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We had always wanted to go to Medieval Times, so when my sister and her husband offered to take us, we leapt at the chance. We left early, got there early, then sat in the bar and had a round of drinks. My brother-in-law warned us of the one thing we should look out for while we were at Medieval Times. "Don't be surprised," he said, "if they try and sell you things."
From where we sat, looking out onto the courtyard, I could see a sign that said "Dung." I couldn't see all of the sign, so I extrapolated that the full sign said "Dungeon." Either that or it had something to do with all the horses in the show. I repeated this thought to my wife, secretly proud that I had worked the word "extrapolated" into the same sentence as a poo joke. Soon we saw people filter through the courtyard, which was our sign that it was time to buy tickets. In line, a woman in purple handed us a paper that said that if you paid a little extra, you could get front row seating, a banner to wave, a special dessert, a foot massage, and a date with the Medieval Times employee of your choice. If you wanted to do that, tickets were $5000 each, and those were available for purchase straight ahead. Otherwise, tickets were only $4500 each. To get those, you had to go up the stairs to the left, make your way through a leech-invested swamp, walk through a labyrinth, and escape from a dragon that shot flames at you. We chose this option. At the ticket counter we were given the option of buying tickets to the dungeon, where we could view various devices of torture. This would cost $200 apiece. "No thanks," I said, "Being a creative spirit trapped in an incredibly tedious nine-to-five job, I am already familiar with torture in its many varied forms." The lady at the ticket counter pretended to ignore me. Tickets in hand, we were directed to a woman who unceremoniously placed paper crowns on our heads declaring that we were to cheer for the knight whose colors were on our crowns -- in this case, the black and white (checkered, I'd guess you'd say) -- knight. Perhaps he had a checkered past, I thought. At least he wasn't a pawn. Not wanting to lose my ride home, I didn't say this out loud. After receiving our crowns, we were then presented with a photo opportunity, in which we could have our pictures taken with a princess. To avoid this and the accompanying $800 fee, we had to walk between the camera and the princess herself. Past the courtyard and inside the lobby, there was another photo opportunity where you could be knighted by the king and get a certificate verifying it. Price: $1400. We opted out. The lobby led directly into the gift shop where there were medieval costumes, chess sets, T-shirts, goblets, jewelry, and postcards. You could also buy the one and only original sword "Excalibur" that was given to a young King Arthur by the Lady of the Lake and wielded in many legendary battles. It was on sale for a paltry three billion dollars. They had twenty of them. Lining the gift shop were horse stalls. The horses, it turns out, are the stars of the first half of the Medieval Times show. These Andalusion Stallions are proud creatures, magnificently groomed, and royal in demeanor except when they bite, which they do occasionally. This explained why glass had been put up between their outdoor stalls and the gift shop. Still, they were elegant, and viewing them made me want to go back and buy a picture to make sure they were well fed. Just before they led us into the arena, it was explained that there were six different knights in the show and each sections of the audience would be cheering for their respective knight. We were seated based on the color of our crowns and, once seated, we were greeted by our serving wench. She told us to call her that, so we did, but I discovered quickly that this rule did not apply to my sister or to my wife, which, alas, spoiled much of the fun I had planned for the night. Our serving wench described our dinner and told us that if we didn't know it already, we would be eating with our bare hands, just like at home. And then the show began. The lights dimmed, mist filled the arena, and the crowd cheered rambunctiously. From the voiceover that accompanies the introductory music, we learned that the King and his knights had won a war, and we were there to celebrate their victory by enjoying a feast and watching a tournament. It was the perfect setup. As we were introduced to characters of the show, including the horses and the knights (we gave a rousing cheer to ours), our food was brought out to us. The serving operation was well-oiled machine. Dinner was timed to go along perfectly with the show going on in front of us. The servers were working their butts off. I noticed, in fact, that two of the servers no longer had butts. I had some reservations about eating soup, chicken, a pork rib, and a potato with my bare hands. The soup was especially difficult, but then it was pointed out to me that you could lift up the bowl and drink out of it. I put down my handful of soup and gave it a try. Meanwhile our knight was doing quite well in the tournament going on in front of us. Our section chanted "Black and White! Black and White!" There was only one point when I temporarily lost interest in the tournament. I knew desert was coming and while everyone else yelled "Black and White!" I yelled, "Pastry! Pastry!" My loyalties almost always lie with my stomach. As we finished up our meal, the servers brought us warm wet cloths to wash our hands with. They helped, but weren't quite adequate as I felt I had chicken smeared all over my face, on my arms up to my elbows, and possibly in my undershorts. My sister, a loyal and devoted member of the Royal Order of Towelette Collectors, had brought along moist towelettes, which she passed out to our little group. I gave her the big thumbs up. Shortly after the dinner had ended, some announcements were made about birthdays, anniversaries, bachelor parties, graduations, and barmitzvahs -- all of which were being celebrated that night at Medieval Times. My sister told me she would have had them announce my birthday, but it would have cost her $100. I told her that the moist towelette was good enough for me. Now that dinner was over, the show picked up pace. Now was the time for hawkers to try and sell us light sticks and banners, and for photographers to try and take more pictures of us. While this was going on the tournament continued below. Knights charged each other on horseback and people charged things on their credit cards. Lances splintered upon impact like Sammy Sosa's baseball bat. Checking accounts became overdrawn. The knights swung swords and battle-axes at each other. Sparks flew as the weapons collided. We flinched for the knights as the weapons bounced off their shields. My stomach rumbled because I had eaten both my chicken and half of my wife's. If I were one of the knights in the show, I would have burnt off the meal with horseback riding and athletic stunt work, but I wasn't. I just kicked back and let the fat cells form. The show was impressive. The music was also great, but usually we were so caught up in the show that we didn't notice it. After the show, I told my wife and my sister that I was going to go to the gift show and pay $150 for the soundtrack. In unison they said, "Soundtrack! There was music?" The lady at the gift shop asked me if I wanted to buy the DVD. I looked at the price on it. "Perhaps when I become CEO of my own company or I inherit millions of dollars from an unknown uncle, then I will be able to afford the DVD," I said. "Perhaps sir," she responded, "a cassette tape would better fit your economic status." "Touché," I said, and bought the CD. It's a great soundtrack, by the way. I play it at home while I eat buckets of KFC and play Dungeons and Dragons games on my computer in an effort to somehow recapture the Medieval Times experience because, despite the costs (I may have mentioned them), it was great fun. Perhaps I can summarize it this way: Tickets to Medieval Times: $4500 Drinks and souvenirs at Medieval Times: $380 The Medieval Times experience: Priceless |
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