Amusings

Kristen’s cheeks flushed crimson until the paired objects of her affection and rejection departed up the path far beyond the reaches of the Vomit Cups.  As she watched Ally’s long blonde braid bounce just above her perfectly formed ass leading Cameron through the lineup of amusement rides, like a rat following the scent of cheese, her complexion faded beyond pink to white.  The witty confession of her feelings, which she had rehearsed to perfection in her mind, had not only fallen flat upon execution, but was heard by a third party.  All company eyes kept glancing her way, a precedent to the lunchroom talk set to spread like a virus.

“Excuse me,” a large woman with three children scattered around her called out.

“Mommy, I want to go on the Twirling Teacups,” a small girl whined.

“I know honey, but we’re waiting for this girl to do her job.”  The last words were coated saccharine which made the bile in her throat taste even worse.

As today’s keeper of the Vomit Cups, Kristen snapped to it by removing the loose fitting chain from the entrance.  The woman’s brood burst through the opening and dispersed to different cups.  The mother screamed for order and unity as Kristen stole another glance at Cameron before he took the stamp seat at the exit, perhaps the best job of the morning.

The hydraulics from the Crazy Carpet ride next to her sighed heavily as if on cue from her hopes and heart.  It was her own fault, her own deranged thinking that allowed her to utter that one flirtatious line, entrancing him to fall hopelessly in love with her.  Her desires were as ridiculous as the fairy princess fantasyland this summer job demanded her to sell each day.  Kristen fumed under the comparative inventory with Ally in her head:

            Me                                                                Ally

         No butt                                                     Thong Beacon

        Boy’s Chest                                         Hollywood Starlet’s Bustline

        Freckleworld                                   Perfect, TV commercial grade skin

           Braces                                                      Pearly whites

She stopped the inventory to muse over how she should leave her suicide note and how there would be little fanfare.  So Kristen settled for contemplating revenge.  Unfortunately her position allowed little leverage since arriving late today banished her to the Vomit Cups rather than a more exotic amusement she could have thrown herself from, a lover’s leap; or perhaps a cunning plan where something towering and bulky could fall on her adversary, a calculated kill lined with safe escape.  Instead she had been relegated to shoulder her embarrassment as well as the prospective pools of vomit the participants of the day would leave behind.  Under the sign in the break room, someone had playfully added facts beyond the state mandated safety statistics.

Days since last incident:    146

Days since someone puked on Rolling Thunder:  4

Days without Vomit Cup clean up:  1

Tomorrow, she thought, I will get here early and get the entrance post.  Tomorrow, Cameron and I will have lunch.  And so she pictured it, Cameron gazing over his fried cheese nuggets and she over her salad, discussing their plans for the rest of the summer, hiking, dating, kissing, when the wet sounds of heaving pulled her from her reverie and forced her next line through a plastic smile.

“Okay, folks, Teacups are closed for maintenance.”