Evil, thy name is Chuck E. Cheese

This weekend, I had an experience that I have long been hoping to avoid - our first birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. I knew, before we went it would be a little crazy, having seen commercials starring the namesake mouse wearing a skateboard helmet - that's an advertising tool, by the way, put a skateboard helmet on anyone, cartoon or real, and he's COOL! The kids will love him! - but it wasn't until we got there that I discovered that this place is actually the seventh ring of hell.

It should have tipped me off when I called to RSVP to the party and the birthday girl's mother sounded apologetic about the venue. She explained that her hands were tied having given her older daughter a party at Chuck E.'s the previous year. It's bad news when the host is loathe to repeat the experience. I put my reservations aside and decided it couldn't be that bad, being a national chain and all. They sponsor Sesame Street for crying out loud.

When the day of the party turned out to be a freezing cold January Saturday with my kids literally bouncing off the walls - seriously, I can show you the marks - I decided that not only would one of us would take my daughter to the party, as is our usual MO, the whole family would attend so both kids could burn off some energy. I would stick with the party wearing the baby in his carrier and my husband would take my middle one around on his own. We headed out with if not high, then medium expectations for a fun afternoon.

The wall of noise that greeted us upon our arrival was the first step in our decent into hell. It was the din of a hundred over-sugared children playing equally over-stimulating video games turned up to ear-splitting volume. We were directed to the party table in front of the stage where we met the birthday parents and were given our tokens. Yes, there is a stage. On said stage is the saddest set of 1980's animatronic figures you have ever seen. Half the characters are missing an eye or an appendage and their joints creak with unoiled neglect. Unbeknownst to me, Chuck E. has a posse comprised of weird animal friends and a creepy Italian chef - I guess he makes the pizza? A strange bird-lady is apparently the chanteuse of the group as she clacked her beak off-beatedly to Aha's "Take on Me". Yes, more noise, bad covers of 80's music.

Now let's talk about the crowd. I am going to admit before I even begin that I will sound very judgmental here, but so be it. The crowd at the place was a crystal clear photo of what the rest of the world thinks is wrong with Americans. These people were loud, crass and badly dressed. Children ran, unattended, in different directions as parents either sat lazily in booths completely ignoring horrific behavior like walking up the Skee Ball ramp to throw the balls in or screamed at their children ineffectively, "Don't make me come over there!" And the food, please, I can barely stomach it even in memory. It added to the picture to watch these loud, misbehaving children and their parents shove greasy pizza and buffalo wings into their faces washing it down with gallons of soda.

My children were overwhelmed. My oldest, not good in a crowd on the best of days, did not know what to do with herself. She almost passed out with fear as the "real" Chuck E. came around to greet the party guests with his hammy gestures and dead, glassy eyes. The mega-decibel birthday announcements caused my middle one to cover her ears and cower in fright. She did, however, join in the spirit of the day in terms of cuisine, she ate about six slices of pizza. The baby, bless his heart, gave up his fight to make any sense of the choas around him and fell dead asleep against my chest. My husband said, "This is so bad I feel like I'm in a movie." We stayed long enough for cake and to sing Happy Birthday - a sum total of an hour and fifteen minutes - before I called out our signature word in these situations - "ABORT!"

Ten minutes later we were back in the van staring out the windsheild like WWII troops after D-day. My husband and I kept staring at each other, mouths agape, trying to find the words, but none came. We were just thankful we had escaped with all of our limbs, and sanity, intact and that this was our last experience with Chuck and his gang. After a few minutes of riding in silence my oldest chirps from the back, "Can I have my birthday at that place next year?" I think the incredulous silence was answer enough.