Roller Coasters.

I decided to take my english "rough-rough draft" a step further and post it.

The human mind is a paradoxical thing. It is infinitely more complex than that of an animal in almost every way. Animals act mostly on instinct- every action they take serves to protect themselves, to find necessities like food or shelter, or to reproduce. The human mind, with all its wisdom and intellect, has become so advanced that it can not only stifle these primordial instincts but derive enjoyment from their contradictions. One of these contradictions is one of the most popular forms of recreation in America, an arcane contraption that extracts enjoyment from fear in methods beyond my comprehension. This device is known as a roller coaster, and I rode one for the first time in the sixth grade.

As we got off the bus, the exhaustion from our three-hour performance in triple-digit weather was erased by the sight of a theme park. A godforsaken theme park in the middle of Los Angeles, but to the preteen members of the Redwood Marching Band it was a welcome sight. Most theme parks, obviously, have some sort of theme- “Disney Movies”, perhaps, or “Beer Company with Inexplicable Amusement Park”. Although I cannot recall the name of this place, it may just as well have been called “Super Sketchy Adventureland: No Accidents in [5] days!”.

I had two hours to roam the park, and though the park’s single roller coaster loomed behind me like a 80-year-old wooden Sword of Damocles, I decided to get something to eat first. The problem was, the man at the hot-dog stand only spoke in some bizarre language of mumbling and hand-gestures. Forgoing my change, I handed him a ten-dollar bill in exchange for a hot-dog-on-a-stick. Ten seconds and one bite later I deemed the previous transaction “the worst ten dollars I ever spent”. I hastily threw the rest in a trash can, and looked up to see the roller coaster car careening over my head.  For some reason, the sounds of people screaming combining with the screeching of the coaster’s ancient brakes compelled me to stand in line to get on it.

I don’t remember why I got on the damned thing in the first place. I was probably in an altered state of mind due to a combination of heat exhaustion and trace amounts of psychotropic drugs present in USDA D-Grade carnival hot dogs. Combine that with the rationality of an eleven year old, and all of a sudden I was hundreds of feet in the air.  I didn’t so much mind being hundreds of feet in the air; it was obvious that I would soon be considerably closer to the ground. It was the process of getting there that really worried me. By the end of the ride, you’d have needed a crowbar or three to pry my hands off the safety bar.

You see, there seems to be a flowchart of roller coaster enjoyment. It is as follows: Get on the roller coaster -> Become terrified, nauseated, and forget which way is up-> Enjoy oneself. I never can make it past the second step.