Thrilled, Chilled, and Possibly Killed

Tall men don't find a lot of amusement at amusement parks. Ridiculous admission prices, sure. Stomach-churning fast food, definitely. And Juicy Couture-wearing midwesterners who shove Mickey Mouse aside to stalk us, screaming "HOW TALL ARE YEW?" and "ARE YER PARENTS TALL?" But fun? Not a chance. Because when you're six foot eight, thrill rides are more of a genuine fright than a casual thrill.

Now, I'm not talking about those traveling carnivals that skinny tattoed dudes set up in the parking lots of your local Pic N' Pay. They'll scare anybody with a brain, and not just because you'll find thicker metal in Halle Berry's bra. No, I mean the roller coasters at major amusement parks. Space Mountain, Disneyland, Six Flags. The Matterhorn, the Cyclone, Colossus.

We start to worry when we hear the warnings: "Please keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times." This has always confused me. Isn't there a way of phrasing it where the two body parts don't sound completely distinct? I feel like replying, "Well, I'll keep my arms in the car, but where my hands go is anybody's guess!"

We replay the words over and over in our heads, slowly deciphering what they mean. They're saying that our little roller coaster car will barrel past things that are both (a) stationary and (b) cement, and they'll be within the average-sized person's reach. They're saying that an average-sized person stands a chance of death or disfigurement if they protrude too far from the car.

All the regular-sized folks, of course, couldn't care less. They laugh and joke and suck down their eight-dollar sodas, knowing that any amusement park that endangers their puny little asses is just asking for a lawsuit. They'll go crazy on the ride, waving at friends on the ground, flinging their arms around so they'll fly up out of their seats, trying to snap off bits of passing stucco for souvenirs. They don't give it a second thought, and there's no real reason they should.

The tall guy, though, senses there's a problem. He's gone through life protruding too far, in at least a couple different directions. Blithely wave your hands in the air while we're careening down that hill and you're not even going to reach my Adam's Apple. In fact, you're in serious danger of picking my nose. Once I scratched the back of my neck on a cruise ship and I knocked three folks on the Lido Deck overboard. If they're saying size could be a problem for average folks, you know it's going to be a problem for us.

While everyone is blithely chattering away, then, the tall guy has gone paler than usual. He tries to maneuver toward the speakers to get further details, like there's storm warnings coming, and screams like a banshee so folks'll shut up. He realizes he's got no defense in court: with all the warnings they give, he'd be pulled apart like crockpot chicken. "Your honor," the defense lawyer would drone, "the man was six foot EIGHT. Six foot EIGHT. Too big to fit in a FORD. Longer than a CANOE. Too tall to wear UNDERWEAR. We were warning REGULAR-SIZED folks to be careful -- why on earth would HE get on? Surely he must have realized that getting onto this ride was like leaping headfirst into a CUISINART."

As the sweat accumulates on our foreheads, we try to imagine: how tall do amusement parks think people get?

We're painfully aware of how estimates vary. We've strolled down sidewalks where tree branches have been meticulously trimmed to a five-foot clearance. We've seen pedestrian tunnels with six foot ceilings, and we've stumbled into low-hanging power lines that wrapped around our necks like rubber chokers. Heck, I had to duck to get inside the Taj Mahal. Somebody's made an assumption here, and we suspect that in a most unfortunate incident we're going to find out what.

We imagine the scene when this coaster was built. "According to our studies," the designer declares, "ninety nine percent of all people are under six foot two. I suggest, then, that we make allow at least a six foot six clearance in all the tunnels, to allow for puffy hair or Stetson hats. Sure, maybe once in a while we'll get somebody taller in the park, but that 'hands and arms' recording will definitely scare them away."

"I wonder if I'm too tall for this ride," I tell my friends as the next available car halts in front of us. "It's sounding kind of dangerous."

They laugh. "Jeez," Steve says. "For a tall guy, you're really a wimp."

And so with fingers crossed the tall person steps in, buckles himself up, and the car speeds off.

Two minutes later his train pulls into the station, just like every other. All the riders are exhilarated and exhausted and just plain out of breath . . . except one. He doesn't wave to the patrons waiting to board the ride, doesn't undo his seatbelt, doesn't clamber his way awkwardly out of the car. Because he's had his head sheared clean off. He's sitting there perfectly still, but blood is shooting out of the neck and splashing all over the white vinyl seats.

The attendants look at him, all strapped in, his white knuckles still gripping the lap bar, and they share a shocked look.

"Wow," one says. "I wonder if his parents were tall."