Die, Chuck E.

My life lately is, generally, uninteresting. In the course of the last week I went to work, went to church, got a hair cut, bought a couple of CDs and an XBox game, and ate overly expensive pizza at Chuck E. Cheese's prior to my nephew's pre-school graduation. So let's talk about that last one:

I don't like Chuck E. Cheese's. I don't say that in the context of "their food is nasty" or "it's just too noisy." Something about that place disturbes my soul to the very core, though I'm not totally sure what it is. I DO remember that when I was a kid, we went there for some birthday party and I was deathly afraid of the mechanical robot band. They scared the hell out of me. Even today they're kind of creepy. That may be part of my animosity for the place. But Thursday there was something else.

Aside from the outrageous $20 charge for a large two-topping pizza and prize tickets that were hardly worth anything -- 30 for some stupid plastic ring? Come on! -- I noticed something about the employees there: None of them looked remotely interested in being there. None of them ever smiled or even came close to faking enthusiasm for working in such a "fun" place. They all looked depressed to the point of wanting to kill themselves and take every man, woman, and child customer with them. So here in this one restaurant was ridiculously overpriced pizza, cheapo prizes, and this dichotomy of children having the time of their lives climbing around like monkeys while the employees were teetering on the brink of murder-suicide. It made me uncomfortable. I don't like that place.

That said, my nephews subsequent graduation was adorable.