The day I visited Seaworld
Following my pool water allergy complaints, what do I do but partake in a day of adventure. At a WATER PARK. Let me narrate such a story.
It’s 6 in the morning (which adds nothing to the story but I felt it customary to add a timestamp). I put on a few articles of clothing - a blue leopard bodysuit (excellent to repel any attention), leggings that can serve as coverage (as well as a reproductive health checkup), a hat decently matching the blue leopard (what can be more classic), pink and white sandals (not matching any of the colors of the palette), and glasses to disguise my embarrassing sense of fashion. I spread a few layers of sunscreen butter to any of the few remaining sqft of skin exposed. Glancing at my own figure anybody could conclude that The outfit really could only have been worse had she added socks. Which I did not do because I have some sense of self-respect.
We arrive and, with only 10 minutes before the opening time, the park is deserted. If I squint my eyes I can see a couple of tumbleweeds rolling around the car park. Lower the window. I find a human soul. Excuse me, do you know if the park is open today?, I am just here for a walk, the walking soul ejaculates at that, and I’m left unsure whether I am shocked by the fact that the park is closed or by the fact that this random soul decided that walking around a car park was an excellent proposition for a Wednesday morning.
We find another human soul, with visible water park credentials (aka a pin). He confirms the death of the park, right there and then. There’s the sound of a crushing heart - the heart of a 5-year-old mermaid sitting at the back of the car. None of this was pleasant, not even to the other human soul with visible water park credentials. Would you guys like to go to Seaworld instead? And off we go, because this outfit will not go to waste and this young mermaid will get her time in the water.
Let me tell you something. When you think you are going to a water park and you end up in a theme park, you are going to be wrongly dressed.
We arrive at the second car park of the day. Shoutout to Terry who let us park for free.
We walk to the entrance, along with a family of 7, and I am trying to choose between these 2 intrusive thoughts - will any of the 5 children get lost in the car park (because the parents are leading the way and the last child is miles away)?, or less dramatic but equally intrusive, how can families afford spending 626 coconuts (assuming that each ticket may cost around 89 coconuts) on a single outing. I end up choosing the two intrusive thoughts, in two parallel tracks, because if there’s something that my brain can handle are parallel tracks.
The first station is a petting fish zone. I’m not sure how many people are dying to pet a fish, but if that is you, I suggest you start saving 89 coconuts. I turn around and I see a guy, the Little Shark Whisperer, with about a thousand little sharks sucking his arm. Do you want to touch them (them being white spotted bamboo sharks)?, encourages Mr. Pickwick to Yours Truly. Absolutely not. The world is so unfair - me avoiding being eaten by thousands of mini bamboo sharks, and, on the other side of the pool, a one year old crying upon the unfair announcement of her mama, You can’t touch cuz you’re gonna grab the whole thing. It is quite a sight, the petting fish zone.
We transition to the cups, the first attraction of the day. I can officially say that my vestibular system is as good as a broken leg. I don’t want to throw up, Miss Margot finely expressed. And there’s a tear of joy swelling, for I realize she has inherited my useful skill of overexaggeration.
We visit the next zone, full of castles with bridges and bouncy mats and anything else that is not suitable for my ridiculous outfit. There’s a Seaworld aficionado dad (how would I know?, because he is wearing a Seaworld t-shirt), running for his life across the bridge. Judging the speed you would think he really is running from a shark. We find people from Miss Margot's new school, and I remember that I am wearing whatever it is that I am wearing but I cannot go through the lengths of explaining the whole fiasco, so I just own my first-class fashion style.
It’s 12pm. We go to the Orca show, and, quite frankly, this whole post could have been an homage to orcas. There’s a Seaworld Trivia - you hold up 1, 2 or 3 fingers in the air to reflect your answer and, if you are lucky enough, you appear on the big screen. The Mexican family in the neighboring row are buying Seaworld hats. La beige. Pues la azul. Pues la beige. 32.99 orcas for the cap, at 3 caps each, that’s a lot of orcas for a single show. The show begins. The grandma with the beige cap is proudly wearing the pricetag during the whole show, and potentially for the day and ever. iPhones out. People recording videos of orcas that everybody knows no one is going to watch ever again. Holding the phone up for 5 minutes up and counting, like a taximeter. There’s a random bird that joins the orca trainers. I swear to Poseidon that this same bird came to the seal show (below), and to the manta ray show. We go to the first row because Miss Margot fancies getting wet. We get wet. Very wet indeed. We shamefully retract to the top row because Miss Margot realizes she does not fancy getting wet. There’s a one month old baby soaked in Orca. There’s a lady drinking Orca-flavored coffee. A very refreshing attraction.
We visit the sting rays pool (say hello to Bob in the picture below), where people can feed $10 shrimps to the rays. I’m not sure when was the last time I ate a shrimp as expensive as these ones. We visit the shark cave, where we are enveloped by dramatic music as if we are about to be eaten by sharks (remember the dad running?). We are faced by a conveyor belt so that people don’t stall shark-watching for hours, which is as passive aggressive as sending a CEO, in a bird disguise, to look over employee’s shoulders during the shows. We visit the sea lions. The sea lion expert is yelling facts through the microphone that no one is paying any attention, especially not the girlfriend that is forcing his boyfriend to record the moment when she will romantically feed a $10 shrimp to the sea lion that cannot stop yelling because her boyfriend cannot have his act together to picture the scene swiftly enough and everybody is losing their patience. Especially the sea lion.
Mr Pickwick is wearing so much sunscreen on his face that, after hours of walking under the sun, has dried out and now looks like Philadelphia spread. In other words, things derail after 2pm.
We cue to the Rapids, and it is mesmerizing to see how some people come out magnificently wet whereas others come out as dry as Mr Pickwick’s Philadephia spread. Turns out she is too small (the young mermaid), and we are not allowed to find out whether we would have come out magnificently wet or dry. I throw in all sorts of persuasion tactics but not even my old friend Damon Runyon inspired gangster scripts can save us.
We go back to the castles and bouncy mats of dreams. There’s half a rat in the children’s area, it’s brains frying on the floor. Mr Pickwick and I go on a romantic walk across the bouncy mat area whilst the mermaid swims in the imaginary sea. We walk past the rat’s head at least 8 times. I acknowledge, as a thought, that walking 10,000 steps in flipflops is not ideal.
And here is how you make an outfit work for any occasion. The tale of optimism and perseverance upon adversity. And the creation of the new Orca flavored Starbuck coffee. This post is not sponsored by Seaworld, although it probably should.
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