Guest Blogger, “Mom” tries to clear a few things up about the horror of the corn maze:
So here’s the actual story. We get invited to a “Pumpkin Social” put on by the kindergartner’s school on a Friday night at six. Being super supportive grandparents we immediately agree and plan to be at the school at the proper time. Fortunately, the day before, I make plans to be at Milk’s house early to play with the kids and visit pawn shops to look for her burgled items. She says “Okay, but I’m surprised you would go this far out of your way when the event is so much closer to you. A confused conversation ensues and it is determined that the pumpkin event is actually at a farm betwixt our two homes. This is why you call your children before you actually meet them anywhere. We would have been at the school looking very puzzled.
We drive into a gravel swamp and wander around the adorable pumpkin farm where Gramps takes approximately one thousand photos of “stuff” that must be memorialized forever. MiLK and her Engineer finally show up with the kids, and Gramps immediately starts taking blurry pics of us all. After a couple slices of free pizza, we head for the Flashlight Corn Maze. MILK stays comfortably seated, drinking apple cider I’m pretty sure she’s spiking.
“You’re not going?” I ask.
She laughs. “Hell no. You let me watch children of the corn when I was six. I’m good here.”
By this time, it is unreasonably dark out. I don’t even think there’s a moon, much less a streetlamp. I tell Gramps we could actually stay in the warm barn with Milk and the little one until the Engineer and the elder girl returned. He’s scandalized. “NO – WE SHALL GO INTO THE MAZE- I WILL RETURN WITH FLASHLIGHTS. WE MUST WALK THE MAZE.” Or something like that. I’m tempted to bail on him but go along with it. We are newlyweds after all. And the Engineer is with us – what could possibly go wrong?
WORST. DECISION. EVER. Upon entering the maze, there is one of those Alice things about going down the rabbit hole. Bad omen. We follow the Madness, her friend, the Engineer and two very competent looking parents. Two yards into the maze, the Engineer says, “if you get lost, just keep your hand on the wall.” Then he leaves us behind, chasing down a hurtling Madness. Several signs say DO NOT TOUCH THE CORN LEAVES – THEY WILL CUT YOU!
We soldier on, but the floor is slick mud that turns my boots into skates and I lurch around like a crazy drunk person, surrounded by giggling, miraculously stable children scooting by us. Inevitably, I explode and slam sideways into the muck, using a bad word amongst the young wanderers, drenching myself in nasty smelly mud. It’s too late to turn back – we don’t even know what direction back is.
I discover that if I shuffle along on the edge there is a narrow grassy part that I don’t slip on, but I need to constantly dodge the knife toting corn stalk gangsters. Poor Gramps has to clutch my hand while we both lurch along sideways in the dark. I’m making up excuses in my mind for my now screwed up spine for our chiropractor who never believes any of our stories. Gramps becomes obsessed with staying with the people just ahead of us, though they are equally lost. He keeps trying to hurry me along to catch up. I scream, “why do we have to follow them? They are going IN CIRCLES!!!” and earn some horrified looks from the parents. The poor, distraught mother, delicately helping her daughter haul her witch cape through the disgusting mud, gives me a fragile smile. “I’m sure we’ll find our way out of here,” she says, clearly for the benefit of the child. Obviously, all hope is lost.
I think, but manage not to say, “Not likely sister – just hope they know we’re still in here at the end of the night. I read somewhere the coyotes in these parts have a taste for human flesh.”
Just then, another mom who was stuck behind our lurching Quasimoto forms asks her son in an offhand way, “did you see the dead farmer through that corn?” I’ve apparently found my people, just in time for us all to die together. By now I am very tired and sore and so sick of seeing the stupid “THIS WAY/THAT WAY – GO THROUGH THE GD KEYHOLE,” sign that I start laughing hysterically (and perhaps using bad words just a little) like a hyena, on the verge of a total breakdown.
Gramps says, “there you go, that’s the spirit! Gotta keep a positive attitude. By the way, I really have to pee somewhere soon.” Oh My God, I realize, so do I. Great – two got-to-pee adults and a bunch of kids in the middle of a muddy corn maze – what to do and not end up on a “list” forever?
The corn merely rustles its contempt and sharpens its leaves.
A poor man lurches by me crying that he has worn his gardening shoes and may be dying. Another woman declares her crocks are sucking mud through the holes. A man I’ve seen three or four times tells me he hopes I get out of there soon, my flashlight is fading. And HE’S RIGHT. At this point, I resolve to just sit down and wait for a medevac. Or coyotes. Gramps has other ideas – he’s found more flashlight zombies to follow and then, suddenly, we spot the DON’T TOUCH THE CORN – IT WILL CUT YOU sign. He’s so relieved that he almost cries – We never found the exit, but we re-found the entrance.
We burst out to find a big eyed MILK wearing a weird monkey hat, and a very relieved Engineer who was just about to come in after us.
Worst part – I had to drive home in my undies because my jeans were covered in pig smelling fertilizer. So thankful we didn’t get pulled over – not sure how we would explain that. It all started in a corn maze, officer…
I only hope all the other people got out alive.
Lies…all lies 😉
Says the organizer of evil maze events!
Mom must start her own blog!
No. Nope. No way.
It would have to become Wine, Milk and Whiskey and we would all fight about first billing
Holy snappin’ duck shit, your Mum is freaking hilarious! If there’s one thing the world needs right now it’s a handy little blog about the adventures of very supportive Grandparents. It must be done methinks.
Yeah, she’s a riot. Get a bottle of wine in her and this story gets WAY funnier.
She’s got a way with the written word as well…time for her own blog?
I’m in love with your mom. I grew up on a farm. One of the number one rules (my folks had a lot of “number one” rules-never was a ‘rule two rule’) was to never, ever go in a corn field—Dad would tell us you will never be found again until he harvested the corn and that we would probably be dead from coyotes (!) or starvation before then. We were terrified of the corn field. Imagine my horror when people started corn mazes..for fun!!!! I with your mom….those things are worse than any haunted house or tax preparers office.
I don’t understand a lot of things people do for “fun”, but yeah, corn mazes have always seemed insane. Glad my mom was the one to prove me right about that!
That’s because Moms are always right!
What is scarier than corn or coyotes are hogs – giant enormous pink hogs on my Grampa’s ranch. Always were warned to not fall in the hog pen, so instead I fell in the cesspool trying to jump over it. I made sure the grand girls saw a giant hog in person at a local farm “size of my dining room table!” was the Madness’ comment.
Being one of the “mamagrands”, I must say I’m terribly sad to have missed the Crazy Corn Maze!