PARK'S CLOSED, MOOSE SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU
I used to work for an amusement park up here in Wisconsin. (Or down here if you're Canadian. Hello neighbors to the North!) The park was owned by the city and, despite the low cost of ride tickets, made money hand over fist. One way this was accomplished, however, was by having had paid for all the rides decades ago. I wish that was more of a joke, but it's not. Our Ferris Wheel, for example, was 90 years old if it was a day. That is, before it self-destructed.
Since the ride was so old, it wasn't operated by a motorized axel, it was instead operated by a cable that ran through little hooks and was more than half powered by gravity. That meant if the ride wasn't balanced, at best the ride would crawl for half the cycle and then zip around the second half. Some people enjoyed the ride better this way. At worst, the weight would force the throttle over into neutral and begin racing backwards. No one seemed to enjoy the ride better this way. Most of the time that wasn't a problem, as a full ride is more or less going to keep itself running correctly, and the line stays pretty busy through out the day. But on slow days especially and occasionally even on busy days, you got a car of 8 year olds in carts 3 and 4 and a husband and wife in seat 9 that tipped the scales at 450. (You never notice how many people in this world are pear shaped until you've worked an amusement park) You'd sit on the bench next to the throttle and just look over the line thinking "Okay, one cart, two, three, you can go there, six, eight... good to go." And then you start loading people and suddenly all the little kids that should be matched with adults are riding by themselves and your careful calculations have sunk like a leaky boat to the bottom of Deep Crap Bay.
One way we tried to fix the weight issue was by making kids under a certain height ride with an adult. That usually insured that there'd be at least SOME weight in the cart. At our park an "adult" was defined as "someone who is at least 18 years of age." This is apparently a harder concept to understand that you think. Of course, you are also apparently literate.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am, he's going to have to ride with someone.
Mom- Why's that?
Me- He's not tall enough to go on alone.
Mom- Jason, get on there with him.
Me- Ma'am, he needs to ride with an adult.
Mom- Jason is his older brother.
Me- How old are you Jason?
Jason- 16.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am, he has to ride with someone 18 or older.
Mom- But I don't like heights.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am.
Mom- Well it's his brother and I say it's okay, so can he go now?
Me- Ma'am. He needs to Ride With An Adult.
Mom- Fine. Get off the ride sweetie, he's not going to let you on. You know, I wish you'd put up a sign or something before we waited an hour in line.
Me- Ma'am there's a sign at the entrance to the ride. And there's one where you buy tickets.
Mom- Well I didn't see it. You should have one at the front of the line.
Me- I guess we should ma'am. Don't forget your tickets.
The Ferris Wheel eventually met its demise my third summer at the park. The wheel the cable ran on was outside of the "engine room", a little shack that housed the breaker and was probably only a few years younger than the ride itself. The cable wheel had a big wooden cover that had, over the course of the summer, slowly come unhinged, tilting closer and closer to what was becoming a spinning circle of death.
I came in for the second shift that day to find the Wheel sitting idly and all the carts covered. Now, this was a Saturday and short of the Big Slide the Ferris Wheel is THE Money Maker for the park. So short of Linda Blair covering every seat with pea soup, there's no way the ride shouldn't be operating.
As the story goes, the operator was just doing her job and the ride was clicking along when the box cover finally gave up the ghost and leaned far enough back to catch one of the cable hooks. The entire ride JERKS to a stop, and since they're free swinging carts, everyone gets jostled pretty good. Smoke is pouring out of the engine room and two of our supervisors have to shut the machine down and then manually, hand over hand, pull the wheel around to let everyone off. As I've mentioned, this has to be done in a sequence of opposite seats or things are going to get worse. Of course, no one wants to stay on a ride that just tried to bodily throw them into the future, so the supervisors have to also spend their time yelling at people to stop fiddling with their restraints and stay put before they had someone panic and tumble to the gravel below. It took them almost a half hour to unload the whole machine and then get everyone out of line.
Best part of the story? The Ferris Wheel's entire operating mechanism was totally shredded. Belt, gears, wheels, throttle, the whole kit and kaboodle. And because the ride was an eyelash short of a century, it wasn't like you could run to Wheel-Mart and pick up a spare. The parts had to be custom ordered and custom made off in Chicago or Germany and the wheel sat idle for the entire rest of the summer. If I remember by the time the repairs were done maintenance had welded the cover box back into place, welded over the weldings, and wrapped the whole thing in a cocoon of duct tape. Apparently they weren't taking any more chances.
