The Chuck E. Cheese Story

Jeff VanderMeer • October 23rd, 2007 @ 8:35 pm • Videos

The horrible and horrifying tale of my encounter with the giant rat…and all the chaos that ensued…

(Round these parts, we call the place “Chuckie Cheese”. No pause for that middle initial.)

Jeff

10 Responses to “The Chuck E. Cheese Story”

  1. Gilles says:

    “her parents are gonna sue” ? Wow, three weeks in the States and the British girl was already acclimated ! LOL

    (“Thank God the French exist” – W. Allen)

  2. Sir Tessa says:

    I laughed at your misfortune. I’m a bad bad person.

    (I laughed even harder at the guy in the rat suit’s misfortune. I’m a bad bad bad person.)

  3. Jeff VanderMeer says:

    Gilles–the lawsuit part was part of what contributed to my sense of shock, for sure.

    Yes, Sir Tessa–it is way funny. Time + tragedy = comedy.

    Oddly enough, I later encountered the brother of the guy who was in the rat suit at the time. His version of the story is much shorter.

    JV

  4. Gilles says:

    Oh, yes, uncle Jeff, pleaaaaaaaaaase, another story.

  5. Jeff VanderMeer says:

    Er, I mean–much, much shorter: “Some crazy b— of a kid kicked him in the nuts once. That was the worst thing that happened to him.”

    Jeff

  6. Kelly Barnhill says:

    There are several entrances to Hell on Earth. They are located, primarily, in Disneyworld (a woman had to be physically restrained by her mother-in-law to keep from punching me when my one year old barfed on her bag), in O’Hare airport, in one particularly dismal rest area in Iowa, and in every single Chuckie’s in America. I once agreed to go with my neighbor to be an extra pair of hands at her kid’s birthday party. After we had been there for an uneventful fifteen minutes, some kid spotted me from across the room, walked right over, removed the lid to his rootbeer, and launched its contents right at my crotch. Nice. Perhaps I wronged him in a previous life. Or perhaps being situated on an entrance to Hell just does that to people.

    Kelly

  7. Gilles says:

    Jeff : you disappoint me. I know you’re able to make that “much much shorter story” into a 5′ long one… (how did you feel ? what did you reply ? did you sympathize ? etc)

    About Hell on Earth… this reminds me thing of the pilot of a new US television series I watched the other day at a friend’s :

    Sam: Wait a minute, so people can break out of Hell?
    Devil: Yeah. That’s a problem we’ve been having lately, what with overcrowding and so forth. Honestly, we were underprepared for the influx. I blame myself. But that’s not your problem. All you have to do is track down fugitives and haul their asses over to a portal to Hell. Easy.
    Sam: What do you mean by portal?
    Devil: Well, any place that seems like Hell on Earth, is Hell on Earth, you know? The DMV on Union Street? Yeah, drop off a fugitive, renew your license. I’m all about the perks.
    Sam: Oh, my God.
    Devil: Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. I’ve seen how this all ends. Don’t worry, God wins.

  8. Matt Michelson says:

    I for one was really worried that when the British girl went “the big rat broke my back and tried to touch me” her parents were going to lunge at you. Not that you look at all rattish, but I’m just glad they kept their cool.

  9. CJH in Panglossian mode says:

    Er, I mean–much, much shorter: “Some crazy b– of a kid kicked him in the nuts once. That was the worst thing that happened to him.”

    Jeff, thank you for the story. And if you ever see Rat’s brother (or even Brother Rat), please pass along this thought: “Hey, from now on your life is going to be peaches and cream.”

    Off to re-read Donald Westlake’s What’s The Worst That Could Happen?.

  10. CJH_esper says:

    Quoth Kelly Barnhilll:

    There are several entrances to Hell on Earth. They are [...other places redacted...] in every single Chuckie’s in America. I once agreed to go with my neighbor to be an extra pair of hands at her kid’s birthday party.

    Kelly, you have my utmost sympathy and respect. I volunteered for similar duty at the request of friends[1], not because I’m a swell & giving person (I’m not), but simply because I had NO IDEA what sort of hellish bedlam awaits the unwary within a Chuck y Cheesus-Christ on a spun doughy topping establishment. After that seemingly interminable night, I remain convinced that there is a God, as without divine intervention I would have strangled at least two of the unsupervised(!) hyperkinetic moppets who were most fond of emitting 100+dB shrieks at a range of ~one centimeter from any likely patron’s ear.[2]

    Never. Again. (God might not intervene a second time.)

    [1] Said friends/parents desired me to be godfather to another sprog… wtF?!?
    [2] Word; it was >48 hours before I regained hearing in my right ear. I’ve been to a Clash concert, with my head literally in the declivity (horn?) of a stage-right speaker, with fewer ill effects.

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