Well, Bev’s back in the Midwest for a few weeks on vacation, which means lots of family time. This was recently kicked off with a family trip to Treasure Island, a midwestern theme park (which, by the way, is actually damn fun) with my parents, Maude and her husband, and my nieces- eight and four years old.
There were many funny moments, such as me realizing after being in the park approximately nine minutes that neon green shirts act just like white shirts when wet. Damn you, Log Ride. And then how MamaG referred to me as a porn star for the next hour. Or how my brother-in-law almost fell and broke his ass at least 14 times throughout the day, etc. #SlipperyAsphaltFlipFlopProblems.
But, as usual, the real star of the show was ol’ Smoke. The man is a walking blog post. I didn’t have my phone with me (wouldn’t fit in MamaG’s fanny pack, and I didn’t bring a purse. Yes, I said fanny pack. We’re not discussing that here) to record all the things I would’ve liked, but I remembered some highlights.
First of all, I still (three days later) can’t decide what’s funnier- riding a roller coaster with him when there are no ‘little ears’ around, when he swears more than you’ve ever heard someone swear in 120 seconds, or when he rides a roller coaster with ‘little ears’ around, and tries to G-rate everything that comes out of his mouth. “Holy shnikes.” “Holy schnikers.” “Holy shiza.” And, I’m pretty sure there was an actual, “Holy shnoo,” in there at one point. Pure comedy.
Or taking him on the Tilt-a-Whirl. Two years ago, he went twice in a row, nearly died, and my nieces still talk about it. “Wememba when Gwampy was gween afta he wode the Tilt-a-Whuwl?” Ever the glutton for punishment (and ever the world’s greatest Grampy), the man boards the ride again this year. Let’s just say the dude running the ride (I had to refrain so hard from using the word ‘carnie’ here) realized pretty quickly that he had a ‘fish on the line’ (this is where “Holy shnoo” came into play), and I’m pretty sure gave us one of the longest, spinniest Tilt-a-Whirl rides in the history of Treasure Island. When the little clamshell finally came to a halt, my four-year-old niece skipped off, giggling hysterically, and my dad was unresponsive. Literally for, like, 8 seconds. He finally stumbles off, mumbling to the park worker, who then slipped me a wink as Smoke nearly stumbled down the stairs and back into civilization. Let’s just hope those two never meet in a dark alley. (My money’s on Smoke though. Well, as long as he hasn’t recently ridden the Tilt-a-Whirl)
In between his swearing/trying not to swear/trying not to die on rides, he also analyzes every working part of each attraction and figures out how the ride works… best evidenced by the ferris wheel, where (knowing Smoke is feeling less than comfortable due to his fear of heights), MamaG points out that ‘something is being held together with zip ties’ and how that’s not safe. Smoke turns around, spots the zip ties, and within a millisecond responds with, “That’s just holding the plastic piece over the lights. That don’t make no nevermind.” Took me a full 45 seconds to figure out what he meant… and he was right- it really didn’t make no nevermind whether that ziptie broke or not. The man knows machinery. *Note: There’s also an epic story of my dad taking my sister on a ferris wheel at a fair in the early ’80s. She cried (he might’ve too?) and basically, the worker wouldn’t stop the ride and laughed at him as he went ’round and ’round. I can’t do the story justice, as I wasn’t born, but I think the term ‘son of a bitch’ is involved. A lot.
Last but not least, toward the end of the day, he goes to get his age and weight guessed- something he’s been doing since Maude and I were young. They are, of course, nearly always wrong, and he wins two prizes: one for Maude and me, or now, one for each niece. Well, the poor Treasure Island park worker is off by two years on age (not bad), and then guesses Smoke’s weight at 147. Now, my dad is far from overweight, but let’s just say, I don’t think he’s weighed 147 since ‘Nam…. what grown man does? So, as my nieces are giddily picking out their shitty stuffed animal prizes, my dad asks the poor worker if it’s his first day.
It’s a real joy, folks. This all happened amidst him asking, “Have I done this one before?” as he boards every ride (and the answer is yes, every time. Every time– we’ve been coming to Treasure Island since the ’80s). And for the record, he wore his new tennies to Treasure Island. Tell your loved ones how much they mean to you, because the world is ending.
Stay tuned for more tales from the midwest.
-Bev
P.S.- I apologize for the lengthy Smoke posts, but like I said, the man is a walking blog post. And speaking of the shoes, he did just wear the Spaldings last week, and made no less than nine jokes about how next week, he’ll be making me tie them for him, as he’s having minor hand surgery tomorrow. He’s also been telling my mom for weeks that he’s gonna “have Bev do that when she’s home” about a lot of tasks around the farm that he won’t be able to complete with one hand. Documentation to ensue.
P.P.S.- More prayers appreciated. For the surgery, and for me, completing farm jobs under his watchful eye. Word to the wise: buy stock in Coors Light.
