File 18 - Plexiglass Parent Panic Room

I want to give a shout out to the massage chair, at the trampoline place, where I took my boys for a birthday party, this weekend.  You know who you are (wink, wink).  Best five dollars I have ever spent.  There have been so many times that I have walked past these chairs, at kids' play places, or sat in them, without turning them on.  So many lost opportunities.  But, I can't live in the past.

It got me thinking.... shouldn't there be a parents' area, in all of these play places?  The massage chairs are a great start.  Especially, since they take debit and credit cards!  When did that start?  I thought that they only took coins.  But, no!!  Just a quick tap, select your time and voila!  And these things mean business.  There is no knot that is going to escape their robust mechanics.  They are a little bit feely, though.  Ever so often, there would be a piece that would come out from the seat of the chair and push on my butt.  At first, I thought that I was sitting in it wrong, because it wasn't pushing on my glute muscles.  However, I am positive that my years of chilling, watching true crime docs, and eating my face off, have made me an expert in the art of sitting.  So, I am fairly certain that this was just the chaise getting fresh with me.  Or, a way less plausible option, that it was a technical malfunction.  Either way, the sporadic butt thrusts were an unexpected and interesting addition, to the experience.

So, here's the vision.  Take the feely massage chairs and put them in the center of the play place.  Create a circular room, with walls that create a 360 degree view of the place.  Picture a plexiglass parent panic room.  Say that three times fast.  Locked from the inside.  Yes, that's right. Parents can get out, but kids can't get in.  Let's just breathe that in for a moment.  You can get out, inhale, but they can't get in, exhale.  They can knock on the door or wave to you through the glass, but entrance is not permitted.  Ever.  Because, let's be honest, you let those interlopers enter on will and the sanctuary just becomes an extension of their germ infested, noisy play area, with fancy chairs.  And no one wants to listen to your child whine about being bored, Susan.

What was that?  Did somebody say wine?  I mean, I don't hate that idea.  People are going to get thirsty.  Add a vending machine with cocktails and coffee (obviously)...oh, and probably water and stuff.  Clearly, we are going to need some food.  Because, you know, food is life.  It doesn't need to be fancy.  Just something that is not the half a slice of pizza and broccoli stalks, that your little has leftover on their plate.  Although, I have never been one to turn down leftovers.  I was thinking something more on the lines of a little charcuterie, perhaps?  Would sushi be pushing it too far?

This is how it plays out. You arrive at the event.  You show the littles the panic, I mean, parents' room.  You tell them that they can see you, but, more importantly, you can see them.  You explain that they are not permitted to enter.  Ever. Then you let them loose to run around and act crazy. You enter the space, get a wine, a little cheese and olives, and settle in for your message.  Possibly a little butt nudge.  Win/win?  Sigh.  Maybe one day. For now, for me, there will never be another massage chair that will be passed by.

Does Mommy need to lose her shit?

Not this week.