Of Falling, Fear and Feet
Like everyone, I have my fears. My greatest phobia by far is of falling. It's not heights per se; it's literally the sensation of falling that freaks me out to the point where I lose rational capability. It doesn't really matter how far the fall is, although the longer the fall the more freaked out I'll get. Just tripping over my own two feet or sliding a little way down a hillside is a terrifying shock, which is probably why I have become one of the most sure-footed people you will ever meet. I don't fall down. I'm a bit like a mountain goat that way (and maybe in other ways, too, although I won't get into it here).
I avoid flying in airplanes whenever possible — not because I fear crashes, but because the sensations involved with take-off and landing are blindingly awful for me. Turbulence? Pass the barbiturates, please! Nonetheless, I do fly when it's necessary, because it's not the plane itself I'm afraid of, nor the height it reaches.
One thing I never do, and no one will ever make me do, is ride on amusement park "thrill rides." A thrill is something that one enjoys; I prefer to call such contraptions "pits of screaming terror." I will assiduously avoid any machine that throws me up in the air, drops me from any height, or spins me in an attempt to make me feel as if I might go flying through empty air. I would rather take my chances french-kissing a rattlesnake if that were my only other option. I understand rationally that the odds of being injured on an amusement park ride are very, very small. The thing is, I can reduce that probability to zero by not boarding one at all. I don't even like to see other people on them; I can't help but put myself in their position. A few years ago, I did a stint as a photographer at Busch Gardens in Tampa, during which I refused to take shots of people on the roller coasters.
When I heard about the girl whose feet were severed on the Superman Tower ride at Six Flags in Louisville today, I literally became sick to my stomach as I stood on line at the post office. Both of her feet were chopped off, possibly by a loose cable (it is not known for certain yet how the accident occurred). What a horror — to begin falling and suddenly have your feet ripped from your legs, and then plunge 154 feet straight down, reaching a speed of over 50 mph. According to the article on CNN.com, "Her feet were recovered by Six Flags staff."
Oh. My. Gawd.
Some poor park employee(s), making something close to minimum wage, saw where two bloody, severed feet landed and picked them up. Somebody had to do that. Do you think they screamed? Cried? Vomited? Were they at least given the rest of the week off? Is this all not a scene out of some fever-inspired, sweaty, writhing nightmare?
Being a fan of horror movies, there are some scenes that stand out in my mind as particularly terrifying. There's one early in Final Destination 3 that I instantly recalled when I heard about this event. When I saw this scene in the theater, there were moments at which I had to look away from the screen (particularly the first-person perspective shots). I still can't really watch it... but it's what I thought of this morning.
No, you will never get me on a "thrill ride." The victim of this accident (whom I hope will eventually recover) probably feels about the same way right now. Most likely so does whoever had to pick up her severed feet, as well as everyone who was on the ride with her or watching from below.
I'm sure to be having nightmares tonight.
