Picking up my littlest love and a friend for a playdate yesterday, I was posed with a query from the middle row of my vehicle:
“Can you take us to Chuck E. Cheese?”
The precious four-year old voices of two male cherubs chirped and cheered as they waited with bated (actually mouse trap baited) breath to hear my response. No doubt there was some collusion in the parent pick up line on the matter.
“Um, no. Only Grandparents or aunts and uncles are allowed to take you there.”
“But YOU’ve been to a birthday party there!” Well played, stinkers. Well played.
“OK, however, that’s the ONLY time parents are allowed to take you. And there isn’t one today.”
I switched the subject and avoided any further solicitation for said Mouse Trap that would no doubt ensue when I promoted a visit to Freeze (a fro-yo add-your-own-toppings treat shop that, according to the pint-sized darlings, is ICE CREAM. Keep believing, kids.) Freeze for sure hit the spot for these two loves, but I got to thinking about the Den of Cheese while they played outside later.
For those of you that have ever had the privilege of going to this place, this knowledge I’m about to share probably won’t come as new. But for those of you who’ve not, there are a few things you need to know.
It’s called Chuck E. Cheese. It’s the Beau Rivage of arcades, the insane asylum for parents, and perceived paradise for children. Let me break all of that down for y’all:
The name Chuck in this case has dual meaning. I’ll use the first interpretation in a sentence:
I like to chuck my money out the window.
This is a skill that will be employed there, akin to shot putting your hard-earned cash in a tornado. No return to be seen. Except in the case where the child in your care wins tickets for all the games he plays. 587 tickets and $75 later and the kid picks out a Tootsie roll and a paper clip. Gleefully. Quite the return.
And ok, there may be another kind of return, and ironically it’s the alternate meaning of chuck in this case. In sentence form:
I picked up so many germs off the club handle on the Wack-a-Mole that I am now upchucking my guts.
I’m seriously waiting on a Jeff Rossen report where he brings his germomemter to this Mouse Hole and tells us all the strains of bacteria and fecal matter and boogers he finds on all the game machines, token cards, and the life-sized fuzzy Chuck E. Cheese character that stands on a stage in the corner for kids to dance and hang on like a stripper pole. It would have to be off the chart. I shudder at the thought.
Cheese in the title of this destination refers not to the pizza that they serve. (Oh yeah, they have a salad bar, too. Open air…with shared utensils to serve…Jeffy–we need you to check that out, too.) It’s referencing the smell of the place. It’s a mix between sweaty feet and Limburger. Your nostrils become assaulted the minute you walk in. And apparently this odor creates extreme excitability in people under the age of 15. I think they pipe it in the ventilation system like they do pure oxygen at casinos. It’s absolutely intoxicating to kids.
And worry not, dear ones. I haven’t forgotten the E.
What exactly does that E. stand for? I’ll tell you what it doesn’t…
economical
epic
educational
excellent
It stands for Excedrin. Because this, my friends, is what you will need while there. I recommend taking one preemptively, one while there, and one when you leave. You will need it. The flashing lights, the screaming children, the beeps and boops and bips from the arcade games, and the annoying sound of the ticket muncher as you feed the tickets in one.at.the.time. all lend themselves to one cloyingly annoying headache. You’ve been warned and you’re welcome.
Tonight at the dinner table, as children are want to do, each of mine began chatting about each one’s respective birthday. We’ve about talked our oldest two into just taking the money for a party and running, but that littlest love of ours, in his sweetest 4 year old voice squeaked, “I want my party at Chuck E. Cheese this year!”
We’ve got until July to change his mind.
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