Just as a preface, before you get too disappointed, this is NOT another “screamer” story. I’m more than that. So much more. At least for this week.
So, that being said…
Let me paint you a picture. It’s the summer of 1993 and my family and I are in California for a couple weeks before school starts back up. We started out visiting my aunt and uncle in L.A., which was nice and all, but my little eight-year-old self couldn’t wait to get to the good stuff: Disneyland!
Sure, we went to Sea World first, which was awesome, but in my mind nothing could compare with Space Mountain. (I wonder if I’d be disappointed if I rode it now…) While we were at the park, I started to feel a little less than stellar. I chalked it up to the heat, drank some water, whined A LOT, and was determined not to let it ruin my day. Because I hadn’t even gotten to the best part of Disneyland yet: the live show of Dick Tracy! I’m not sure when it started, but I distinctly remember wanting to be Madonna’s character, Breathless Mahoney (who I mistakenly called Breathless Miami for a long time).
What a role model, right?
Anyway, by the time the show rolled around, I was really starting to feel queasy. We sat in the very last row of the amphitheater, so we could make a quick getaway if I thought I was going to boot.
And then I felt *it* and knew we weren’t getting out of there in time. I spewed my little guts out, right on the concrete floor of the theater where my feet had just been. (I may have gotten my brother a wee bit – I can’t be sure at this point.) This would have been bad enough (I mean, who throws up at Disneyland NOT in conjunction with a ride?), but don’t worry, there’s more.
The very design of an amphitheater demands that the seats in the back are higher than those in the front. That is, the floor is sloped. You with me? Yeah, that nice puddle of vomit started oozing its way down underneath the bench in front of us. Where there was another family. Who my parents had to warn to pick up their feet (or, ideally, choose a new seat).
I was mortified beyond belief, and even more so when the dad in front of us turned around to console me: “It’s okay, sweetie, we’ve all been there.”
(Note: We found out later that I’d actually had sun poisoning, and it was worse than it should have been because it came right on the heels of the Lyme disease I’d had earlier that summer. Awesome.)