4th Grade Field Trip: "Made NOT to be Missed" (pun on "Maid of the Mist" for those of you with limited imagination)

Went on a 4th grade field trip to Niagara Falls today. My bus buddy was my friend Geri who, unfortunately, does not help me make good decisions. We hadn't crossed out of the school district boundaries when she yelled out, above the reasonable roar of the children, "Are we there yet?" Ten minutes into the journey, she was complaining that she was certain to perish from starvation and began eyeing up my bologna sandwich. Apparently bologna sandwiches make her hot, so Geri then wrestled open her window which, of course, caused a domino effect throughout the packed vehicle. As I sat on her broken umbrella and braced her purse between my feet for the hour and a half journey, I reflected deeply about our friendship and, upon arrival, demanded to be put into another group.

The Maid of the Mist was awe-inspiring despite the fact that the company, to satisfy some sick, demonic inner-compulsion, insists on dressing its clientele like great blue bananas. These plastic prophylactic pajamas, in no way, offer any protection at all from getting soaked. Viewing the famous falls from the bottom was edge-of-your-seat thrilling and the kids had a ball.

As Niagara Falls beckons people from all over the world, it also allows for some on-the-spot cultural sensitivity training. "There are a lot of Chinese here," one cherub announced in a teeth-clenchingly loud voice as we waited in line. "Astute observation," I responded softly, "but one that should be seen with the eyes and not said with your mouth." "Why," he asked, perplexed. "How would you like to have someone point at you and remark upon the undersized white boy in the blue banana suit?" He stared at me for a moment and then said, "Rude." "Exactly."

Fort Niagara was also educationally enjoyable. Our tour guide was quite adept at walking backwards. We liked him but secretly liked the fort's cat, Leopold, the most. Of all the toured areas: ye olde blacksmith shoppe, ye olde armory, ye olde quartermaster's supply station with freaky-looking beaver pelt hat, we most relished our visit to ye old souvenir shoppe. So while children were busy purchasing (if they could circumvent the geriatric gendarme at the door who sternly upheld the principles of the posted sign forbidding children access without a reputable adult, forbidding children the privilege of looking at, breathing upon, touching or even thinking about touching anything in the shop)...opps sorry, got off track there. As I was saying...as the children were busy spending enough money to keep that shop going into the next fiscal quarter by purchasing such delightful items as Revolutionary War-era dream-catchers, plastic bows with suction cup arrows, imitation pewter cannon pencil sharpeners and slingshots with raccoon-shaped handles, I spotted my own dream-come-true souvenir that perfectly capped up the day for me. As I was assigned to watch the "children deemed unacceptable for shop entry" duty, I had a responsible adult runner go in for me. With my nose pressed up against the glass (earning a glare from the door troll), I gestured (first to the troll who was conveniently yelling at some poor kid who just wanted to buy an over-priced broken peppermint stick) to my souvenir-buying representative. A little to the left...no, no...a little to the right...up a shelf...reach to the back...THERE! That's the perfect one! My Old Fort Niagara Pepsi was the perfect size and the soul-quenching rush of caffeine was all I needed to endure Geri's broken umbrella stabbing me in the side for the long bus ride home.