Last night, we went to the local "Haunted Ski Lift" ride—out of our sense of duty to our favorite season to be as festive as possible—and I am still recovering from the trauma.
Is it because I don't like heights? you might ask.
No.
Is it because I am five years old?
No.
Well, is it because it was incredibly scary?
No.
It was because we were completely soaked in a pounding torrent of haunted rain and I thought we were going to die.
So actually, yes, it was incredibly scary.
The rest of the week progressed, and on Thursday, walking home with an 80 degree sun beating down on me and sweating through my thin sweater, I raised my fists into the air and shouted IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE FALL WHY DO YOU HAVE TO HURT ME MR. SUN I JUST WANT TO WEAR MY SWEATERS AND ENJOY BEING COZY AND I CAN'T HAVE THAT IF IT ISN'T COLD I WOULD EVEN TAKE A RAINSTORM IF IT MEANT IT WOULD BE COLDER PLEASE STOP MAKING IT SO HOT. But, indifferent as always to my pleas, the sun just chuckled and kept reading his copy of How to Annoy Camryn Monthly as I sobbed hot tears that streamed down my face and into the sweat stains already covering my entire body (a gross exaggeration—literally).
When Friday arrived, it was a little cloudy and a little cooler, but not by much. Angered by the lack of fall-like weather, and reluctant to change plans, I decided we should still go on the haunted lift ride so we could at least still have something to look forward to—even though in the back of my mind I was still worried about the possibility of rain.
On the way there, I called in and asked if they would shut down the lift if it started raining. I was told they "weren't really sure" and that "it doesn't look like it's raining right now." Reassured by the customer service woman's perfect knowledge of her company's policies, I decided that there was no way this couldn't end up being the best evening of our lives. WE WERE GOING TO RIDE THAT LIFT AND EVERYTHING WAS GOING TO BE PERFECT. ASHLEY FROM CUSTOMER SERVICE SAID SO.
Since there was no question that we would attend this event again this year, earlier in October I put it on the calendar for the evening of Friday the 28th. It seemed like the perfect time to go—it would help us kick off "Halloweekend," we were already going to be out and about that night anyways, and that would leave Saturday as the cozy night we'd stay in to carve pumpkins and decorate sugar cookies with Halloweentown on in the background (did I mention we were festive? Because we're that festive). But, the Monday before, while looking at the weather forecast for the week, I noticed that Friday was supposed to have "afternoon showers" with the chance of precipitation at 70%.
But that could change, right? I thought.
But that could change, right? I thought.
There's no way that would happen, I thought.
We will probably be fine, I thought.
What if I have a secret twin that is living her life on the other side of the globe and sometimes people think she's me and vice versa and we'll never meet and it is as if one of us never existed? I thought.
"That would really suck if we were up there and it just started pouring rain, you know?"
"Yeah, it would. We can go tomorrow night if you want to, babe. I'm totally fine either way."
"I guess we could. But...we should be okay. I think we'll be fine."
"And there aren't even any clouds around either!"
"...what about that dark scary one looming in the distance?"
After parking our car and heading to the ride on a shuttle, the excitement and nostalgia set in. "Monster Mash" was playing, the driver of the shuttle was wearing a wacky wig, and he had a bucket of candy for everyone heading down to the festivities. We'd gone on this harmless lift ride every year since being married and we were eager to see what spooky installments they'd have for us this time. But the instant we walked out of the shuttle, we felt a couple raindrops splash down on our faces. That should have been warning enough. We should have turned to each other and said, "Hmm. Maybe this isn't the best idea," or "Maybe we should just go grab a Redbox and call it a night and come back tomorrow," or "Babe, do you want to experience something truly horrific? I don't think I do!"
But, stubborn as we both are, we kept going with the plan and, after a brief 10-minute stint in the gift shop to "wait it out" and "see if it got worse," we were outside buying our tickets as the tiniest rain drops fell down at random. "We have hoods," we said. "We'll be fine," we said. And in no time we were on our way climbing up the mountain on our lift, raindrops falling a little heavier than they had been before.
