The Family Trip

As summer in the Northeast ends after seemingly lasting only fifteen minutes, I will take my annual dive into the abyss that is autumn. Before that though, here is a bookend to my previous two attempts (The Dance Recital and Visiting Day) to lighten things up for summer:

 

 

We took a family trip to Hershey Park last weekend. Why, you ask? Well, a masochist would say it’s because I enjoy torture. My wife, Lauren, would say it was to enjoy family time with our two children, Liz (5) and Matt (4). An analyst would say it is a test run for the shitshow of Disney World that is coming eventually. Matt would say it’s to eat endless chocolate until he throws up. Should I stop? Okay, fair enough.

Saturday morning

A long day lies ahead. The good – Liz and Matt will be in heaven. Also good – I will get my 10,000 steps in. The bad – the heat, lines, people, germs, Liz and Matt’s behavior at numerous points, and again germs.

After a quick breakfast in the hotel, we head to the park. We enter the parking area. Preferred parking, which gets us closer, costs extra.

“Just regular parking,” I tell the attendant.

“We’re going to be eating a lot of chocolate,” I tell Lauren, who rolls her eyes at my frugality that I am masking as an opportunity at exercise.

We are herded with 5,000 other vehicles and park only a marathon’s run away from the entrance. Fortunately, we have a stroller that we still use for occasions like these.

31 hours later

At the entrance, I am handed a map of the park. Immediately, I need a Xanax. There are 8,788 rides to choose from.

There is good news though. There are height restrictions. It limits our options. Also, we can avoid large roller coasters that Lauren and I might be terrified of.

Liz is old enough to be apprehensive. Matt is unpredictable. One day he’s scared of a slide at our local pool. The next day he would go skydiving if given the opportunity.1Just to be safe, I may have denied them their vitamins the previous few days so they wouldn’t grow. <—– CLICK ON THESE RED BOXES FOR MY TERRIBLE JOKES

The morning is a success. We did the Skyview, which took us over the entire park, a teacup ride that made me nauseous, and a log ride that soaked my new sneakers (and caused Lauren to pay $17,000 for the photo they take of you). Lines were long, but we had snacks to serve as a distraction. All dietary restrictions are removed for such occasions.

Lunch (Warning: Low-end toilet humor is coming)

I wait outside with the kids while Lauren buys lunch.

“I need to make doody,” Matt says.

“Can you hold it one minute? Mommy will be back.”

Every bathroom trip with kids is an emergency.

“Actually, I have to pee,” Liz announces.

Public bathrooms are my personal hell. I need to check the following: Are there any skid marks or other remnants in the toilet? How bad is the toilet seat? If there’s a pubic hair, that’s a deal-breaker and I have to take him to another stall. If there are pee stains, and if they’re not too caked in, I wipe them away with a giant wad of toilet paper.2A dilemma: What to do with the toilet paper I cleaned the seat with. I can’t put it in the toilet. I don’t want that dirty toilet paper in the toilet water he’s about to make in. I could flush it before he sits down. But in those strong flushes of the public toilets, a little water sometimes comes out and sprinkles the toilet seat, leaving me back at square one. I am then forced to go to Plan B and wipe the seat again and discard that toilet paper on the floor. This is bad because it’s littering, and because if Matt sees it, he might determine it’s a new toy to play with.

I cover the seat with multiple layers of toilet paper and put Matt on the toilet. I then take Liz into the next stall and go through the same process.

“Daddy, can I have a magazine?”

“Liz, we’re not home. I don’t have a magazine.”  

“Daddy, can I have privacy?”

I go into Matt’s stall and begin to wipe him. Liz finishes and exits her stall. “Liz, wait right there for me.”

“Daddy, the sink isn’t working,” Liz yells.

“Hold on, I’m coming.” I hear a commotion. I begin picturing giant men approaching her with their huge, hairy genitals out.

I flush.3That didn’t go smoothly either. Because Matt sits so far up on the seat, the poop landed in the top of the bowl where there was no water. At home, I would be worried about this creating skid marks, but I don’t care in a public bathroom. Except this time, the actual body of the stool was so far up on the bowl that the flushing didn’t catch it. I flushed two more times and it still didn’t grab it. Eventually, I rolled up 17-trees-worth of toilet paper and threw it at the stool to dislodge it.

I exit the stall. “Liz, where are you?” I turn around. Oh my God! Liz’s hands are inside a urinal.

“Daddy, the water’s not coming out.”

I cut off Liz’s hands with a chainsaw.

Okay, I don’t. But I wanted to. I take her immediately to the sink. This sink requires you turn on the faucet. I’m not going near a faucet handle. Men who just peed or defecated, or even masturbated, touched this handle.

A gallon of sanitizer it is.

Back at the lunch area, Lauren is eating and looking at her phone, laughing.

“I hate you.”

After lunch, we head to the water park section of Hershey Park. We cross a bridge and it’s like we enter a different dimension. Thousands are running around in bathing suits, wearing no shoes, going from ride to ride.

I wheel the stroller, trying to avoid the listeria-water that is dripping down on us from rides we are crossing under. We find an area to stop and Lauren takes Liz to change into a bathing suit. I entertain Matt with a bag of popcorn, plotting how I can convince him that we will have more fun if we leave the park and go to our hotel pool.

The girls return. “We have a new plan,” Lauren announces. “We’re going to Chocolate World to see how they make chocolate and then we’re going back to the hotel.” And that is why we’re married.

We speed off to Chocolate World. After 45 minutes in line, we finally get in a car that takes us on a tour of the chocolate-making process. Interesting stuff. More importantly, they give free chocolate at the end.

And we’re out. Jokes aside, we had a great time. Watching Liz and Matt experience parts of life for the first time is incredibly gratifying. So many obstacles lie ahead. But this is still the good stuff now.

That said, the moment I walked out of Hershey Park, I knew I would never set foot inside again. Check it off the list. Onto the next thing.

Hotel

Finally, some peace and quiet. I am even feeling frisky enough (and grateful for their willingness to leave the park), that I may go down the hotel pool’s waterslide with them.

We change into bathing suits in our room. (Liz was already in a bathing suit, but she also changed, as apparently hotels and amusement parks require different looks.)

We head down to the pool. There are signs up for Smores by the fire-pit tonight. Hopefully, Matt won’t impale anyone with the metal stick this time.

We come upon the check-in area.

“The pool is closed,” the attendant tells us.

“Why?”

“Contamination.”

“Until when?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Matt begins to cry. I feel like Chevy Chase arriving at Walley World in Vacation.

“What happened?”

“Contamination, sir.”

“Yes, I know you said that. What kind of contamination?”

“This is Hershey, sir,” he says wryly. Both kids are hysterical now. “Sir, there is an adult-only pool that we have opened to everyone.”

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable…”

“Sir, it works off an entirely different filtration system.”

I look at Liz, who looks hopeful. I peak at Lauren, who seems convinced.

I turn to the kids. “Who wants to go back to Hershey Park?”

 

Brett’s memoir, WHAT COULD GO WRONG? – My Mostly Comedic Journey through Marriage, Parenting and Depression, will be published later this year.

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