Last night, I volunteered at my local haunted house again. I know I said I wouldn’t, but, let’s be honest, that slightly sick pleasure you get from scaring people is kind of addicting.
It was nice seeing some of the people I’d worked with in the past, and I had a chance to meet a few new faces, though I didn’t get a chance to talk with them all. Actually, being short-staffed kind of worked out in our favor. We worked better together; crossing into one-another’s scenes, collaborating for the best scares, and generally having a good time, while providing one for the customers. A girl in the scenes behind me affected a foot fetish and followed people around, begging them for their feet, while the customers shuffled away from her, proving foot fetishes are just as creepy as dead mental patients.
At the end of the night was the usual wrap-up meeting, though I noticed the top scenes were now by house, instead of haunt-wide. Madhouse placed first, of course, and yours truly placed top scene in Madhouse. No one who worked with me last year was surprised. Except for me. I was fully prepared to accept defeat. This time.
All-in-all, I had a great time. A lot of people nudged me towards coming back, though, after today, I’m not sure my body can handle it anymore. When I woke up this morning, my feet hurt so badly, I could barely walk, and my body feels like a weightlifting midget’s been bouncing on it while I slept. I don’t remember it hurting this much last year. I suppose this is what I get for not starting in September.
Once I sound less like a frog has taken control of my vocal cords, I’ll think about returning for another night. I missed watching people run away from teenage girls, especially the big, buff guys.