Who Needs Normal?

The other day I was thinking of article ideas for the site and started to reminisce about funny/weird/stupid things that have happened to me over the years. There's been a lot of them and I'm not entirely sure if that's normal or not, but that's my life; here for your reading enjoyment.

I grew up in a small town where there was very little to do as a child. We played outside, and used our imaginations. When I was about 8 a small theme park was built in the neighbouring town called "Gallops Fun Land". It was a pretty exciting prospect with water slides, bumper boats, mini golf, a driving range and go-carts. My parents took me there shortly after it opened. My older sister may or may not have been with us, I tend to block her out of my childhood memories.

After a round of mini-golf I begged my parents to let me go on the go-carts. There was some young guy running them who was definately new to the job. I certainly had no experience behind the wheel, what with being 8 and all. He got me a helmet, but there were only adult sized helmets and it was quite big, but he did up the chin strap anyway. He showed me where the gas pedal was and started the cart. You will note there was no mention of brakes.

I pushed the gas to the floor and off I went. I was probably only 50 feet into the course, going at a good clip and there was this bump of a hill. I had kept the gas pedal floored all the while, so I had some serious momentum at this point. hit that hill like the dukes of hazard and I went seriously airborne. When I touched down I hit so hard (I still had my foot on the gas) that my helmet fell down over my eyes. Now, with incredible instincts, I jarred the steering wheel completely to the right and instantly flew off the track and into the woods. So now I'm a blind eight-year-old who's go-cart "off-roading" at top speed. I bumped along through the woods for probably thirty feet before I slammed into a tree. I'm amazed I wasn't killed. I could hear my Dad and the go-cart guy yelling to me from off in the distance. I pulled the helmet up and I could see I was pretty far into the woods — I couldn't even see the go-cart track anymore. Pretty soon my Dad and the go-cart guy found my tracks and followed them in. They made sure I was okay and all I can remember the go-cart guy saying was "You can take your foot off the gas now".

The next time I visited the Fun Land there was a nice wall of tires around the entire course and they had kid-sized helmets. Who needs brakes anyway?