Ritual Sacrifice

So this one time Heidi and I had Friday Night Dinner together without my sister, brother-in-law, or cousin (Heidi's boyfriend). Every one else was busy but we were still hungry and up for an adventure.

What we did was go to Figaro's and order a 12 topping pizza using the coupon I had so conscientiously clipped from the mail inserts earlier that month. Only I am a vegetarian and don't eat sausage, pepperoni, salami, or whatever else was on there, so when Heidi ordered the pizza over the phone, she was all "I would like to order one large 12 topping pizza. Only on half of it I don't want any meat. Actually, will you please use all the regular amount of meat, and just put it on one side?" Heidi is extremely carnivorous. When I overheard the Figaro's employee ask when we wanted to pick it up, Heidi says, "What's the absolute fastest it can be ready?" She basically made it sound like we were desperate.

After picking up the pizza, we drove to the Riverfront Park. Finding a parking spot proved a bit challenging, but I finally spotted one. "Right there! Next to the dumpsters." And okay, so it might smell a little. It's not like we were going to eat our dinner right there on the curb.

Heidi did not like our parking spot for other reasons. "You know we could come back and teenagers could be having sex right behind those dumpsters in the bushes?" I thought this was very unlikely. "Wouldn't they do it inside the recycling dumpster? Because after all, paper and cardboard is clean. And it's padded." But Heidi insisted that teenagers are like wild rabbits and will do it anywhere, any time, even if it is in a public place on the pavement. She speaks from traumatic witnessing.

We parked next to the dumpsters regardless, got out our picnic blanket, and found a nice sunny spot on the grass overlooking the Greek style amphitheater (if you could call it that). Before long we discovered an ancient culture about to embark on a tribal ritual sacrifice.

There were about six or seven people--mostly men--who had wrapped brightly colored fabric strips around their heads and arms and waists. They also had these really sweet acorn leg-warmers that made noise when they danced. The tribal people set up a drum and in the center of the stage they put some bananas and a shell and then lit something on fire because there was smoke billowing in the air. They started chanting and blowing a conch shell. We were too far away to hear what they were saying. I wanted to get closer to see if they were speaking Spanish or not, because to be honest, their ethnicity was a bit elusive for both Heidi and I. They may have been from some Pacific Island community. It was difficult to tell, and I say this with experience, as I have had many multi-cultural students and I just laugh when someone thinks my Marshallese student is actually Hispanic, or when someone thinks my Laotian student is from China. I've become really good at telling the difference.

Heidi and I sit there, eating like our third slice of pizza or whatever, watching this tribal ritual take place. One guy blows the conch shell North, East, South, and West, and another one of the dudes waves the smoke stick around. Plus there's that whole beating of the drum thing to add suspense. After all directions of the compass were covered, the people started dancing around in their acorn leg-warmers. Smoke was emitting from the center of their dancing circle, and Heidi and I both thought they were about to perform a human sacrifice. BECAUSE THERE WAS A TODDLER RESTRAINED IN A STROLLER RIGHT NEXT TO THE SMOKE. The gray puffs of smoke were headed straight for his face. I'm pretty sure they did that to blind him so that when it came time to throw him down the pyramid or whatever, he wouldn't see it coming.

Heidi asked just about every person walking by us if they knew what was going on. Nobody did. So of course we had to make up stories in our heads. The tribal dancers attracted quite an audience, as everyone else heard the drum and wanted to know what was going on. I'm pretty sure this is how cults get started.

It was at this point that I told Heidi that maybe I should get a drum and a costume and just come to the Riverfront whenever I felt like it and trick people into thinking I was actually a scheduled performer. Then I could take up a collection at the end. Or maybe they'd just pay me to stop hurting their ears.

We finished eating, took the blanket back to the car, then decided to walk around. Mostly we wanted to get closer to the stage and the people so we could discover what culture it was and see exactly what they were burning. Because maybe they were burning Bibles or the American flag or copies of Twilight.

After a quick walk-by, we were still unsure of anything. By the second and a half walk-by, Heidi finally found the audacity to say to one of the young guys "Hey. Hey you. Were you just doing that? Dancing?" He says yeah and walks over, like maybe this is Heidi's standard pick-up line. We ask them what culture this is. He says Aztec. We ask what the smoke and the shell blowing represent. He says he doesn't know.

I'm sorry, but if you are about to dance around in a circle at the beat of a drum with a fiery smoke pit and ritualistic blowing of the conch shell in every direction, I think you should know what it means. But then again, my dad's side of the family is Swiss and I have no idea what the blowing of the alpenhorn represents. I just eat cheese and listen to the accordion and my yodeling aunt.

After talking to the guy and his wing man for about two minutes, we are still left with many questions, such as, where do I purchase a pair of acorn leg-warmers? Plus, I'm still concerned about that toddler who is suffering from smoke inhalation.

Unsatisfied, Heidi and I continue to walk down the path of the riverfront. We spot a picnic table, pink birthday cake, party hats, and a group of smiling people. Heidi is overly friendly towards strangers and yells "Happy Birthday!" One of the people says "The birthday girl isn't here," at which point I think twice about going back and stealing some cake before running.

We continue our walk and come across about ten people reading scripts on the sidewalk. Heidi doesn't want to interrupt, so we go out of our way to walk around the rehearsal. I spot a box of donuts and a copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I have never actually watched a live performance of this play, but I pretty much guarantee that it will be acted out every single summer by some theater troupe in town, so if I ever want to see it I probably won't have any trouble. We continue walking.

I will sum up the end of our adventure by saying that we walked a mile across the bridge to get to the other park on the other side of the river, only it's not so much a park as a place where homeless people dig through the garbage cans. I felt really bad at that point and wished that we would have carried our pizza box with us the whole way, because we still had at least three slices left.

Heidi really had to pee so she went in the public restroom that is made of cinder blocks and has no doors on the stalls. It's not even like there were doors and they fell off. They were made without doors intentionally. Heidi said this was to keep teenagers from having sex in the bathrooms. I guarded the door then we scrammed. On our way back we saw a police officer questioning/frisking a guy. I wanted to go up to him and tell him that maybe he should check on toddlers who suffer from smoke damage to their lungs, or who are potentially at risk of being sacrificed in a ritualistic tribal dance, but I didn't think it was the right time for that sort of thing. So we walked back to the car.