And thus began what I call the "Stages of Resignation" that are not unlike the stages of grief you learn about in health class in high school, except at the end of the stages of grief you're supposed to feel better and at the end of the stages of resignation you have experienced nearly every emotion possible and been driven to the depths of insanity, where kind doctors are waiting for you with a nicely-pressed straight jacket and a rag soaked in chloroform. My husband, somehow, was not driven to madness while on the lift (maybe it's because he's like, mature and well-adjusted or something), but I, ever the master of my emotions, became a total wreck. So since I experienced this first-hand, I will now relate the Stages of Resignation to you, in order, so that you will be able to recognize when this is happening to you before you, too, end up having a dramatic seizure fifty feet in the air.
Stage One: Disbelief
This situation isn't going to be really horrible, right? your mind wonders as you say calm, mature things out loud like "Oh, this won't be so bad!" and "Well at least this will be a funny story to tell later!" and "We've experienced worse, right?" As we began the lift ride in the light drizzle coming down while spooky mummies danced below to The Bangles' Walk like an Egyptian, I looked over at my husband under my hood and said, "I am SO glad I didn't bring my camera!" Look at me being cool and collected, I thought. This stage will last as long as it takes for the reality of the situation to set in, and in my case, Stage Two began as soon as the rain shifted from a light drizzle to a pounding monsoon.
Stage Two: Shock
As the rain poured down relentlessly, soaking all of my clothes and making me feel incredibly uncomfortable because there is nothing worse than sitting in wet clothes with wet jeans constricting your legs (except maybe being soaked over and over again while fifty feet in the air with no hope of relief), I realized that this was going to be the worst thing ever. And that we were really, really dumb. How did we think the rain wouldn't get worse the higher we went up a mountain?! How did we convince ourselves to go through with this?! How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?! The rain was coming down so hard that my hood kept flying off my head, so the only option was to keep my head down with my hood pulled way over my face and NOT BEING ABLE TO SEE ANYTHING, or not care about the rain hitting my face and forget about the hood. At this point, in my shock, having come to the realization that yes, this is really happening and yes, this is really horrible, I desperately tried to keep my hood on. And as the rain continued to pound down on us, I quickly descended to Stage Three.
Stage Three: Irrationality
My normal, everyone-is-going-to-break-into-our-house-and-kill-us irrationality was made worse when the gale force wind began to blow. I started questioning the stability of the lift, wondering just how hard the wind would have to blow to detach us from the cable that began to look at lot less sturdy. And with the way things were going, THAT SEEMED LIKE IT WAS VERY POSSIBLE. My mind raced between the horrendous outcomes of every "what if" question you could think of, most notably, "Am I going to slide off the lift in this rain and wind?????" I couldn't control myself, spitting out the water that would land in my mouth between frantic shouts of conversations like this:
"WHAT IF I WAS WEARING PLASTIC PANTS."
"BABE YOU AREN'T WEARING PLASTIC PANTS."
"BUT IF I WAS WOULD I FALL OFF AND DIE?"
"I WOULDN'T LET YOU FALL CAM"
"ARE WE GOING TO DIE. THIS WIND IS SO CRAZY."
"I KNOW BUT WE'LL BE OKAY"
"THE LIFT IS GOING TO BREAK. I AM GOING TO BREAK."
And at the conclusion of the frantic what ifs, Stage Four slips in before you even realizing it's happening.
Stage Four: Fear
This is the type of fear that is characterized by straight up sobbing and no brain activity whatsoever. Your mind simply can't think of irrational situations anymore because your reality is actually so terrifying to you that there is nothing worse that your mind could come up with. Even though in the back of your mind there's a little shred of rationality left shaped like Jiminy Cricket that's like "Dude, seriously? You're totally going to be fine, wish upon a star," you still just let it all out because THERE IS A CHANCE YOU MIGHT DIE. At this point, my husband realized just how upset I was (if he couldn't at this moment, I would be concerned) and tried to comfort me as the rain continued to pour down and we looked like a couple of drowned rats. "Babe, at the next station we'll get off, okay? Would you like that?" he asked me, like a dad asking an upset toddler if they want ice cream, and I nodded and said that yes, I very much wanted Rocky Road and to be OFF THIS DEATH RIDE, but when we got to the next station, THE THEME WAS CLOWNS. AND I WAS LIKE NOPE I'M NOT GETTING OFF. NOT NOW.
