Down with the Mouse

Death be to Mr. Cheese. That's right, I'm talking about the mouse. THE Chuck E. Cheese.

I did something this past weekend which taught me a lesson. Never, no matter how bored you are or how much you want to entertain your child, never take your kid to Chuck E. Cheese on a rainy day. Let me back track to my promise I made to my child a few days prior.

Here we are (Lily and I) just sitting on the couch, I'm chatting on the phone with the beau and we devise a plan to see this mouse since I have my kid on the weekend. I tell the tiny child of the plan and naturally, she goes ape shit. She wants all the tickets in the world and wants to play all of the games she's seen on T.V. Whatever. No big deal right? Wrong.

Fast forward to a rainy Sunday where I am grouchy due to being up all night consoling a toddler who only wants her father. Alas, I made a promise to the toddler and convincing her of the park is out of the question because hello! She is four and a damn good debater. The clock quickly ticks off the hours and nap time has come and gone but she still recalls the day and still asks to see about the mouse. An elephant never forgets.

Quarter til three and we are in the car on the way to see Chuck and the tickets/prizes he has in store for us. A quick stop at Dunkin for some much needed caffeine and a donut for the insatiably hangry human being in my backseat.

We've arrived. Time to unbuckle the beast and get her inside mouse-land. Not the mouse-land with Donald and Daisy but the kind where Chuck needs a smoke break and natty ice from a hard days work of standing from afar and watching kids turn in to savage beasts over needing a picture with this rat who likes cheese. As soon as we step inside my brain alerts me of an oncoming headache from sensory overload. Mini me starts screaming with excitement and of course we have to get invisibly stamped before we can proceed. We're greeted by some teenager who looks like he'd rather be dead than working at this knock off pizza planet (shouts out to my toy story lovers).

Okay, Mission one; find the machine that supplies us the gold coins. Scanning, scanning, walking around and scanning, tripping over kids and scanning, getting lost amongst the sea of tiny beasts and still scanning and back tracking now and looking hopeless but still scanning and "oh shit it's self service under this banner with a big arrow."

Mission two: collect all the tickets with a hyperactive 4 year old who insists on joining a random child's birthday party just so she can take a picture with the mouse. Side task; explain to the 4 year old why the mouse won't come say hi to her and try to convince her that tickets are cooler than hugging a guy in a mouse costume. Spoiler alert; she was never convinced.

Mission three: Find an open ticket muncher after what seem like eternity of pushing through the sea of kids and clearly unenthusiastic adults who shared our same uncanny expressions. We find the muncher, get the receipt and head to the counter. More waiting and the smell of old pizza with the combined noise of machines and lame music has brought about the headhache from earlier. Tiny beast is tired of being held by mom and insisting that 177 tickets will buy her some super cool toy on the top shelf. She is not interested in picking a toy from the bottom shelf and instead leaves with play-doh suggested by another teen who hates kids and is using the job as a birth control method.

Mission four; Abandon ship. This should have been smooth sailing except for the fact that the invisible stamp had to be checked by the first teen who was also pulling head Dippin Dot dispenser duties. This delays the process in leaving because Timmy can't decide on the color of dots he wants in his cup.

Final thoughts? I will never return and I suggest you follow my warning. The pizza bar/dippin dot cart is right in the entrance/exit. In theory, this should be a great way to start your time in hell. Get full on cheese and then run off the fat by chasing your kid around aimlessly from machine to machine as they have no regard as to how money works. Then they sucker you in to overly priced frozen ice cream balls. The mouse never comes out to the play floor which is really heartbreaking considering over a quarter of the machines there were out of service. Parents do a terrible job of wrangling their mini hellions but that is no surprise considering they trust the anti theft stamp placed on the party's hands at the entrance.

Lesson; parents still suck at controlling their kids in public and a mouse has given me nightmares.