The Rules Were Clear: And They Were Ultimately Kicked Off The Merry-Go-Round

By Margo Hoornstra 

Stories, you never know where they are going to lead you. The one I share today is true and, when it happened, was fascinating, fortuitous, funny, frightening and, now that I think about it, frivolous too.

 

Given the title above, you may get the picture of a group of rowdy thugs or other miscreants prowling an otherwise peaceful amusement ride, vaulting over gaily painted wooden horses and performing inappropriate antics on the various support poles and other available stanchions.

 

Not so.

 

The culprit asked to leave the slowly rotating circular platform that fateful summer Sunday was me. My crime was far less serious. And certainly not, in my opinion, offensive in any way.

 

Let me explain.

 

My youngest daughter's wedding took place that Saturday, complete with a reception lasting well into the night. Bright and early Sunday morning -- okay, maybe not so bright, but early just the same -- four supposedly mature and reasonably sane adults took off on a three hour drive, each way, to the nationally renowned theme park. Whose idea this was, I fail to remember. I think it was sort of a 'while we are all together anyway' type of scenario.

 

Little did I know how I'd underestimated the impact of post-event jet lag.

 

But back to the story.

 

Having forgotten my fanny pack -- a must have carry all for any amusement park attendee -- we stopped on the way where I purchased what I thought would work. A fanny pack like bag that fit comfortably over my shoulder, but lacked the strap capacity to be secured around my waist. My choice turned out to be a poor substitute.

Inappropriate Carry All

 

 

I had no idea of the perils I would face because of it.

 

Seeking a more calm and tranquil activity while our cohorts rode over the top, literally, roller coasters and the like, my husband and I opted for the peace and serenity of the Merry-Go-Round with its array of ready horses and, for the more sedate among us, comfy benches.

 

All items not affixed to your person must be put here prior to boarding. I'd seen the sign above the open bin at the entrance, but figured the instructions couldn't possibly apply to purses and certainly not to mine. I'd never leave my purse, alone and unattended like that. Would you? I didn't think so.

 

Handing our tickets to the attendant, we chose our soon to be galloping steeds -- no sissified benches for us -- and readied for a fun filled ride.

 

"Please place all items not secured to your person in the bin provided."

 

I heard the announcement over a small microphone the attendant held and shifted my own item not secured to my person, okay there, I admit it, to a more discreet position between me and my horse. Not good enough. The announcement was repeated, this time with distinct eye contact aimed in my direction.

 

Team player that he is, my husband sought to make it appear that  I'd complied when he hid the offending pack just the other side of his saddle horn. Nobody would notice he sat just a tad taller in the saddle, would they?

 

Someone did. The pesky someone in charge.

Appropriate Carry All

 

 

Once again the no items unless affixed to your person decree rang in my ears followed by more eye contact and, this time a definite finger point my way.

 

What else could I do? The gauntlet had been thrown. I had to respond. "It's my purse, not a stray item." Adjusting said purse on my shoulder, I readjusted my person onto my horse.

 

"It's still not an object affixed to your person."

 

"But, it's my purse."

"It doesn't matter."

"Fine."

Having wasted enough of our time and the time of everyone else who continued to wait for the ride to start, purse high on my shoulder, head held even higher, I made my way around to the exit and left. Long suffering husband also walked off in a show of support -- or flash of embarrassment. Take your pick.

In hindsight, maybe I should have followed the rules without question. Shown more faith that no one would walk away with my personal identification, my credit cards, my car keys, my cash.

 

But I couldn't. Which in itself is rather sad.

 

On the upside, my grandkids love this story and their grandmother's show of defiance. They may like it enough to someday share with, say, their grandchildren.

 

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd of each month.

 

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