Stage Five: Anger
I think it may have been the clowns, the audacity of the clowns to even be there in my lowest, rock-bottom moment that sent me quickly into the next stage: anger. Turning to my husband, I started ranting: "HAVEN'T THEY SEEN THE NEWS REPORTS? ISN'T THIS RIDE SUPPOSED TO BE FOR KIDS AND FAMILIES? THIS IS HORRIBLE. HOW DARE THEY HAVE CLOWNS. I'M GOING TO SUE. I HATE THIS. I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. WE SHOULD GET A REFUND. I CAN'T BELIEVE I PAID TO EXPERIENCE THIS. THIS IS THE LITERAL WORST THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD AND IT NEEDS TO DIE." I started yelling back at the people on the ground who I normally chuckle at as they shout up to you on the ride. "Want to come play?" the skeleton-suit-clad guys below yelled. "WANT TO DIE?" I rebutted. "How are you guys doing tonight?" "WET AND MISERABLE." It was my turn to anger and disdain for absolutely everything that made my husband start laughing, which made me realize that this situation really was pretty funny, which lead me into the arms of Stage Six, which I wish would have lasted longer.
Stage Six: Uncontrollable Laughter
This is the brief glimpse of hope in an otherwise horrible, dreadful, soaking-wet in an unrelenting storm up in the air situation. Wow, this is actually super hilarious. Look at us! you think as you laugh and laugh and remember what happiness feels like. This would happen to us—we were asking for it! But before you can fully enjoy this stage, it is swept away when you realize that the situation is nowhere close to being over. For me, this happened as we got closer to the end of the lift ride, and realized that we then were going to turn around and have to go back through the entire thing all the way down the mountain. As we drew closer to the asylum scene presented at the last area, my smile departed and I once again was drawn back into reality, this time completely silent and defeated.
Stage Seven: Defeated Silence
Channelling my inner "child in an infomercial that hasn't eaten in months" face, I stared dejectedly ahead as the asylum kids at the end of the ride lunged forward and tried to scare us before we headed back around, DARING them to not notice how horrible everything was, knowing my mascara was probably all over my face and that I looked like I was one of Davy Jones's crewmen from Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, barnacles and all. And, best of all, the lift came to a halt right in front of them, so we just sat there, opposite each other, me in a sassy resolution to show them how upsetting this was, and them looking mildly confused and also very wet. Then, as the lift started up, we turned around and WENT BACK THROUGH THE WHOLE RIDE. And somewhere on the way back down, while mentally willing the lift to go faster, I slipped into the final stage, which lasted through the rest of the night and even after we got home.
Stage Eight: Drunken Threats
This stage is very similar to the anger displayed in Stage Five, except at this point, you have no fight left in you and you're just completely done with the situation. I kept ranting, and yelling at things, and making ridiculous angry comments to make my husband laugh ('HEY, IS IT RAINING? I'M NOT SURE."), but it was all of a less violent nature. Most of it. I no longer cared and just wanted to get. off. the. stupid. thing. And on the way down it didn't take long to realize that ALL of the people working the lift ride FELT THE EXACT SAME WAY AND WERE ALSO DEFINITELY AT STAGE EIGHT. As we glided over the scenes, we noticed workers hiding under their props, desperately trying to shield themselves from the storm. One of the snarky skeletons whose life I had previously threatened shouted up at us saying "What's the difference between me and you?" "Um, you're dry?" "No, you're going home in ten minutes!" This made me realize that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't being so irrational about this after all (but really, I totally was). The rest of the workers beneath us shouted words of encouragement instead of trying to spook us. Turning to my husband, I kept saying, "THEY BROKE THE FOURTH WALL. THEY BROKE THE FOURTH WALL."
Somewhere between touching down and walking on the sweet, sweet ground, standing dejected and dripping in the hallway of the gift shop while my husband bought himself a hat (under no circumstance will this ever not happen if the hat is cool enough), and squeegeeing my clothes so I could bend enough to sit in the car, we got home intact, though water-logged and pruny. (And, in my case, emotionally damaged.)
I used to like rain. I used to love putting on my rain boots and walking outside in the fresh, sweet-smelling after-rain air. I used to find it cleansing, soothing. I used to revel in the sound of rain falling on the roof as I drifted off to sleep. But now, after being stranded in a figurative wind tunnel while being pelted with the stuff for the longest hour of my life, I don't know if I will feel that way anymore. At least, not until after undergoing extensive therapy (and relearning that rainstorms do not = clowns).
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