Ferris Wheels

Last year, my boyfriend and I went to Santa Monica Pier. So we had to ride the Ferris wheel. Just had to.

Now, I hated Ferris wheels before, but I hadn't been on one since I was, like, seven, so I thought maybe I'd outgrown that. After all, I ride roller coasters just fine.

But as soon as that thing started moving, I grabbed the middle bar and froze. Because that's all there was: a middle bar. It'd be so easy to fall out of those things and, in my example, onto the Santa Monica Pier, smushed flat in front of hundreds of people. Or into shark-infested Pacific waters if I was lucky enough to clear the pier. 

I'm not a fan of heights, and I'm certainly not a fan of heights with lots of wind, swinging doors, and no seat belts.

Eventually, I moved back into the seat and ventured my camera out of its case and the view was fantastic. But our tickets said we'd go around two times, and we went around six! Six rotations in that rickety death trap 30,000 feet up in the air.

Yes, I know we weren't actually 30,000 feet up, but still. 

I have since decided that I will never, ever go on a Ferris wheel again. Let's see how that works out.

 

Do not throw articles from gondola. Especially your body.