You may have noticed you’re only getting one this week.
That’s because it’s Halloween, dammit! Why are you reading blogs when there’s spooky outside?
I understand some of you are unfortunate enough to live in places where this most magnificent holiday isn’t really a thing. I feel for you.
Some of you—I’m not going to name names, you know who you are—sit quietly by the glow of the internet on All Hallow’s Eve insisting that it’s “a kids’ holiday.” I’m not even going to argue that point with you except that I totally am and here it is.
- Kids can’t afford Halloween, ergo it’s obviously an adult holiday in which we allow them to participate—mostly so they understand the traditions and expectations when they’re old enough to do their own spooking. But they’re mostly in it for the candy, and you can go out and buy candy and not share it so whose holiday is this again?
- Kids can’t go to the really good Halloween parties. This is evidenced—despite the plethora of overtly sexual costumes for young girls—by the absence of children at any Halloween party worth going to.
- Kids can dress up and pretend to be a unicorn or a transformer or Richard Nixon any time they want—we encourage it, even! But if you do it on a random Tuesday? Suddenly everyone will want to talk about your “drinking problem” and your boss will certainly want to show you that copy of the company dress code you signed one day when you were desperate for a job.
- If you live in a country where Halloween is a thing, you live in a country where there’s a legal drinking age. See Point 2 re: really good parties, which not-so-coincidentally serve alcohol. The only thing more fun than dressing up and being spooky is doing all that with a bit of whiskey warming your (possibly exposed) belly.
- The best Halloween movies are decidedly not “family friendly” in nature.
So there you have it: five legitimate (practically scientific, really) reasons Halloween is obviously for adults.
Not what you came for?
Well Husband and I are on very different schedules right now, but how ‘bout some tales of haunting?
ME: (emerges from my section, sweaty and exhausted)
MAINTENANCE CLOWN: How’d it go tonight?
ME: Pretty good. I think we made some people seriously regret their choices.
MAINTENANCE CLOWN: (laughs) Yeah, I heard. One in particular, I guess.
MAINTENANCE CLOWN: You didn’t hear? Yeah, she sprained her ankle trying to run through—
ME: HOLY SHIT! Seriously?
MAINTENANCE CLOWN: (nods)
SACRIFICE ADJUSTER: What?
ME: We got a confirmed injury… trying to escape!
SACRIFICE ADJUSTER: NICE!
ME: (high fives)
COOKIE MONSTER: What happened?
ME: Sprained ankle!
COOKIE MONSTER: Fuck yeah! (high fives SA)
ME: I’ve never been so proud of us.
HILBILLY CLOWN: Not even that time you disclocated that lady’s knee?
ME: SHE FAILED TO DISCLOSE A PREVIOUS INJURY! That’s not on me.
HILBILLY CLOWN: Whatever, that was still the funniest shit I ever seen. (to others) she came through Chase’s room and I saw her in the doorway, then—WHOOP! (gestures) I never laughed so hard in here.
ME: (shrugs, blushes)
UNDEAD BUNNY: (puts arm around my shoulder) She’s killing ‘em, for sure.
MAINTENANCE CLOWN: Not literally… yet.
Not to worry, we’re still not allowed to touch customers (though I now have over a dozen loopholes for that, so don’t let me catch you breaking the rules). But, due to an unexpected shortage of decent puppeteers I’ve been filling in on some of the more demanding puppets. Which means I’m totally allowed to beat the shit out of customers and take every opportunity to do so.
But I’m also throwing in bonus scares, because I believe in adding value to your admission price.
ME: (hears cue, sees group coming)
PUPPET: (dances a little, lulling the idiots valued customers into a false sense of safety)
ME: (singing) Here they come… walkin’ down the street…
DOUCHE IN FRONT: (points at puppet) Watch, that thing’s gonna come out.
PUPPET: (goes nowhere, continues dancing)
ME: Yeah, fuck that guy.
DOUCHE IN FRONT: (exits)
GROUP FOLLOWING: (eyeballs puppet, dismisses)
ME: Hmm… that one.
PUPPET: (bum rushes Skittish Customer, smacks rest of group with off hand)
GROUP: (scream, attack each other in mad scramble through the door)
CLOWN IN NEXT ROOM: WHAT’S THE MATTER, DON’T YOU LIKE CLOWNS?!
ME: (cackles madly) Ah, they’re a fun group. I hope they come back.
GROUP: (screams, still falling over each other)
PUPPET: (pulls back into his hide)
ME: (singing) Here comes the next contestant…
PUPPET: (attacks Overdressed female in front)
GROUP: (laughs at Overdressed’s predicament)
PUPPET: (blocks, pummels, generally abuses Overdressed)
OVERDRESSED: NO! You’re not allowed to touch me! IT’S TOUCHING ME THEY’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH!!
ME: (checks puppet for pulse)
PUPPET: (is not alive)
ME: (shrugs, encourages further violence)
OVERDRESSED: I SAID NO!
ME: (in booming voice to match Puppet) THAT’S NOT YOUR SAFE-WORD!
OVERDRESSED: (stares, horrified)
GROUP: (does standing group poop)
CUSTOMERS: (scream, flee)
ME: (laughs) (to puppet) So they seemed nice.
WANDERING CLOWN: Hey, doin’ okay in here?
ME: Having a blast.
WANDERING CLOWN: Yeah, they seemed… really freaked out. What did you—
ME: “You’re not allowed to touch me I saw the rules NO TOUCHING!”
WANDERING CLOWN: Ah. Dumbass.
WANDERING CLOWN: Listen… apparently a big group of kids just came in, and—
WANDERING CLOWN: Just… I mean… they’re little.
ME: (dead-eyed stare)
WANDERING CLOWN: So, you know… go easy on ‘em?
ME: … No.
WANDERING CLOWN: Yeah, I know. But—
ME: How small?
WANDERING CLOWN: (sighs, disgusted) Apparently they’re like, really little.
ME: (shakes head) If their parents don’t love them, why should I?
WANDERING CLOWN: (cracks up) Good fuckin’ point! You do what you do best.
 Seriously, how are they allowed to hold that over your head? I just put “signed under duress” on all employment forms—it saves time and gives us something to laugh about later.
 When did people get so fuckin’ lazy? If I—with my body-by-Doritos and all the grace and stamina of a pet rock—can manage to shove that thing around night after night, you’d think these 20-somethings would be able to do it for more than ten minutes without complaining of heat/fatigue/sore muscles.
HIM: Do you actually say that?
ME: (nods) Sometimes.
HIM: Okay but… what is their safe word?
ME: (wide-eyed) … You know, I’ve never heard it!
HIM: (laughs) This is why I won’t go to a haunted house.
ME: Seriously, though, if they would actually throw up their hands and say, “I quit!” I’d lead them out the nearest exit.
HIM: But they don’t?
ME: (shakes head) It’s all NO! and STOP! and NOT TODAY, SATAN! and FUCK, GET ME OUT OF HERE!
 This is my general philosophy on children in a non-family-friendly haunt. And I see some shitty parents; some people will come through carrying their little sprog, for fuck’s sake. I saw one guy with a baby strapped to his back. In a haunted house! Where shit jumps out at you from all angles! No, I didn’t knock him down, but I did offer him a good price for the chew toy. Boo at the Zoo is for kids—the famously scary haunted house is not. But sending little ones through alone was a new low, and I was relieved when I heard the kids quit as a unit less than ten minutes in.