Tuesday, November 02, 2004
TOWER BOLT: A large steel barrel bolt. (from the InteriorDezine.com glossary)
This is the Tower. I wanted to Bolt.
I have a close friend, Cref, who describes me as “fearless.” I can’t say I disagree with that entirely. I box, I’ve been rock climbing (thanks once again to Cref who thought it would be fun to bring me whilst suffering from one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever experienced), I love roller coasters of all sorts to no end, and I’ve made some personal decisions in my life that some would consider brave. However, one thing became clear to me this weekend:
If anything with freefall is sent in my direction, I turn into the Whimpering Mayor of Wusstown.
The case in point is the Twilight Zone ride Tower of Terror at Disney-MGM Studios. In my somewhat meager defense, the description indicates that you’ll freefall thirteen stories, but what they don’t tell you is that those thirteen stories don’t happen all at once. So I’m going into this thinking that it’s going to be the equivalent of jumping off a fourteen story building (stupid I-can’t-handle-being-on-the-13th-floor-superstitions) and my self-preservation instincts start kicking in.
However, I want to be a good sport, and test my boundaries, and every other ridiculous reason I can come up with in order to face my anxieties, so against all of my trepidations, I sojourn forth with Ryan into the Line With 20 Minutes Waiting Time.
Then, the Wringing of the Hands begins. I’ve discovered that when I’m really apprehensive about something, my fingers resort to every nervous tic in the book.
I do the rapid open/close fist move.
I turn my thighs into a drum kit.
I play patty-cake with myself.
I suddenly get the notion that snapping one's fingers in a syncopated method makes one come off as incredibly nonchalant.
You get the idea.
And once strapped in, I catch myself quietly doing my best impression of a mental patient by rocking slightly and murmuring “nononononononononononononono” just before the bottom dropped out. Then I screamed like somebody told me that Laura McCree (hate!) had redecorated my bedroom while I was away. How thoroughly embarrassing. Once it was over, I fully realized what I knew about the ride all along: it really wasn’t that bad.
An artist's rendering of my expression during the ride
To his credit, Ryan was a complete and total sweetheart during the whole thing. He held my hands and reassured me that everything was going to be okay and waited patiently as I recovered on the nearest bench as soon as I got out of there. This is why I can put up with the “gentle ribbing” I’ve received since then from him. That and it's also well-deserved.
So yeah, Cref. Not so fearless.
*shrug* Nobody’s perfect.
By the way, I know I was supposed to do my counter yesterday. My blog. I'll do it next week. :)
posted by La Nina @ 1:41 PM