Helen of Troy was irresistible to kings, princes, and, rumor has it, a thousand ships. Delilah was so alluring that Samson couldn’t help but divulge the secret of his hair. And me? Well, apparently I am officially a pin-up girl for cartoon characters.
By now, many of you know about my sordid past with Chuck E. Cheese. For those of you who don’t, the story, in a nutshell, is that he once hit on me. If you would like to read exactly how that transpired, because you know you do, check out the post “Chuck E. Cheese Could Have Been Your Father.” Then you can chase that with the sequel, “A Suburban Horror Story: The Return of Chuck E.,” about my run-in with the mouse years later at my son’s birthday party. This is a really proud chapter in my life.
Anyway, capturing the affections of the mascot for a chain restaurant does a lot for the ego. Obviously. So imagine how flattered I was at the closing dance party for the BlogHer ’15: Experts Among Us conference in New York City when I found myself with a new admirer: a minion.
When most people hear the name Chucky, two things come to mind: a demonic doll who terrorizes mankind and a mouse who pushes pizza and skee ball. Or maybe they are actually one in the same! GASP!
Look away…it’s terrifying
Think about it. Have you ever seen them in the same place at the same time? And they have the exact same M.O. They both worm their way into our lives through our kids as if they are harmless byproducts of childhood fun, only to later strangle the life out of us and our well-meaning desire to make our young ones happy.
A disgust for Chucky from the Child’s Play horror movie franchise is normal; but what do I have against Chuck E. Cheese, you say? Many of you already know my seedy background with this over-sized cartoon mascot. But if you don’t, I suggest you first read my post, “Chuck E. Cheese Could Have Been Your Father,” before proceeding. Everything will become crystal clear after that…I promise. Don’t worry. I will wait for you…
…I know, right? What can I say? I’m blessed. Anyhoo…
So here is the next chapter in the ongoing horrific saga of me and Chuck E. He’s stalking me. I am completely convinced of it. I thought I had managed to escape from his clutches oh so many years ago, but I didn’t count on having children…children he would end up using as pawns enabling him to come back into my life and terrorize me.
It is true that since becoming a mother, we have visited Chuck E. Cheese restaurants on numerous occasions, mostly for school fundraiser nights and a few birthday parties. But I honestly thought that Chuck E never noticed me, that the wear and tear of motherhood and almost two decades had rendered me unrecognizable to him. But I should have known he wouldn’t show his cards that early in the game. Silently, and unbeknownst to me, he patiently endeared himself to my two kids with each passing visit. A high-five here. A free extra token there. How were they to know they were playing right into his grubby, freakishly large paws?
And it worked. About a month or so ago, these words oozed from my daughter’s lips: “I want to have my birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese thisyear.”
Despite the many, many, many other options I offered to her, she was staunch in her desire. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, she begged. Fine. I am not a victim. If this is the game you’re playing you sick bastard, I’m in. I’m not scared of you anymore. Me OR my 6 foot 6 enormously giant husband who once ripped a life-sized wrought iron wagon wheel lawn ornament straight from the ground. We will see who is going to be squeaking in their boots.
After trepidatiously making the reservation for the party, I tried to calm my nerves by being rational about the situation. That was a long time ago, Kelly. He has probably changed. Certainly a nationwide franchise wouldn’t risk their reputation or the threat of lawsuits by keeping a sleazebag of a mouse around for so many years. Would they? So I decided to do some research of my own. What I found wasn’t pretty. I should warn you; the following pictures may be disturbing. Please make sure your children aren’t present, and I apologize in advance for scarring for life the child that resides in your heart. But the truth must be known…
Are you really surprised? I mean, the guy has spent over 35 years unfazed by the background noise of arcade games and corny song parodies. This also explains why you feel hung over after leaving the place. I bet he circulates it through the vents.
I swear I’ve heard him whisper “Make it rain” when he throws out those free tickets.
See? SEEEEEE??!! I TOLD you he was a creep! I wish I didn’t feel so justified.
From the looks of the fashions in this picture, the harassment has been happening for decades.
The worst part is that it seems his girlfriend Helen Henny has no idea of his evil alter ego.
On the day of the party, my guard was up. I secretly took vengeful satisfaction when Chuck E. emerged to greet our party and my daughter’s friends ran up, encircled him, and started poking and prodding his mouse parts. My mouth mumbled a dutiful but half-hearted, “Girls, don’t assault Chuck E.” However, my mind was screaming, “NOT SO FUN TO BE GROPED, IS IT, YOU ANTHROPOMORPHIC CREEP?”
