The Woodchuck's Dilemma

I distinctly remember my trip to Showbiz Pizza when I was a little boy. I'm sure most of us remember our first trip to this fine eating establishment, but probably not for the same reasons as I do. First of all, I was more interested in the pizza than in the games and rides. Secondly, and probably directly associated with my first comment, I spent a large amount of my visit stuck on the mini Ferris wheel.

How does one get stuck on a 3 ft. radius Ferris wheel you ask? Well, as I alluded to earlier, it may have had something to do with me weighing as much as a 16 year old, while in reality only being about 7 or 8 years of age. I think it's quite safe to say that I wasn't what one would describe as "under-fed" or "scrawny" as a young boy.

Now, being "husky" wasn't all bad. It came with its advantages:

• Better cost/visit ration at all-you-can-eat restaurants
• No bullies really messed with me
• The ability to survive long stints of Midwest cold weather
• The knowledge that I would be the last survivor if ever lost on an island with no food
  

That being said, none of this seemed to matter when I was stuck, a good 48" in the air, in the mini Ferris wheel basket. Apparently the little motor in this thing wasn't rated for "gravitationally gifted" individuals. To add the final touch to the situation, despite the motor giving up, the stupid circus music continued to blare. Oh yeah, everyone watched as they pried my fat ass out of this silly little basket. "Look at the fat kid," they exclaimed. Quality memories.

Anyway, I diverge... The *other* memory I have of Showbiz was the game where the little woodchuck sticks his head out of one of about 18 holes, and you have to beat it down with a big mallet before he ducks away again. This goes on for a minute or so, and depending on how many woodchucks you've clubbed to death (great game for children, obviously), you will receive tickets so you can go a buy a $0.02 plastic whistle that tastes like plaster and doesn't work.

Fast forward 15+ years. Every day, just as we all do, I experience things that just make me cringe. Seeing as that no one else seems to care (or cares but knows better), I feel obligated to ask the question: "What the %!@?" ... Why do I do this? I'm not totally convinced I know. I feel, if for no other reason than curiosity, obligated to question; obligated to challenge the accepted.

In doing this, I've begun to see some sad but true parallels. Every day, I stick my head out in hopes of happy things that woodchucks tend to hope for: peanuts, certain breakfast cereals, other sexy woodchucks, etc.. Yet, much to my surprise, what do I find??? What could possibly happen when I stick my head out of my little hole??? How about some fat kid with a mallet bludgeoning me to death! Trust me, it hurts. And really, how many times do I need to go through this before I learn my lesson. When will I be content with my own little hole? Well, 15 years after wielding the mallet myself, there are still Showbiz Pizza restaurants, certainly lots of fat kids, and mallets to spare. Every day is just a different fat kid and a familiar mallet.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day I find my peanuts. There's only one way to know for sure...