Saturday, April 06, 2013
F is for Ferris Wheel Pizza
I don't even remember who I was with--my best friend Margaret Ann? my sisters?--and I am not sure how old I was. Could've been 12 or 14 or 16. It's one of those repressed memories, shall we say.
All I recall is that I was at a carnival, we'd had pizza about 20 minutes before I got on the Ferris wheel, and I really should've chosen one or the other, not both.
We were first in line. That was the good news.
The Ferris wheel car had time to rock gently and chug in its bumpy, jerky, up-up-up fashion as other riders got on.
That was the bad news.
There were lots of passengers--a full load--on board, which was great news for the bottom line of the carnival owner.
I'd had one too many pieces of pepperoni pizza and perhaps a large Coke, which was bad news for people at the bottom.
Slow and bumpy gave way to faster and smooother and higher and higher. My eyes began bugging out at the spinning lights against the night sky. My ears heard nothing but a cacophony of teenage screams. The ride was in control of my stomach, not the other way around. And around. And around.
Sorry ,people below; I tried to aim, but the laws of physics are what they are.
Lesson learned: There is something to be said for the order in which one is to eat, drink, and be merry.
Penned by Zoanna