There are two ways to go down a waterslide: the right way and my way.
Fifty-something people have no business being on these terrifying inventions but when a man that age has young children, he has no choice but to put himself into situations he would otherwise gladly avoid. That is how I found myself at the top of an enormous slide that stretched endlessly straight up into the sky and into which a continuous stream of water was flowing, the better to carry me pitilessly to my doom below. And at the bottom was a little pool that, from the top, looked just a little bigger than a bathtub. It was into this minuscule container of water that the manufacturers of this ridiculous contraption proposed that I land, after sliding at a rapid rate of speed down their device.
I looked cautiously around me. Young boys, mostly, and a few dads, waited on the landing at the top of the slide to climb into the blue plastic human pistol. My eight-year-old son gallantly took his turn in the chute and with little prompting, slid down the waterway with total glee, much like a baby bird learning to fly. Like me, this was his first tour down a waterslide. Unlike me, however, he seemed to derive an immense amount of satisfaction from the experience. I could see him at the bottom as he climbed out of the tiny pool, smiling and waving encouragement at me.
Pushed from behind by some boys in a great big hurry, I climbed into the chute and realized this was it. There was a two-second window of opportunity when I might have climbed back out, and in retrospect, I really wish I had done that. But at this point, I didn’t know which to be the most afraid of: the waterslide or the prospect of being mocked by a group of young boys who go down waterslides like they were born to do nothing but. There was also the matter of the humiliation my aborting of the mission would have brought upon my son.
So, I pulled myself ahead until there was no going back. I crossed my arms over my chest as I had seen others do (and am surprised that I am still not lying somewhere in that position today) and took off, like the Titanic, on my maiden voyage.
If you happened to be outside pretty much anywhere in southern Canada at about 2 p.m. on July 14, 2004, you would have possibly heard a short, piercing sound that would put you in mind of a blood-curdling scream. Somebody, let’s say, who had just gone over Niagara Falls. That somebody would have been me.
I have been on a few wild rides at the fairs in my day. I remember some at a Toronto funland one year that curled my toes. But I have never experienced such sheer, unadulterated terror and hope to never again.
Everything was totally out of control and, given my limited ability to accurately size up the situation while hurtling to the teacup of water below, it seemed to me that the time gap between my departure and my arrival at the bottom was very short.
Before this ill-advised adventure began, I was cautioned to do two things: cross my arms on the way down and keep my legs up just before I hit the water. I did not know what the consequences of failing to follow these rules would be; I wish now that I had.
As mentioned, I crossed my arms like King Tut, no problem. But the leg part I found a little more difficult as I had no idea where I was by the time I hit the bottom.
Here, in as polite terms as I can bring myself to tell you, are the consequences that accrue from failing to keep your legs in the air as you hit the pool at the bottom of the fearsome, straight-on waterslide. Water is a powerful force. Imagine someone waiting for you at the bottom of the slide holding a sledgehammer. Now, imagine that same person swinging that hammer in the direction of your groinal area as your bum touches down.
There was a great concern among the pool staff over the mess that was me at the bottom of the slide and to their credit, they hid their smiles well. My son, however, was unable to pretend that what he had just witnessed was not the funniest thing he had ever seen in his short life. Ten days later, he is still laughing about it. And the fact that he spent the next hour with his mom, the two of them going down every waterslide in sight.
I related all this to a friend on Sunday and he said that the only way for me to get over my bad experience was to do it a few more times. Only then would I get to enjoy it, as he now does. I assured him getting to like watersliding was not on my list of priorities in my life at this point and I couldn’t say when it might be unless we were prepared to discuss the meaning of the word never.
After my ordeal, I wandered over to kiddies’ area with my daughter and she and I spent a long time together enjoying the two curved and short waterslides there. It is these slides that should be made mandatory in every amusement park across the country. I am writing to my local lawmakers to try to make it happen. Being the one to kill all killer waterslides across the country would give me my only and best revenge.
©2004 Jim Hagarty
