Back in my younger days, I spent a summer working at Storybook Gardens, the most magical place on Earth (citation required). For non-Londoners, Storybook is a kids’ theme park with a general “based on nursery rhymes” gimmick, and it has been a staple of southern Ontario tourism for decades.
My twin jobs were to a) operate the merry-go-round and b) dress up in a makeshift old-timey conductor’s uniform to run the “Storybook Express” train (a.k.a. a glorified riding lawnmower) around the park. While mostly fun, there were certainly a few days when the hot summer sun became a bit much, or the kids crossed the line from “aw, how adorable” to “horrific little monsters,” or the dang Storybook Express malfunctioned mid-ride and I had to stand there amidst the goose crap* while a technician re-connected the whatever to the thing-a-ma-bob.
* = there’s probably no metric to measure this, but I would bet cash money that Canada geese see Springbank Park as the world’s single biggest toilet. The sheer volume of geese generates an unholy amount of goose feces, and while “geese feces” is fun to say, it’s less fun to scrape off your boots.
So needless to say, Mark enjoyed his breaks. If I recall correctly, it was 30 minutes of breaktime that I used to either grab a bite to eat, or just outright take a nap in the employee break room. Like I said, some of those summer days were awfully warm. Plus, my shifts started early. Plus, I’m lazy!
One day, however, I was actually well-rested and just using my break to get lunch. I grabbed a slice of pizza and a soda from one of the park’s food booths and was headed back to the break room to eat. Thanks to a long line and the lack of an “employees can cut in front” policy,* I was running short on time before my shift resumed. Still, I wasn’t sweating the clock too much until The Incident occurred.
* = I mean, come on, people. I’ve been working all day to provide you and your bratty children with magical storybook enjoyment! I shouldn’t have to wait for pizza! Outta the way!
Like park employee both new and old, I was required to take a basic first aid course as part of my training. While this is unquestionably a logical thing to learn, I certainly approached that course as just another step in the process rather than something that would need to be crucially important at some point. Given my day-to-day duties, learning basic first aid was likely not going to be as utilized nearly as regularly as, say, learning how to reconnect the whatever to the Storybook Express. (Man, I should’ve paid more attention during that lawnmower maintenance seminar.) So sure, while it was handy to know, the first aid stuff didn’t seem to be too critical…
…UNTIL IT WAS. About 30 yards away from where I was standing, pizza in hand, a little girl seemed to be choking. Her parents were visibly concerned and her dad had kind of a makeshift Heimlich maneuver going, but his form wasn’t as measured as the proper style I’d learned just weeks before from a trained medical professional. So clearly, it was my time to intercede. I tossed my pizza and soda literally on the ground and began a sprint towards the scene.
And then after I’d run about ten yards, the little girl stopped choking. Whatever it was she’d had trouble swallowing, it was now dislodged and she was totally fine. She hugged her dad and went about merrily playing like nothing had happened. By the time I actually made it to them, the family almost seemed surprised to see me. “Oh, thanks for asking! She’s fine, no problem, yadda yadda yadda.” I considered giving the father a few pointers on proper Heimlich technique but whatever, his method was also effective. He just never had the idea to hype it up like Henry Heimlich did.
On the grand scale, tragedy was averted. On a lesser scale, my stomach was in peril since my lunch was ruined. I’m not one to litter, though I didn’t want to take an extra five seconds to properly dispose of my food since time was seemingly of the essence. Rushing to help a choking kid is well worth some soda on the ground, no question. Likewise, I didn’t want to carefully just put it on the ground or something since, again, that would’ve taken some time and even if it’s carefully placed, it’s still on the ground. As my personal motto goes, If Food Is On The Ground, Don’t Swallow It Down. Plus, I’d left that pizza and soda unattended for a few minutes. What if a bird had momentarily swooped down to peck at it, and then I’d eaten the slice none the wiser and contracted avian flu? What if I’d set the slice down in a pile of geese feces (again, this crap was everywhere)? Once that food left my hands, for all intents and purposes, it was garbage.
Still, every legendary act of heroism requires some level of sacrifice from the hero. Clearly, my brief mad dash towards an easily-averted problem counted as such capital-H Heroism. In giving up that pizza and pop, I was hungry for three more hours. That’s right, three! It’s a wonder I didn’t waste away right there next to the carousel. That was a full, nutritious lunch (uh, citation required) and the four dollars it cost to buy that lunch just tossed away without a thought, since a life needed saving.
Well done, me. Kudos, self. It was right then and there, as I was catching my breath since I was inexplicably winded after running ten measly yards, that I knew that my legend would one day echo through the Springbank woods like the stories of Paul Bunyan. And really, what did Paul Bunyan do besides be enormous and swing a mean axe? Did he take a 90-minute first aid course? Hell no! Did he know the whole thing about timing chest compressions along with the beat of the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive”? Doubtful. I wonder if Bunyan was familiar any of the Gibb brothers’ work.