Next time, I'll tell you the story of the Tilt-A-Whirl, or as we called it "The Baby Killer".
Since the ride was so old, it wasn't operated by a motorized axel, it was instead operated by a cable that ran through little hooks and was more than half powered by gravity. That meant if the ride wasn't balanced, at best the ride would crawl for half the cycle and then zip around the second half. Some people enjoyed the ride better this way. At worst, the weight would force the throttle over into neutral and begin racing backwards. No one seemed to enjoy the ride better this way. Most of the time that wasn't a problem, as a full ride is more or less going to keep itself running correctly, and the line stays pretty busy through out the day. But on slow days especially and occasionally even on busy days, you got a car of 8 year olds in carts 3 and 4 and a husband and wife in seat 9 that tipped the scales at 450. (You never notice how many people in this world are pear shaped until you've worked an amusement park) You'd sit on the bench next to the throttle and just look over the line thinking "Okay, one cart, two, three, you can go there, six, eight... good to go." And then you start loading people and suddenly all the little kids that should be matched with adults are riding by themselves and your careful calculations have sunk like a leaky boat to the bottom of Deep Crap Bay.
One way we tried to fix the weight issue was by making kids under a certain height ride with an adult. That usually insured that there'd be at least SOME weight in the cart. At our park an "adult" was defined as "someone who is at least 18 years of age." This is apparently a harder concept to understand that you think. Of course, you are also apparently literate.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am, he's going to have to ride with someone.
Mom- Why's that?
Me- He's not tall enough to go on alone.
Mom- Jason, get on there with him.
Me- Ma'am, he needs to ride with an adult.
Mom- Jason is his older brother.
Me- How old are you Jason?
Jason- 16.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am, he has to ride with someone 18 or older.
Mom- But I don't like heights.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am.
Mom- Well it's his brother and I say it's okay, so can he go now?
Me- Ma'am. He needs to Ride With An Adult.
Mom- Fine. Get off the ride sweetie, he's not going to let you on. You know, I wish you'd put up a sign or something before we waited an hour in line.
Me- Ma'am there's a sign at the entrance to the ride. And there's one where you buy tickets.
Mom- Well I didn't see it. You should have one at the front of the line.
Me- I guess we should ma'am. Don't forget your tickets.
The Ferris Wheel eventually met its demise my third summer at the park. The wheel the cable ran on was outside of the "engine room", a little shack that housed the breaker and was probably only a few years younger than the ride itself. The cable wheel had a big wooden cover that had, over the course of the summer, slowly come unhinged, tilting closer and closer to what was becoming a spinning circle of death.
I came in for the second shift that day to find the Wheel sitting idly and all the carts covered. Now, this was a Saturday and short of the Big Slide the Ferris Wheel is THE Money Maker for the park. So short of Linda Blair covering every seat with pea soup, there's no way the ride shouldn't be operating.
As the story goes, the operator was just doing her job and the ride was clicking along when the box cover finally gave up the ghost and leaned far enough back to catch one of the cable hooks. The entire ride JERKS to a stop, and since they're free swinging carts, everyone gets jostled pretty good. Smoke is pouring out of the engine room and two of our supervisors have to shut the machine down and then manually, hand over hand, pull the wheel around to let everyone off. As I've mentioned, this has to be done in a sequence of opposite seats or things are going to get worse. Of course, no one wants to stay on a ride that just tried to bodily throw them into the future, so the supervisors have to also spend their time yelling at people to stop fiddling with their restraints and stay put before they had someone panic and tumble to the gravel below. It took them almost a half hour to unload the whole machine and then get everyone out of line.
Best part of the story? The Ferris Wheel's entire operating mechanism was totally shredded. Belt, gears, wheels, throttle, the whole kit and kaboodle. And because the ride was an eyelash short of a century, it wasn't like you could run to Wheel-Mart and pick up a spare. The parts had to be custom ordered and custom made off in Chicago or Germany and the wheel sat idle for the entire rest of the summer. If I remember by the time the repairs were done maintenance had welded the cover box back into place, welded over the weldings, and wrapped the whole thing in a cocoon of duct tape. Apparently they weren't taking any more chances.
Next time, I'll tell you the story of the Tilt-A-Whirl, or as we called it "The Baby Killer".
posted by Matt Worzala at
1:29 PM
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