This past Saturday, Jake mentioned something called the Scare Farm happening that night. I heard eighth graders and Halloween and I gathered it was going to be like a haunted house, but on a farm… how very San Luis Obispo. Our neighbor, Mckinley, was in town and she oriented me to the existence of a previous Junior High School that’s now an “Adult School” and is back up behind French Hospital– a landmark frequently quoted and completely out of my territory.
James had to pack for Sedona, so the boys and I set out in our warm jackets with a 20 dollar bill and our Covid masks. We showed-up exactly at the designated opening time and after asking some grown-ups to point us toward the farm, we found a line reminiscent of the Cars ride at Disney’s California Adventure. Hundreds of teenagers crowded down the hill in the dark for miles.
The boys were instantly ready to call it quits, but I used my powerful powers of persuasion to get them to tough it out.
After forty five minutes of horror, we finally made it to the entrance of the Scare Farm.
It was great. Imagine some kind of 4-H animal stalls and chutes and paths transformed into rooms of screaming teenagers with strobe lights and black lipstick. There was a restaurant and zombies and clowns and maybe a casino. Their choice of spaghetti noodles was whack, but otherwise I knew it was pretty good when Nate grabbed my hand over halfway through. I guess I should have been paying attention to how he was doing, but I was too busy laughing and screaming and dodging crazy teenage actors yelling in my face. Glad I brought that Covid mask.
When all was said and done, the boys thought it was pretty good and Jacob came up with all the ways he’s going to make it better next year when he’s an eighth grader. (gasp I can’t believe I wrote those last words…)
During the wait, middle school girls cut in and out of the line in droves, talking at 10x the necessary volume, flipping their hair with cell phones three inches from their faces. There were two physical altercations that literally almost turned into fights. Shoving and chasing. Tears and drama and insane amounts of mother-bleeping b-words. Oh my god, I like bleeping posted this picture and then he like, followed it, and so I followed him back and then he was like stalking my post and like, what the bleep… give it back! What the bleep??
At one point I successfully convinced the boys to follow me as I cut in front of the huge tornado of cussing tee-hee girls. Someone tried to confront us, but we just stared silently from behind our masks under the cover of night. On Sunday, we had a solid car lesson on how to recognize and avoid tee-hee girls. For a full definition, please consult your Uncle Geoff.
The scariest part of the Scare Farm? Hands down waiting in line for 45 minutes surrounded by middle school girls. Mother bleeping h-e-double-hockey-sticks.