Little Moby Homemaker: Domestic God

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My Morning in the 7th Ring of Hell

Moby Homemaker

I am an out of work "At Home Dad" who has risen from the ashes like an overweight, over worked, under paid phoenix to become a "Domestic God"


Occasionally, even this Domestic God finds himself in an odious position.  I'm not talking about  the norm- like dishes, or laundry or feeding the kids.  No, I am talking about something far more horrifying.  I am talking about a trip to Chuck E. Cheese.

My two sons love, love, love, television.  And, admittedly,  I will sometimes turn over the babysitting duties to the most trust worthy babysitter I know--our big screen tv.  The vortex of Nick or Cartoon Network seems to put a hypnotic spell on my two boys.  Truthfully, I could not care less, as long as they are quiet and not beating the living shit out of each other.  So, it's all good.  But there is a nasty by-product from this television viewing--commercials.

I swear to Christ, there is a commercial instructing impressionable children to demand their parents take them to Chuck E. Cheese about every 7-9 minutes.  You know, "it's the place where a kid can be a kid".  F-that--my parents found a place where I could "be a kid"... at the park down the street.  Anyway, these marketing demons at Chuck E. Cheese have all the tact of the Hitler Youth Movement. But,  I digress.....

After months of incessant badgering by my two young sons, I was  finally beaten into submission.  I was going to accompany them to Chuck E.'s.  God bless my wife, she found some coupons--so that took some of the financial sting out of this perilous excursion.  I was determined to find a way to spend the least amount of time at the "House of Rat" as possible.  

Did you know this f'ing place opens at 9:30 am?  9:30!!!  Are there really people whose children are insistent that they get to this Cheese's joint for breakfast?  Well, as I learned on a cold Sunday morning (Sunday, the day of our Lord); yes-these children exist.  My wife and I figured that this may actually be the best time to go.  The plan was to get in and get out in 90 minutes, or less.

Upon arrival, so help me God, I found myself in the Seventh Ring of Hell.  Although, it was not quite the way Dante had described it.  It sounded like a Vegas casino floor, but without the potential for any type of winning.  The lights and sounds were like kiddy heroin to my boys.  Before they could get their coats off they were in front of the token machine, begging for a fix of those sweet , sweet, bronze game tokens.  Of course, the tokens only come in lots of like 10,000.  And each game took but one single token.  What the hell happened to those car driving games that took like 8 tokens in days of video game yore?  With each of my sons armed with a token bucket (yes C.E.C. hands each patron an bucket) they hit the game room floor.

I guess that we were lucky to be there on a Sunday morning.  With the place only occupied by a couple of other families--the chance of perverts roaming the joint seemed minimal.  We watched as the boys poured through their 10,000 tokens in what seemed to be literally minutes. Of course, they begged for more-and got some.  Once they blitzkrieged through that round of tokens, I noticed that there was a section of free "games"--you know ball pits, slides, merry go rounds, etc.  I encouraged my kids to take advantage of Chuck E.'s generosity.  Bad idea-once I saw them on the tunnel slide, it occurred to me that I had actually just led my children into  Chuck E.'s "Wonderful World of H1N1".  I quickly wrangled the pair to a table, under the premise that they would be fed by mmmm... tasty Chuck E. Cheese pizza but NOT before they were sent to the bathroom to wash their germ infested mitts.

I love pizza almost as much as beer and sex.  I would forgo the latter two forever to ensure that I never have to eat Chuck E. Rat's "pizza" again.  Holy piss, is that stuff crap!  Every other pizza joint in the world should file suit against C.E.C. for calling that garbage "pizza" and ruining their good names.  I think that even Domino's would win that case.

Anyhow, we forged ahead and the boys had their "pizza brunch".  But, not before the entertainment began.  How could we forget the wonderful Chuck E. Cheese animatronics revue?  Our family was treated to a multimedia song presentation about how Chuck E. Kids should "live green"!  Are you kidding me?  There was so much electricity pumping through this place, that it would have made Al Gore piss his panties.  And hey, Chuck E. Cheese folks--you have a 6 foot rat roaming your restaurant. I found this performance just a bit hypocritical.

Luckily, the boys knew their mother and father had had enough.  Without a fight, they took their multitude of skee ball tickets and  bought dozens of cheap foreign made  gag gifts before exiting the hallowed ground of Cheese.  They had a successful visit to the only place where "a kid can be a kid".  I was elated to be heading back to the place where a "Domestic God can be a Domestic God"-home.



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Daisy said:

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Oh, how I HATE Chuck E. Cheese! I've served my time there. So glad my sons are too old to want to go there anymore. Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi! Makes me shudder just thinking about it. Very well written post. You hit the nail on the head with this one.

Carrie Kirby said:


Wow, yeah. I picked up my daughter from a birthday party there recently. As I was standing with another mom, sweltering in the heat, waiting for a manager to come trade in our kids' tickets for crappy prizes, she remarked to me, "Being a Chuck E. Cheese's manager must be the absolute worst job on earth."

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