I thought with summer’s sweaty reign of terror finally over and pumpkin spice lattes back on the menu, fall would bring on a safe space to enjoy all the seasonally appropriate outings to my heart’s content. And with Halloween around the corner, it was time for spooky festivities. But when I decided to start the season with a haunted hayride, I received the most horrifying of jump scares – some kid next to me thought I was a part of the ride.
I didn’t realize I was going to meet my mortal enemy on this fateful haunted hayride. I was just minding my own business on my bale of hay, but then this little brat took one look at me and burst into tears. At first, I thought maybe his bale was too scratchy – after all, we sit on the hay for aesthetic, not comfort. But no, this punk with no regard for public decorum pointed at me and loudly asked his babysitter, “Is she a witch?”
I felt my spine tingle. Just because I was dressed in all black and decided not to put on make-up? It was a hate crime against women who have given up everywhere.
I wanted to be generous and chalk it up to my passing resemblance to Bette Midler, but every fresh round of fearful sniffling cut me to my core. A witch, out of all the spooky creatures? At least if he thought I was a ghost, it just meant I was pale or looked tragically Victorian, but a witch was a loaded term. It was fighting words.
To make matters worse, the kid’s teenage babysitter said “Sorry, Ma’am” to me! Ma’am? Ma’am?! I looked around me twice because surely he was referring to someone else? Perhaps a septuagenarian who also happened to be on the wagon with us? Maybe Dame Judi Dench had also gotten in on this hayride Groupon? No. He was directing his apologies about the crying child to me. In the kid’s eyes, I was a witch. In the teen’s eyes, I was a ma’am. To this day I’m not sure which one is more devastating.
Of course, I had already paid for the ride, so I wasn’t going to get off pre-emptively. But all of the skeletons and scarecrows suddenly seemed cheap and tacky compared to the bone-chilling cries of that child. As soon as the ride was over though, I ran off, vowing never to go to any haunted-theme excursion unless I was prepared to hear such hateful language. I guess I’ll just stay indoors until Thanksgiving, where at least older people are welcome!
