Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about fairy tale endings. Maybe it’s because I’m in the midst of my search for Disasterella, but the more I’m convinced my White Knight is out there, the farther away he seems. Finally, after many dating disappointments, I decided to get smart in my approach. When Eddie Murphy was looking for a Queen in Coming to America, where did he go? Queens. I know people say love is crazy. It’s also ridiculously logical.
So when I learned my sister and some friends had organized an outing to Medieval Times last night, I had to go. When you’re looking for a Knight in Shining Armor you need to go where they hang out: a cement castle off of 1-90 in the suburb of Schaumburg, just past the Denny’s. Once inside I would have my pick from a whole kingdom of knights, and I could choose my suitor while eating half of a chicken the medieval way, with my bare hands. Who says dreams don’t come true?
When I walked in I immediately sized up the castle: the Green Knight section was almost entirely filled with a 7 year old’s birthday party. The Yellow Knight section was packed with a crusade of smelly summer campers. And my section, the Red Knight section, was filled with people old enough to have played bridge with King Arthur himself.
There’s not even any competition! I thought. This would be like shooting fish in a barrel. (Only instead of “fish” they were “knights.” And instead of a “barrel” it was a “hockey rink-turned-kingdom.”)
As I surveyed the audience, a man in a vest came by and introduced himself:
“Hello, my name is Mark. I will be your Man Wench tonight…”
“Excuse me? Did you just say Man Wench?”
“Yes, I am your Man Wench. I will be serving you tonight.”
“A MAN WENCH! I’ve always wanted a Man Wench!” I said, clapping and grabbing my sister by the shoulders.
“Would you like anything to drink?”
“How about a Diet Coke to start.”
“One mug of Dragon Saliva, coming right up.”
“No, no– Diet Coke.”
“Yeah, I’m not allowed to call it that. It’s part of my contract. But I would be happy to give you some Dragon Saliva.”
“Fine. Just make sure it’s Diet Dragon Saliva,” I said, extending my glass. “You know, for a Man Wench, you sure have a lot of attitude…”
Just then the lights dimmed, and the only thing that lit the arena were the hopes and dreams of enchanted children. Well, that and the glow-in-the-dark $6 lemon drop shots that the Lady Wenches were trying to sell to octogenarians.
It was just so…magical.
Now obviously, as a member of the Red Knight section, it was my duty to cheer for the Red Knight. This wasn’t hard: he also happened to be the knight with longest, dreamiest hair. Double score!
My heart raced. While the Red Knight circled the kingdom on a horse with a diaper, I coyly sipped Diet Dragon Saliva out of a plastic mug. Finally, the fairy tale I was waiting for was unfolding before my very eyes.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I noticed Red Knight had something in his hand. It was a red carnation. Having watched many episodes of the bachelor, I know exactly what happens next. “He’s going to chose a wife tonight!” I said. “Thank god we came to the Sunday show!”
I stood up and cheered loudly, my mug in one hand, a drumstick in the other. “Pick me, pick ME!” I shouted.
But do you know what he did? That rusty piece of medieval hardware gave his red carnation to a 4-year-old in the front row who was crying because she was freaked out by the smoke machines. Ridiculous.
Honestly, that’s the last thing I remember. I think there was some jousting and maybe some horse dancing, but I switched out my Diet Dragon Saliva for several rounds of mead until I was informed that I would no longer be served.
“What do you mean you can’t serve me?! Who are you? Are you Man Wench’s boss?…Are you the Head Wench In Charge?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, no more for you–four mead maximum, castle rules.”
“Fine, I said, I don’t need your wenching, anyway. And you know what else? I think think your castle is stupid! You don’t even have a moat,” I said, turning to the senior citizens behind me, “What kind of castle doesn’t have a motherfucking moat?!”
The Head Wench In Charge tried to grab me by the arm, but I resisted. “Don’t worry, I’m escorting myself. RELEASE THE DRAWBRIDGE I’M LEAVING THE CASTLE!”
And so I waited for the show to end from the castle parking lot, where I joined the company of my fellow countrymen, like this nice damsel:
For a moment I contemplated starting my own kingdom, one in which justice would always prevail: there would be no four-mead-limit, and knights would know a good thing when they saw it–or else they would be banished from the kingdom and forced to go to Supercuts.
But then I decided to take a nap on a Volvo instead.
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