The first swoop of the ride threw my stomach against my spine and my head lolled against the seat restraints. I tried valiantly to withhold what I knew was coming.
It didn’t work.
After Typhoon gained some momentum, it swung us into the air upside down. My body clenched, and my legs slammed against the seat as my mouth opened wide in a scream. A scream that turned into a waterfall of vomit.
It makes me sick to write this.
My friend Melynne screamed, not for the thrill of the ride, but at the disgusting pool of half-digested clam chowder splattered all over the seat in front of me.
I didn’t have time to scream at anything. Before I knew it, we were upside down again and I was retching. I couldn’t stop it. The control I had over my body vanished and my legs flopped out as we flipped upside down again and again.
Each time we went upside down my stomach drew up its contents and dumped them on my face. Vomit filled my eyes, my ears, and my nose. I started choking and my friend kept screaming at me “Sam, it’ll be ok! Just hang on!”
I did not “hang on” to anything.
The riders around me screamed, at first, for the thrill of the ride, but after a few vomit flips I heard the sounds of abject horror.
“Dude! That’s vomit!! *$#! That’s vomit!!!”
“Stop! Stop! STOP!”
The 9-year-old boy in front of me who had been so calm was now sobbing, “No! No” Noooooo!!”
Riders around me screamed for me to stop as my dinner flew around the ride. We were going fast enough I could throw up at the top of the ride and the people behind me would catch it at the bottom.
Finally, and mercifully, the ride stopped.
The girl running the ride stared at me. Her jaw dropped open to reveal her pink chewing gum and her sunglasses fell low on her nose giving her the appearance of a suprised, punk, librarian.
The seat restraints popped up and I confronted my reality.
I felt much better. In fact, other than the vomit masking my face and running thick through my hair in addition to the ruined $40 sweatshirt I was wearing, I felt better than I had all night!
I hopped out of my seat, avoiding the puddle of puke at my feet and walked off the ride. I think everyone else was momentarily stunned, but I was quite alert. I said to Melynne, “You better get a picture! Will you please grab my shoes and purse?”
A few feet away from the ride I paused, my eyes were burning, and I could feel the puke dripping off my face. I sighed and then removed my sweatshirt, scraping off as much vomit from my face as I could. I balled up the sweatshirt and tucked it under my arm, determined not to throw it away.
As we walked Melynne called her mom (too disgusted to bother with the picture) and I waddled (I had thrown up on my shorts too) barefoot around the arcade searching for a bathroom.
People stared at me and mothers covered their children’s eyes, steering them away from me like I had the plague. I’m sure it wasn’t very hygienic for me to wander, but I didn’t have many options.
Finally, we found a bathroom. Only to realize there were no paper towels and the sinks were sensor triggered. I sighed again and stuck my head in the sink, washing off best as I could.
It had been a long night, but I felt great. All the carbs and sugar I had eaten that day had conveniently been splattered all over the boardwalk away from my thighs!
As Melynne gagged at the smell of me on our ride home I thought what a great trip this had been. I looked back at the boardwalk and saw Typhoon spinning around and around. That was puzzling. The park was closed and there were no riders on it.
Then, I swear, I saw what looked like…clam chowder…spinning off the ride.