I have never been to a Chuck E. Cheese’s. I’ve seen them as I’ve driven past strip malls in towns I’m only too happy to drive through without stopping. There’s something about the place that scares me the way clowns scare me, and there’s something about the place that intrigues me like rats intrigue me. Just once I’d like to load up the mini van with a dozen rent-a-kids and venture to the nearest strip mall for the full Chuck E. Cheese’s experience. I want to play the arcade games. I want to taste the healthy menu items such as processed pizza, chemical hot dogs, and hormone induced chicken wings. I want pink eye.
Oh yes I want a complete Chuck E. Cheese’s adventure, and that would not be complete without some parent on parent action.
I’ve recently read that it’s a popular place for parents to pick fights with each other, to tear at each other like a bunch of wild animals. It’s like an evil Disneyworld for parents to act like the kids they’re raising, not the happiest kids on earth but the meanest kids on earth where they don’t stop until the police come and there’s a mugshot taken.
Years from now after the children have undergone years of therapy (or gotten out of Juvenile Hall) they can open the family photo album and reminisce fondly about the day Mommy and Daddy got arrested at Chuck E. Cheese’s.
By the way, does anyone else think the mouse mascot resembles a rat strung out on crystal meth?
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