The Ride of Death

Never. Again.

"Let's go on the Tagada."

An innocent sentence mumbled by my friend at the local fair in Talara. It looked harmless enough. Although I didn't see it in motion, it looked like a simple ride that spun in a circle. Being the adventurous chica that I am, I thought nothing of it. I've been on much crazier rides in theme parks across North America. As we boarded, I noticed that there weren't any sealtbelts, handles or restraints. Odd, but oh well. "Hold on tight!" my friends told me. I thought they were being a little overly cautious for such an easy ride, but I went with it. Then the Tagada began to spin. Cool. Then it began to bounce. Alright. Then, the bloody thing tried to kill me! Or more specifically, the moronic ride operators who control each movement tried to kill me! It whirled, twirled, jerked, tilted and bumped, conspiring to break my bones with each bump. "Make it STOP!" I begged, feeling my body bruise and swell with each bump. "Let me OFFFFF!" I screamed as my poor body repeatedly slammed into the metal seat. Sure Jessica, scream in English at the Latino ride operators. Smart. That's really going to do something. Well, actually it did. It alerted them to my gringa status, making me their new favourite target. Having already sent my dear Nathaly and my flip flops sliding down the ride they made it their mission to send me flying.  Well I'll show them, I thought. Despite feeling like my arms were going to be yanked out of their sockets, I hung on for dear life. Finally, when they saw that I wasn't letting go anytime soon and that I desperately wanted to get off the ride, they stopped it. Battered and bruised, I vowed never to step foot on that death machine again. Click here to get an idea of the craziness that is the Tagada!