I’m
not amused by amusement parks whether they’re in the United States or in
Austria. We were in Prater in Vienna,
home to a very old Ferris wheel called the Wiener Riesenrad. This relic was a marvel to look at, but its
age further dissuaded me from hopping onboard.
Before leaving the United States, I was convinced that my country was
singularly serving up unhealthy and shallow forms of fun. I was quite pleased to discover that America
is not alone.
Even
the classy European city of Vienna featured junk food kiosks selling expensive
heart attacks accompanied with tawdry entertainment. Pleasure centers ranged from scare-houses to
vomit-inducing, death-defying metal contraptions that fling the willing guinea
pigs higher than humans should find themselves without standing on a sturdy
staircase or descending in an airplane flown by an experienced pilot.
Needless
to say, I don’t stand in lines to shuffle my lunch inside my stomach like a
load of laundry in a spin cycle. Let us
consider the matter rationally:
Before
walking around Prater, I ate a kasekrainer,
a fatty, oily sausage that could satiate a heavyset man for three days. The sausage along with a bottle of Coca-Cola
cost me roughly five euros. If I were to
board the Ecstasy for three euros, I would be thrashed around in a cramped box
and tipped upside-down while spinning in directions unaccustomed by my cochlea
and my brain. Eating the greasy
bratwurst in itself is an excuse to spew one’s guts. However, if one adds rapid motion and
gravity-defying stunts to the equation, one can easily see that I would have
invested eight euros merely to throw up.
Then I would have to pay even more to replace the lunch I just lost on
the pavement.
Aside
from thoughts of nausea and indigestion, I considered bravery’s role when
dealing with certain rides that instill fear into those gawking at the
deathtrap safely from the ground. I saw
a ride in which you are to sit in this robotic hand connected to a stiff
mechanical arm. The hand rotates
violently like a mixer obliterating cookie dough. The arm swings back and forth until the
victims’ swiveling heads are pointing directly at the concrete over fifty feet
below.
A
group of onlookers, including myself, stared up at those shrieking in the
sky. Who are the brave ones? Is it courageous to climb aboard this
relatively safe contraption that is likely to cause both excitement and
discomfort? Or is it more courageous to
be the odd one out who waits alone and watches his crazy friends? The person in the sky conquers nerves and
images of himself flying briefly before splashing onto the pavement. The person on the ground, however, conquers
peer pressure, and he is not afraid to look out of place. It is normal to ride the rides at an
amusement park. To do the opposite of
what everyone else is doing——isn’t that bravery?
We
spectators stood, rooted to the ground, and questioned the riders’ sanity. Could it be that we were silently asking
ourselves why we didn’t feel that hunger to put ourselves in unnecessary
danger? Or maybe we were perversely
seeking an opportunity to witness a terrible accident and a gruesome death.
Amusement
parks make a mockery of mortality. High cholesterol
food like oozy nacho cheese and fried dough are slow killers, whereas one design
flaw could instantly crumble a roller coaster.
Every now and then the general public abandons rationality and tempts
death from a safe distance. In this
case, I preferred to live dangerously in vicarious fashion and achieve a sort
of contact high.
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