When it comes to amusement parks, waiting is part of the experience. Waiting for tickets, waiting to get past security, waiting in line for snacks and rides, and waiting for the nausea to pass before attempting the Turbo Blitzkrieg 9000 Coaster. Waiting is not the most tolerable thing, but we endure because we want to be amused. Some of us perform complex math calculations about grouping and seating per ride, diligently determining how many more boardings it will take to reach the object of fun. But these calculations fail to consider one thing.
The obese person.
Tension builds as riders sit in the seats that are still drenched from the former-waterpark goer turned amusement park goer, as the lap bar presses on them tightly like a comfort against death, and as the excited babbling of the riders stills into the quiet hush of anticipation. But the anticipation turns to confusion as the ride stays still. People turn anxiously, fearing a break down or vile stomach substance spill. The cause of the delay, however, is you, the large person whose ill-fated attempt to squeeze into the seat have left you unable to secure yourself within it. Belt extenders appear as if by magic, grunting and straining and wheezing is heard, and the soft “pop” of your removal from the seat via crowbar is clearly audible. Your embarrassment level measures on the Richter scale (perhaps that was just you walking around) and, surrounded by relieved and annoyed onlookers, you leave the ride red-faced and close to tears.
This is a simple request. You can clearly see the size of the seat. You can also clearly see the size of you. When in doubt, PLEASE don’t guess that you’ll be fine; abstain from riding. It’s a hassle for you, the other riders, and the amusement park staff.
It may be a good time to mention my plan for horizontal park arrows that boldly proclaim “You must be this wide or less to ride…”
You, Amusement Park Fat Guy, Need to Die
Photo Credits: Here