Chucky Cheese Hell

                                                             Part II

                                                                Or

                               I Promise Not to Steal Your Kid, or Your Husband,

                                                Boyfriend, Significant Other, etc…..

 A few nights ago, I had the privilege to try my hand once again at a dining experience at Chucky Cheese.  My nephew was having his birthday party there and of course, we were invited.  I tried everything under the sun to get out of it short of hurting this child’s feelings.  Had he been anyone other than my favorite nephew (he’s the only one) I would have begged off in favor of rearranging my sock drawer.  The universe was conspiring against me because my presence at this party became the equivalent of a moral imperative.  My mom was out of town, my other brother and sister out of town so that left me, Sweety and Scooter Bug to represent the family as a whole.  My oldest son said he had to work but I drove by and suspiciously couldn’t spot his truck. 

As it turns out, I had a good time at Chucky Cheese this go round.  The staff was just this side of overly friendly, a complete stranger handed me a coupon that saved us $8 on our pizza, Scooter had a blast and Sweety and I had a nice conversation.

If you’ve ever been to this restaurant, you know that as you enter, someone stamps your hand with a number and then stamps the same number on your child.  The stamp is done with ink visible under a black light.  The hand stamps are checked when you leave.  This is to keep a person from walking out with your kid.  This system makes me feel a tiny bit safer while Scooter is playing.  He gets to run around without me on his heels but Sweety and I are adamant about keeping an eye on his whereabouts.  The stamp system isn’t fool proof. 

Two hours later, we gathered our things, wrangled the kids together, deposited all the tickets won into the counting machine and spent a tortuous 40 minutes standing at the prize counter while life altering decisions were made concerning prize choices.  I hate that part.  The hours and hours that go into choosing a toy that won’t survive the ride home.  Sigh.

I’m thinking to myself that this trip wasn’t so bad.  I could even say I’d had a nice time.  No flashbacks, we were all smiling, I wasn’t thinking about the last time I was there and the painful memories of my now ex-husband with someone else.  I was even silently patting myself on the back that I had done all this without the help of medication.  We got to the door and the teenager doing the stamp check, looked first at Scooter’s stamped hand first and then checked the number stamped on my hand to see if they matched.  We were told we could step forward and then to my surprise, the guy checked Sweety’s hand to see if his number matched too.  What?  I started laughing uncontrollably and had to step outside.  I couldn’t help but think that not only were the employees ensuring that no one left with a child that didn’t belong to them but they were also making sure you didn’t leave with someone else’s spouse. 

Thank you Chucky Cheese for all your efforts in not only keeping my child safe, but my husband too!