Flashes of Panic

There’s one thing we don’t have around here: Funspot. We spent a chunk of time there on Sunday night. (You don’t check your watch in Funspot.) According to the website, it’s the “second largest arcade in the country.” I didn’t know that, and I’ve never really been much for video games of any variety (not since the Apple ][+, anyway, but rumor has it there’s a site where you can play Zork by telnet; that might be worth a look.) But you can play skee-ball and air-hockey as long as you’ve got tokens (and, in the case of air hockey, you can handle the line.) They’ve got a healthy collection of pinball machines as well. I don’t have the feet for bowling nowadays (I’m restricted to shoes with arches until the PF goes away) so we passed on that, and the mini golf.

The feeling there is very weird. It’s very much on the bygone mold of “amusements” off the route to natural wonders like Lake Winnipesaukee or the White Mountains (see also Clark’s Trained Bears) and it’s swarmed by adolescent kids and adults who identify with them. I feel a bit the same about Funspot as I do about, say, McDonald’s. Still, it’s hard to stand at the skee-ball ramp, concentrating on rolling straight up the line with just enough force to hit the fifty pocket, and not feel a little bit of what they’re selling. It’s plainer at the air-hockey tables, as long as nobody’s playing for blood. The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. And, in the case of the younger patrons, (younger than me, anyway,) the chance to cruise for chicks. Or something.

You win tickets at certain score milestones at skee-ball, and I racked up nearly fifty. The prize counter doesn’t really offer much of interest to me, so I opted to take the entire set in penny candy. As the prize counter kid was counting it out, I said, “You must hate people like me.” “No,” he said, “I’ve seen much worse, believe me.”

Now playing: Spinning from I’m on my way (EP) by Rich Price