Payback
But Chuck E. knew where to hit back where it hurt: my kids wanted a picture with him. Now he would forever be a part of our sacred family memories on film. I could feel a panic attack begin raging through my body as my finger pressed down on the shutter release.
Wipe that grin off your face, you dirty rodent.
And he wouldn’t just leave us be after that. He insisted on being part of that special moment, when we sang happy birthday to my daughter and watched her blow out her candle. I felt violated by his blatant photo-bombing.
Look at him, staring right at me. He knows what he is doing. He is trying to see the fear in my eyes.
But it was almost over. The party was nearing the end. At one point, my daughter came over to me, looked at Chuck E. and said, “Don’t worry, mom. I’m sure it’s a totally different guy in that costume than the time he creeped you out.”Those were her exact words. My keenly perceptive, incredibly astute daughter said that during her birthday party. Listen to the children, they say. She was right. I finally felt like I could breathe again. I was being silly. Here I was giving the stink eye to someone who was probably not even born when that long ago Chuck E. made a pass at me. I needed to let it go. Besides, it was time for my daughter to take her turn in the ticket blaster machine, and for Chuck E. to make his exit back to the break room.
The sun came out again, and in its glowing rays, Chuck E. Cheese didn’t seem like such a menacing place after all. Everyone was smiling. We had made it. We had survived a birthday party at the place where a kid can be a kid. We made it out alive.
I stood among the group of 8 year olds crowded around the ticket blaster, watching my daughter try to ineptly grab tiny tickets flying around her. At first, I thought some of the air had escaped the machine, until I recognized the familiar stench of Limburger breath linger on the back of my neck for just a moment before it disappeared into a purple door adorned with the sign “Employees Only.”
My son, gluttonous for his own turn in the ticket blaster, turned to me and said, “I want to have my birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese, too!”
My nightmare continues…
* Disclaimer: While based on true events, this post is entirely for entertainment purposes only. At no time did anyone employed by or associated with Chuck E. Cheese restaurants harass or behave inappropriately toward me, my family, or our party guests. In fact, I would actually recommend having a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese (did I just say that?????). Despite it not being MY favorite place to go as an adult, it was a very easy and relatively inexpensive experience. In fact, we ended up having to cancel our party at the last-minute due to an incredibly ridiculous and unexpected snowstorm (at the END of MARCH?), and the manager was extremely understanding and did not penalize us at all. Everything, including our bonus tokens for originally scheduling on a Sunday, were transferred to our rescheduled date (which was not a Sunday) with no hassle. Our party attendant was attentive, easy to work with, and she even ended up giving my kids bonus tickets for no reason. It was literally the easiest birthday party I have ever thrown (see my Birthday Party Planning Junkie post to understand what I mean). All in all, happy kid and happy mom. As for the mouse…he was completely harmless.
Photo Sources (in order of appearance): gamingbolt.com/chuckecheese.com; fark.com; outpost81.com; nursethehateblogspot.com; dulutheast86.com; fanpop.com. The last three photos are mine.
When most people hear the name Chucky, two things come to mind: a demonic doll who terrorizes mankind and a mouse who pushes pizza and skee ball. Or maybe they are actually one in the same! GASP!
Look away…it’s terrifying
Think about it. Have you ever seen them in the same place at the same time? And they have the exact same M.O. They both worm their way into our lives through our kids as if they are harmless byproducts of childhood fun, only to later strangle the life out of us and our well-meaning desire to make our young ones happy.
A disgust for Chucky from the Child’s Play horror movie franchise is normal; but what do I have against Chuck E. Cheese, you say? Many of you already know my seedy background with this over-sized cartoon mascot. But if you don’t, I suggest you first read my post, “Chuck E. Cheese Could Have Been Your Father,” before proceeding. Everything will become crystal clear after that…I promise. Don’t worry. I will wait for you…
…I know, right? What can I say? I’m blessed. Anyhoo…
So here is the next chapter in the ongoing horrific saga of me and Chuck E. He’s stalking me. I am completely convinced of it. I thought I had managed to escape from his clutches oh so many years ago, but I didn’t count on having children…children he would end up using as pawns enabling him to come back into my life and terrorize me.
