleman for the holiday, except he wasn't in costume. We had our sixth member. A fellowship. No bond would be stronger.
On the elevator, they had some pleasant tunes and some scary tunes playing at the same time. Not bad. I couldn't help but laugh at the pleasant music. Classic. Our descent had begun.
We strolled from room to room, lead by a rather short grim reaper carrying one of those glow in the dark scythes I mentioned earlier. She had this tendency of staring us down. All I could do was crack a huge-assed grin and giggle at her. Poor girl. I bet she hated us. I bet she wished that scythe was metal, but not necessarily sharp. Each room had some scary scene. A less world weary group would have been respectful of the effort, but not us. Lots of smartass comments and interaction with the actors. (One room had a guy playing an out of tune piano. I started singing "The Piano Man")
Anyway. The stage is set and there's a point that I need to bring up. As we went down one poorly lit hallway, there was a mattress on the floor that was meant to befuddle those who didn't see it and the stumbled over it. Mr. Moleman ate it pretty good. I didn't see it but I heard J___ help him up. No big deal, he fell onto a mattress.
We went into a larger room that had been sectioned off with blankets to make a sort of maze. This was the clown room. Clowns are scary. Right? I mean, that guy had the cabbage patch doll. That's scary too... right? Okay. There's some Tool playing as we walk in and we're all kinda getting disinterested with the whole thing. Clowns keep emerging from the labyrinth to freak us out. We weren't afraid of them so it wasn't terrifying. Or so we thought.
We walk into this area where suddenly there's super loud Korn blasting, a fan blowing, a strobe light flashing, mirrors, and some clowns behind glass, commotion, and a body on the floor.
Moleman went down. Smacked his head on a cinder block wall.
No one realized what had happened. There was suddenly a crumpled body on the floor. Our guide disappeared and the house lights came on and clowns with their masks up started coming in from all directions. We helped the guy up and took him to a chair so he could sit and then we were all standing there watching some staff member check him for a concussion. It was serious but he seemed to be okay.
At that point, I was thinking, "We should get out of here. We don't need to be here. How the hell do I get out of here. Fuck it, I'm getting out of here now." Right before I took action, M_____ piped up and asked if we should go. Someone else was thinking the same thing...
We escorted ourselves out past the rest of the terror and found our way outside at which point someone said, "Of course this would only happen to us." Then we all started to lose it, laughing at the absurdity of all that had just happened. Speculation about the man being planted started to arise. Questions about what actually happened came up. The events were pieced together. We figured out most of it. Were we responsible? I'm not telling.
They eventually called an ambulance. We saw it from down the street, back at the bar. He must not have been planted. Just some random stranger who had his world rocked by a haunted house and some friends loosely associated with a local band.
We got our broth's worth. At least I can say that....
*******
I promised a story about the haunted house. That was ages ago. It doesn't even seem relevant now that everyone is getting their fucking Easter shit out, but tonight's a great night for going home to the cat and dog, slipping into the hot tub for a while, then falling asleep watching television while laying on the floor in front of the fire. (Oh wait, that was years/lifetimes ago.) How 'bout I just tell the damn story. Yeah? No? Too bad. (on or off? to baaaadddddd)
We (the five of us in our party) met at a bar a few blocks from the building that was hosting this fiasco awaiting to step forth. I was the last to arrive (naturally) due to some unexpected circumstances which will not be expanded on other than the phrase "unexpected dinner invitation/old friend from out of town".
Everyone was one up on the drinks end of the spectrum so they let me play catch up. Cans of broth were handed out, and stuff was talked about. Some guy was talking to us about "West Coast" or something. He was throwin' sets but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Just noise.
We walked down the street to the place and realized several things. We were the oldest people there (and we're not THAT old. Old enough to know better, sure.) The M____ and D____ forgot their canned food item. In line, a girl walks down the row and tells us that from where we are, it'll be about an hour wait. There was time to go get the food and make it back for the unpredictable "Awesome-ness" that was going to scare the hell out of us. I mean, I would expect nothing less from a place that had so many grim reapers with glow-in-the-dark scythes roaming around... and a guy in a clown mask stroking what appeared to be a soiled cabbage patch doll.
As we neared the front of the queue we had to pay the entrance fee and fill out a raffle ticket. I didn't want to enter the raffle on the grounds that the only lottery I play is the death lotto. (No one remembers that one) The friendly girls taking our cans of broth laughed a little but it was that nervous, you're creeping me the fuck out kind of laugh--usual routine from someone who would have liked Edie Brickell if they had been around in those days. There was merchandise shit that they were giving away but best of all, there was a flier for a Halloween Wearhouse with all kinds of models wearing those cliched sexy insert-occupation-here costumes. On the front page? Sexy Bee. "Watch out for that stinger. Yowzaa!"