It’s probably for the best that I didn’t ask the choking girl’s father for four bucks in compensation.
My twin jobs were to a) operate the merry-go-round and b) dress up in a makeshift old-timey conductor’s uniform to run the “Storybook Express” train (a.k.a. a glorified riding lawnmower) around the park. While mostly fun, there were certainly a few days when the hot summer sun became a bit much, or the kids crossed the line from “aw, how adorable” to “horrific little monsters,” or the dang Storybook Express malfunctioned mid-ride and I had to stand there amidst the goose crap* while a technician re-connected the whatever to the thing-a-ma-bob.
* = there’s probably no metric to measure this, but I would bet cash money that Canada geese see Springbank Park as the world’s single biggest toilet. The sheer volume of geese generates an unholy amount of goose feces, and while “geese feces” is fun to say, it’s less fun to scrape off your boots.
So needless to say, Mark enjoyed his breaks. If I recall correctly, it was 30 minutes of breaktime that I used to either grab a bite to eat, or just outright take a nap in the employee break room. Like I said, some of those summer days were awfully warm. Plus, my shifts started early. Plus, I’m lazy!
One day, however, I was actually well-rested and just using my break to get lunch. I grabbed a slice of pizza and a soda from one of the park’s food booths and was headed back to the break room to eat. Thanks to a long line and the lack of an “employees can cut in front” policy,* I was running short on time before my shift resumed. Still, I wasn’t sweating the clock too much until The Incident occurred.
* = I mean, come on, people. I’ve been working all day to provide you and your bratty children with magical storybook enjoyment! I shouldn’t have to wait for pizza! Outta the way!
Like park employee both new and old, I was required to take a basic first aid course as part of my training. While this is unquestionably a logical thing to learn, I certainly approached that course as just another step in the process rather than something that would need to be crucially important at some point. Given my day-to-day duties, learning basic first aid was likely not going to be as utilized nearly as regularly as, say, learning how to reconnect the whatever to the Storybook Express. (Man, I should’ve paid more attention during that lawnmower maintenance seminar.) So sure, while it was handy to know, the first aid stuff didn’t seem to be too critical…
…UNTIL IT WAS. About 30 yards away from where I was standing, pizza in hand, a little girl seemed to be choking. Her parents were visibly concerned and her dad had kind of a makeshift Heimlich maneuver going, but his form wasn’t as measured as the proper style I’d learned just weeks before from a trained medical professional. So clearly, it was my time to intercede. I tossed my pizza and soda literally on the ground and began a sprint towards the scene.
And then after I’d run about ten yards, the little girl stopped choking. Whatever it was she’d had trouble swallowing, it was now dislodged and she was totally fine. She hugged her dad and went about merrily playing like nothing had happened. By the time I actually made it to them, the family almost seemed surprised to see me. “Oh, thanks for asking! She’s fine, no problem, yadda yadda yadda.” I considered giving the father a few pointers on proper Heimlich technique but whatever, his method was also effective. He just never had the idea to hype it up like Henry Heimlich did.
On the grand scale, tragedy was averted. On a lesser scale, my stomach was in peril since my lunch was ruined. I’m not one to litter, though I didn’t want to take an extra five seconds to properly dispose of my food since time was seemingly of the essence. Rushing to help a choking kid is well worth some soda on the ground, no question. Likewise, I didn’t want to carefully just put it on the ground or something since, again, that would’ve taken some time and even if it’s carefully placed, it’s still on the ground. As my personal motto goes, If Food Is On The Ground, Don’t Swallow It Down. Plus, I’d left that pizza and soda unattended for a few minutes. What if a bird had momentarily swooped down to peck at it, and then I’d eaten the slice none the wiser and contracted avian flu? What if I’d set the slice down in a pile of geese feces (again, this crap was everywhere)? Once that food left my hands, for all intents and purposes, it was garbage.
Still, every legendary act of heroism requires some level of sacrifice from the hero. Clearly, my brief mad dash towards an easily-averted problem counted as such capital-H Heroism. In giving up that pizza and pop, I was hungry for three more hours. That’s right, three! It’s a wonder I didn’t waste away right there next to the carousel. That was a full, nutritious lunch (uh, citation required) and the four dollars it cost to buy that lunch just tossed away without a thought, since a life needed saving.
Well done, me. Kudos, self. It was right then and there, as I was catching my breath since I was inexplicably winded after running ten measly yards, that I knew that my legend would one day echo through the Springbank woods like the stories of Paul Bunyan. And really, what did Paul Bunyan do besides be enormous and swing a mean axe? Did he take a 90-minute first aid course? Hell no! Did he know the whole thing about timing chest compressions along with the beat of the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive”? Doubtful. I wonder if Bunyan was familiar any of the Gibb brothers’ work.
It’s probably for the best that I didn’t ask the choking girl’s father for four bucks in compensation.
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