As many of you know, I’m always on the lookout for a fresh adventure. Actually, I’m always on the lookout for a fresh nap, but this past weekend, I had adventure in my sights. My search led me to a haunted house organized by a Facebook friend, Grace. I had never done anything like this before, so I thought I’d give it a try. After all, scaring the gym socks off of people sounds like a lot of fun.

I signed on for 2 nites a week for all of October, which is a pretty big commitment considering my napping schedule, but I was willing to make that sacrifice. I eagerly adorned an all black outfit, purchased a mask, and headed out for my first day on the job. I arrived with a spring in my step and a blood curdling scream in my heart. The first glaringly obvious thing I noticed was that I was the oldest person there. Now, by oldest I don’t mean I graduated before most of these people. I mean I graduated before most of these people were born! My fellow cast members began to notice as well, so I promptly grabbed a clipboard and pretended to be inspecting the electrical connections. Soon, Grace arrived and she laid down the law for the nite’s events. She emphasized no touching, staying at your posts and notifying security if anyone acted inappropriately, which, coincidentally, is the same instructions given to strippers at the clubs. Then she asked everyone for parental consent forms or proof of age. I plucked a grey hair from my chin and stapled it to my paperwork. Grace gave us our assignments, and just as I turned to leave, she asked me how I felt about chainsaws. Things were looking up.

After we were given our assignments, we all headed out to our posts. I was assigned to work with 3 teenage girls who repeatedly asked me my name. And not 3 times in a row because I was unclear. I mean every half hour. “And that guy over there is, what’s your name again?” And every time I told them, they must’ve heard something different, because my name kept evolving into odd variations. By the end of the nite, I was Rio de Janeiro.

Okay, now I need to inform you that 15 years ago, a psychic lesbian told me that I exuded an energy that attracted animals and children. Which is gravy, except that being the pied piper of wee folk is lot like trying to feed songbirds in your yard. Sooner or later you’re going to get a lot of frisky squirrels. And by squirrels, I mean teenage girls. Early on, I noticed a few were taking a shine to me, but I figured it was a big brother kind of thing. That was until I heard, “Hey, Dinerio. How old are you?” I immediately realized that this could go in one of two directions: 1. What’s your old @ss doing out here? Or 2. My friend thinks you’re cute. It was the latter. “My friend is 17 and she likes you.” I told her I was 37, and even in dark, I could see her eyes grow to the size of dessert plates. “This is how they got R. Kelly,” I thought. I considered asking Grace to place me with all boys, but then I remembered, “That’s how they got Michael!” I decided to tough it out… and keep my distance.

It was kinda slow at first, and the first few people were hard @ss, Jr. flips who were too cool to be scared. Okay, paying to get inside a haunted house to show everyone that you’re not scared is like buying a meal at the buffet and then just sitting there to prove you aren’t hungry. “I’m not hungry. Food doesn’t even smell good.” Guess what? We keep your money either way, jack@ss!

As things picked up, I started going all out. I wore knee pads so I could run up on people then drop down and slide in front of them with the chainsaw in hand. It’s pretty effective when done correctly. However, when done incorrectly, it’s a major FAIL! A chainsaw killer tends to lose his street cred when he winds up spinning on his back like a turtle with vertigo. A flooded chainsaw doesn’t score many points either. Yelling “raaarrgh” just doesn’t have the same effect.

As the nite worn on, my knee pads wore out. By 11, I had more bruises on my knees than David Letterman’s assistants. My age once again reared its ugly head in the form of strained thigh muscles, a sore shoulder and a missing voice. I left the park with a limp in my step and a frog in my throat. All things considered, it was still a pretty good time. I suspect as the Halloween season picks up, we will get more guests, I will get more graceful and the teenage girls will get the h*ll away from me. So I’m still excited about the whole experience and getting ready for next week. Because as Jack Skellington the Pumpkin King says, “I’ve got some new ideas that’ll really make them scream.” Stay tuned…

I am the Strawboss. “The freaks come out at night.”