We edged closer the elevator that was going to take us to our doom when yet another girl came up and asked us how many were in our party (like we were in line for a ski lift... that would have been better.) We said five and she moved on down the line. Once it was our turn to get on, she comes back with some old guy that looked like he was going as Hans Moleman for the holiday, except he wasn't in costume. We had our sixth member. A fellowship. No bond would be stronger.
On the elevator, they had some pleasant tunes and some scary tunes playing at the same time. Not bad. I couldn't help but laugh at the pleasant music. Classic. Our descent had begun.
We strolled from room to room, lead by a rather short grim reaper carrying one of those glow in the dark scythes I mentioned earlier. She had this tendency of staring us down. All I could do was crack a huge-assed grin and giggle at her. Poor girl. I bet she hated us. I bet she wished that scythe was metal, but not necessarily sharp. Each room had some scary scene. A less world weary group would have been respectful of the effort, but not us. Lots of smartass comments and interaction with the actors. (One room had a guy playing an out of tune piano. I started singing "The Piano Man")
Anyway. The stage is set and there's a point that I need to bring up. As we went down one poorly lit hallway, there was a mattress on the floor that was meant to befuddle those who didn't see it and the stumbled over it. Mr. Moleman ate it pretty good. I didn't see it but I heard J___ help him up. No big deal, he fell onto a mattress.
We went into a larger room that had been sectioned off with blankets to make a sort of maze. This was the clown room. Clowns are scary. Right? I mean, that guy had the cabbage patch doll. That's scary too... right? Okay. There's some Tool playing as we walk in and we're all kinda getting disinterested with the whole thing. Clowns keep emerging from the labyrinth to freak us out. We weren't afraid of them so it wasn't terrifying. Or so we thought.
We walk into this area where suddenly there's super loud Korn blasting, a fan blowing, a strobe light flashing, mirrors, and some clowns behind glass, commotion, and a body on the floor.
Moleman went down. Smacked his head on a cinder block wall.
No one realized what had happened. There was suddenly a crumpled body on the floor. Our guide disappeared and the house lights came on and clowns with their masks up started coming in from all directions. We helped the guy up and took him to a chair so he could sit and then we were all standing there watching some staff member check him for a concussion. It was serious but he seemed to be okay.
At that point, I was thinking, "We should get out of here. We don't need to be here. How the hell do I get out of here. Fuck it, I'm getting out of here now." Right before I took action, M_____ piped up and asked if we should go. Someone else was thinking the same thing...
We escorted ourselves out past the rest of the terror and found our way outside at which point someone said, "Of course this would only happen to us." Then we all started to lose it, laughing at the absurdity of all that had just happened. Speculation about the man being planted started to arise. Questions about what actually happened came up. The events were pieced together. We figured out most of it. Were we responsible? I'm not telling.
They eventually called an ambulance. We saw it from down the street, back at the bar. He must not have been planted. Just some random stranger who had his world rocked by a haunted house and some friends loosely associated with a local band.
We got our broth's worth. At least I can say that....
*******
In retrospect, it was a lot funnier right after it had happened. So I hyped it up and there's your big let-down. Feeling deflated? Good.
I'll get to the pictures from the trip tonight and the stories about that may or may not come out. It's still simmering in the pot for now. Lots to process. Post-vacation depression is setting in.
And to Bill the Pill: this should answer your question. And give you more?
2 comments:
it's not really scary until someone gets a concussion is it? welcome to my world....
Hello,
We are researchers at the University of Texas and University at Buffalo working to better understand people's blogging behavior, and you are an ideal candidate to help. We would like very much to hear from you, and would greatly appreciate your time and willingness to respond.
Without your help, this kind of research would be impossible.
Please take a few minutes to read and answer the questionnaire on our research Web site: http://omega.uta.edu/~cyjang/blogsurvey/. It should take about 10 minutes of your time, and your answers will be very valuable.
Your identity will be protected because responses will be coded to provide anonymity; No personal names will be used. Of course, this is voluntary- by completing the survey you give your consent to participate. If you have any questions about the study or the questionnaire, please do not hesitate contacting us at your convenience. In the near future, we will be happy to share our results with you.
Thank you.
Chyng-Yang Jang & Michael Stefanone
------------------------------------------------
Chyng-Yang Jang
Assistant Professor
Department of Communication
University of Texas at Arlington
P.O. Box 19107
Arlington, Tx 76019, USA
cyjang AT uta DOT edu
(+1) 817-272-4142
Michael Stefanone
Assistant Professor
Department of Communication
The State University of New York at Buffalo
359 Baldy Hall
Buffalo, New York 14260
ms297 AT buffalo DOT edu
+1 716-645-2141
Post a Comment