It is true that since becoming a mother, we have visited Chuck E. Cheese restaurants on numerous occasions, mostly for school fundraiser nights and a few birthday parties. But I honestly thought that Chuck E never noticed me, that the wear and tear of motherhood and almost two decades had rendered me unrecognizable to him. But I should have known he wouldn’t show his cards that early in the game. Silently, and unbeknownst to me, he patiently endeared himself to my two kids with each passing visit. A high-five here. A free extra token there. How were they to know they were playing right into his grubby, freakishly large paws?
And it worked. About a month or so ago, these words oozed from my daughter’s lips: “I want to have my birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese thisyear.”
Despite the many, many, many other options I offered to her, she was staunch in her desire. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, she begged. Fine. I am not a victim. If this is the game you’re playing you sick bastard, I’m in. I’m not scared of you anymore. Me OR my 6 foot 6 enormously giant husband who once ripped a life-sized wrought iron wagon wheel lawn ornament straight from the ground. We will see who is going to be squeaking in their boots.
After trepidatiously making the reservation for the party, I tried to calm my nerves by being rational about the situation. That was a long time ago, Kelly. He has probably changed. Certainly a nationwide franchise wouldn’t risk their reputation or the threat of lawsuits by keeping a sleazebag of a mouse around for so many years. Would they? So I decided to do some research of my own. What I found wasn’t pretty. I should warn you; the following pictures may be disturbing. Please make sure your children aren’t present, and I apologize in advance for scarring for life the child that resides in your heart. But the truth must be known…
Are you really surprised? I mean, the guy has spent over 35 years unfazed by the background noise of arcade games and corny song parodies. This also explains why you feel hung over after leaving the place. I bet he circulates it through the vents.I swear I’ve heard him whisper “Make it rain” when he throws out those free tickets.See? SEEEEEE??!! I TOLD you he was a creep! I wish I didn’t feel so justified.From the looks of the fashions in this picture, the harassment has been happening for decades.
On the day of the party, my guard was up. I secretly took vengeful satisfaction when Chuck E. emerged to greet our party and my daughter’s friends ran up, encircled him, and started poking and prodding his mouse parts. My mouth mumbled a dutiful but half-hearted, “Girls, don’t assault Chuck E.” However, my mind was screaming, “NOT SO FUN TO BE GROPED, IS IT, YOU ANTHROPOMORPHIC CREEP?”
Payback
But Chuck E. knew where to hit back where it hurt: my kids wanted a picture with him. Now he would forever be a part of our sacred family memories on film. I could feel a panic attack begin raging through my body as my finger pressed down on the shutter release.
Wipe that grin off your face, you dirty rodent.
And he wouldn’t just leave us be after that. He insisted on being part of that special moment, when we sang happy birthday to my daughter and watched her blow out her candle. I felt violated by his blatant photo-bombing.
Look at him, staring right at me. He knows what he is doing. He is trying to see the fear in my eyes.
But it was almost over. The party was nearing the end. At one point, my daughter came over to me, looked at Chuck E. and said, “Don’t worry, mom. I’m sure it’s a totally different guy in that costume than the time he creeped you out.”Those were her exact words. My keenly perceptive, incredibly astute daughter said that during her birthday party. Listen to the children, they say. She was right. I finally felt like I could breathe again. I was being silly. Here I was giving the stink eye to someone who was probably not even born when that long ago Chuck E. made a pass at me. I needed to let it go. Besides, it was time for my daughter to take her turn in the ticket blaster machine, and for Chuck E. to make his exit back to the break room.
The sun came out again, and in its glowing rays, Chuck E. Cheese didn’t seem like such a menacing place after all. Everyone was smiling. We had made it. We had survived a birthday party at the place where a kid can be a kid. We made it out alive.
I stood among the group of 8 year olds crowded around the ticket blaster, watching my daughter try to ineptly grab tiny tickets flying around her. At first, I thought some of the air had escaped the machine, until I recognized the familiar stench of Limburger breath linger on the back of my neck for just a moment before it disappeared into a purple door adorned with the sign “Employees Only.”
My son, gluttonous for his own turn in the ticket blaster, turned to me and said, “I want to have my birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese, too!”
