Teenage Wasteland

I grew up in a very small town, in what most people called the armpit of Pennsylvania, where the state meets Maryland and Delaware. The bucolic farm fields and lazy 3-light town left little to do by means of entertainment. In fact, when cow-tipping and loitering became tiresome, one found themselves on a 45-minute car ride to greater things like movie-theatres and shopping malls.

In fact, one often found themselves crossing state lines twice in pursuit of something other than what O-Town (the place I lived, not the very bad boy-band) had to offer. Small-town meant limited opportunity for employment. Teens often found that the three major employers were 2 fast-food joints and a grocery store. Wanting more and at the suggestion of a friend; I found myself on a daily commute to Amish-Country. Smack dab in the middle, in fact.

What better, to educate the masses on the lives of the Amish, was ironically a theme-park. Yes, the Amish, who shunned all forms of modern life and technology were represented by a roller-coaster, game-filled 'amusement' park for children. While most people chose to work in the park as a ride operator or in the games or food booths; I chose to work in the Gift Shop thinking that of the employment positions, Gift Shop would require the least effort and would be the least likely to put me in with the throngs of crying, hyper, temper-tantrum throwing children. BIG MISTAKE.

The Gift Shop was located in the Castle (yes, Dutch Wonderland, an Amish Theme Park had a castle, moat, dragon and 'roller coaster' named Sky Princess). The Castle was the ONLY entrance into the park. So while the quiet, polite children entered the park in the morning; they were replaced with screaming, spitting, demon-children at the end of the day. These spawns of Satan would descend on a recently stocked and straightened display like locusts and in a matter of seconds have it destroyed and the nearest Gift Shop employee in near mental-breakdown.

Parents, whose cherubic children turned demon, were haggard and tired after a day in the sun riding dated theme park rides. Strollers that once carried happy children were now filled with the spoils of the carnival games. These strollers that now turned the already tight quarters of the gift shop into mazes booby trapped with sticky, dirty children. Displays meant to attract children became death traps for the poor souls working in the Gift Shop.

I routinely found myself dodging bouncy super balls, weaving through a gauntlet of hula hoops and jumping to avoid the snap of bull-whips and pop guns at the cowboy stand. Keeping a well-stocked and orderly gift shop was a near Sisyphean attempt once the park closed. The last-minute park goers were shuffled into the Gift Shop, which conveniently was open an hour later than the park.

Considered Ambassadors to the park we often fielded questions that most times bordered on pure idiocy. 'What time do the Amish go home?' They don't, that is actually how they live. 'Why don't they have televisions?' 'How do you audition to be an Amish?'. 'Where do I get an Amish Costume?' 'Where is the beach in PA, the one by Ocean City Maryland?' Yeah, I looked at him the same way too. PA, the land-locked state with Oceanfront beaches.

This job that left me exhausted, that tested my patience, was not without perks. My name badge afforded me something invaluable to a teenager living in the middle of nowhere. In addition to free entrance to the very park that I worked, I payed half-price at the movie theatre that was adjacent to the park. Most importantly though, my name badge awarded me and one lucky friend half-priced tickets to Hershey Park and Dorney Park. The grown-up versions of Dutch Wonderland.

As the beginning of the summer-season approached I would question my sanity as I signed up for 3 months of torture, the long and windy back road trip filled with molasses slow horse and buggies, closing shifts only to come back the next day to open. Each time, I agreed. Dug out the pleated-front blue khaki pants and blue and white striped shirt. I laced my white and blue sneakers and attached my name tag and prepared to enter the insanity. All in the name of a boredom free summer.