My nightmare continues…
* Disclaimer: While based on true events, this post is entirely for entertainment purposes only. At no time did anyone employed by or associated with Chuck E. Cheese restaurants harass or behave inappropriately toward me, my family, or our party guests. In fact, I would actually recommend having a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese (did I just say that?????). Despite it not being MY favorite place to go as an adult, it was a very easy and relatively inexpensive experience. In fact, we ended up having to cancel our party at the last-minute due to an incredibly ridiculous and unexpected snowstorm (at the END of MARCH?), and the manager was extremely understanding and did not penalize us at all. Everything, including our bonus tokens for originally scheduling on a Sunday, were transferred to our rescheduled date (which was not a Sunday) with no hassle. Our party attendant was attentive, easy to work with, and she even ended up giving my kids bonus tickets for no reason. It was literally the easiest birthday party I have ever thrown (see my Birthday Party Planning Junkie post to understand what I mean). All in all, happy kid and happy mom. As for the mouse…he was completely harmless.
Photo Sources (in order of appearance): gamingbolt.com/chuckecheese.com; fark.com; outpost81.com; nursethehateblogspot.com; dulutheast86.com; fanpop.com. The last three photos are mine.
•••
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This is a post I wrote about a year ago, but I felt the driving need to re-blog it today as I will be heading to Chuck E. Cheese’s with my children for our preschool’s fundraiser night. Please pray that tonight I don’t encounter another reason to ever write another post like this…
Chuck E. Cheese’s.
That is all you have to say to hear a collective, audible grunt from every parent within earshot. It may very well be the place “where a kid can be a kid,” but it is most certainly the place where a parent can get a preview of one of the circles of Hell. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. But a place where your money gets you a mediocre pizza, a temporary tattoo and fun size Airhead candy for a mere 100 tickets, and a lingering sticky film over your entire body is not what I envision Heaven to be. Maybe Purgatory.
But I can deal with all of that. And I understand that in the eyes of my children, Chuck E. Cheese’s is the ultimate restaurant. After all, as a kid I felt the same way about its predecessor, Showbiz Pizza. So when faced with having to take my own kids to this pizza funland for a birthday party or fundraiser night (because those are pretty much the only circumstances under which we set foot in there), my audible grunt is not rooted in my disdain for the place. My distaste for Chuck E. Cheese’s comes from the mouse himself.
Yes, Chuck E. has scarred me for life. Let me take you back in time to the day it all happened…
The year was 1993. I was a sophomore in high school. For some reason completely incomprehensible to me now, but which clearly made sense to the idiot teenage brain, I went to Chuck E. Cheese’s with a few friends. Maybe we really wanted a neon pillow shaped liked an alien head and figured the best way to get one was to earn tickets playing Whack-A-Mole for an entire afternoon. Anyway, I remember it clearly. I was in the middle of one of my personal best rounds of skee ball when I felt a large, cartoonish presence next to me. There stood Chuck E., mimicking my skee ball maneuvers. Ha ha. Funny Chuck E. Now move along and go high-five some six-year-old. But he did not move on. He stood there for a little while, looking at me. I tried to ignore him and continued playing until he left. To my dismay, he did not stay away for long. He followed me, silently, creepily, from one game to the next. Don’t you have to go perform “Disco Chuck” or “Rockin’ Robin” with your band right about now? It was incredibly disturbing.
Finally, it must have been Chuck E.’s break time, because he scampered away behind a door, and I started breathing easy again. That is, until I turned around and found myself standing face to face with a Chuck E. Cheese employee – a human one this time. I thought maybe he was coming over to apologize for Chuck E.’s annoying behavior and to treat me to five free tokens for my inconvenience. I was mistaken. Here is how the conversation went down:
Employee: “Chuck E. wanted me to come out here and tell you that he thinks you’re cute.”
Me: <crickets chirping>
Employee: He’s a really nice guy. He wanted to know what you thought of his tail.
Me: <crickets chirping>
Employee: So when he comes back, you wanna hang out?
Me: I don’t date mice.
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. I WAS HIT ON BY CHUCK E. CHEESE. Of all the celebrities whose eye I could have caught, that was my one shining moment. Pathetic. Disgusting. And down right Creepy with a capital C.
“Is that your tail or are you just happy to see me?” photo from arcadeheroes.com
And THAT is why I hate Chuck E. Cheese’s. Since that very unfortunate day, I shudder a little whenever I hear Chuck E.’s nasaly voice on a commercial. When we are at the restaurant, I get weirded out and have the urge to hide whenever Chuck E. starts walking the floor. But I grin and bear it, all so my kids can have their fun.
And that is exactly what I did this past Thursday when Michael’s preschool had their fundraising night at Chuck E. Cheese’s. I bought my pizza and tokens like a dutiful mother. I helped Grace score extra points on the basketball game so she could earn more tickets toward junk I don’t want in my house. And I even alerted Michael when I saw Chuck E. sauntering among the customers (no doubt scanning the crowd for some unsuspecting female on whom he could work his “playa” moves). Michael loves Chuck E. Cheese, and when he saw the mouse, he ran up and gave him a hug. As I watched, a bit horrified, I had the thought, “Oh Michael. You have no idea. Chuck E. Cheese could have been your father.”
Then I threw up a little in my mouth.
(The Chuck E. Saga continued a few years later. For the next chapter, click here.)
•••
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That is all you have to say to hear a collective, audible grunt from every parent within earshot. It may very well be the place “where a kid can be a kid,” but it is most certainly the place where a parent can get a preview of one of the circles of Hell. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. But a place where your money gets you a mediocre pizza, a temporary tattoo and fun size Airhead candy for a mere 100 tickets, and a lingering sticky film over your entire body is not what I envision Heaven to be. Maybe Purgatory.
But I can deal with all of that. And I understand that in the eyes of my children, Chuck E. Cheese’s is the ultimate restaurant. After all, as a kid I felt the same way about its predecessor, Showbiz Pizza. So when faced with having to take my own kids to this pizza funland for a birthday party or fundraiser night (because those are pretty much the only circumstances under which we set foot in there), my audible grunt is not rooted in my disdain for the place. My distaste for Chuck E. Cheese’s comes from the mouse himself.
Yes, Chuck E. has scarred me for life. Let me take you back in time to the day it all happened…
The year was 1993. I was a sophomore in high school. For some reason completely incomprehensible to me now, but which clearly made sense to the idiot teenage brain, I went to Chuck E. Cheese’s with a few friends. Maybe we really wanted a neon pillow shaped liked an alien head and figured the best way to get one was to earn tickets playing Whack-A-Mole for an entire afternoon. Anyway, I remember it clearly. I was in the middle of one of my personal best rounds of skee ball when I felt a large, cartoonish presence next to me. There stood Chuck E., mimicking my skee ball maneuvers. Ha ha. Funny Chuck E. Now move along and go high-five some six-year-old. But he did not move on. He stood there for a little while, looking at me. I tried to ignore him and continued playing until he left. To my dismay, he did not stay away for long. He followed me, silently, creepily, from one game to the next. Don’t you have to go perform “Disco Chuck” or “Rockin’ Robin” with your band right about now? It was incredibly disturbing.
Finally, it must have been Chuck E.’s break time, because he scampered away behind a door, and I started breathing easy again. That is, until I turned around and found myself standing face to face with a Chuck E. Cheese employee – a human one this time. I thought maybe he was coming over to apologize for Chuck E.’s annoying behavior and to treat me to five free tokens for my inconvenience. I was mistaken. Here is how the conversation went down:
Employee: “Chuck E. wanted me to come out here and tell you that he thinks you’re cute.”
Me: <crickets chirping>
Employee: He’s a really nice guy. He wanted to know what you thought of his tail.
Me: <crickets chirping>
Employee: So when he comes back, you wanna hang out?
Me: I don’t date mice.
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. I WAS HIT ON BY CHUCK E. CHEESE. Of all the celebrities whose eye I could have caught, that was my one shining moment. Pathetic. Disgusting. And down right Creepy with a capital C.
And THAT is why I hate Chuck E. Cheese’s. Since that very unfortunate day, I shudder a little whenever I hear Chuck E.’s nasaly voice on a commercial. When we are at the restaurant, I get weirded out and have the urge to hide whenever Chuck E. starts walking the floor. But I grin and bear it, all so my kids can have their fun.
“Is that your tail or are you just happy to see me?” photo from arcadeheroes.com
And that is exactly what I did this past Thursday when Michael’s preschool had their fundraising night at Chuck E. Cheese’s. I bought my pizza and tokens like a dutiful mother. I helped Grace score extra points on the basketball game so she could earn more tickets toward junk I don’t want in my house. And I even alerted Michael when I saw Chuck E. sauntering among the customers (no doubt scanning the crowd for some unsuspecting female on whom he could work his “playa” moves). Michael loves Chuck E. Cheese, and when he saw the mouse, he ran up and gave him a hug. As I watched, a bit horrified, I had the thought, “Oh Michael. You have no idea. Chuck E. Cheese could have been your father.”
Then I threw up a little in my mouth.
(The Chuck E. Saga continued a few years later. For the next chapter, click here.)
•••
Don’t want to miss a post? Want to stay updated on my author events and news? Subscribe to my Weekly Mayhem Newletter HERE!
Are You Finished Yet? 