Medieval Times: Swords,
Sorcery, and Overpriced Jager
The other day, Tom had another one of his brilliant ideas
for some hungover Sunday entertainment. He decided it would
be thrilling to pack us in his beautiful Plymouth Reliant,
and make the two-hour voayge to suburban Chicago for an
evening of entertainment. Tom and I apparently have widely
divergent views on what constitutes entertainment. In fact,
in fact, judging by the audience at Medieval Times, Tom's
idea of entertainment is concurrent with the eight and
under and the sixty-five and over crowd.
Of course, the drive to Chicago was as arduous as always,
between tolls and very, very scary Illinois drivers who
other people in the car insisted on taunting at every toll
lane. Not scary because they're black or anything, but
scary because the way they drive shows their lack of
respect for any living thing, themselves included, and I
feel that they would ram us off the road Mad Max style with
only the slightest provocation. But we made it, alive and
late, and shelled out our collective $150 for the four of
us. I would soon find out I probably would have been better
off spending it paying homeless guys to joust with trash
can lids and broomsticks.
The whole place has a really terrible "Ye Olde Everythinge"
look to it that's entirely unconvincing, especially
considering the frozen cocktail machines at the bar. There
is a special emphasis placed on "Ye Olde Overzealouse
Capitalisme", with booths that sell weaponry, cheap
trinkets, and family photos. The last was especially
disconcerting, with example photos including newlyweds
posing with one of the knights, or a picture of an armor
clad family above color coded portraits of all six knights.
I can imagine the pitch. "Make your regular old crap family
absorb some of the extreme medieval awesome that can only
come from putting them next to our knights! You'll never
feel ashamed again!" There was also a dance floor, complete
with disco lights. Apparently jousting makes some people
feel like gettin' down. Who knew?
At the entry to the auditorium, you are issued a Burger
King crown that is color-coded to your seating area, and
also your knight. We got stuck with the yellow knight, who
I suspect was a homosexual. More on that later. Upon
sitting down and listening to the king and princess list
off the crowd birthdays (all under 10 or over 65), you are
issued a mug of "Ye Olde Pepsie", and watch an introduction
of the six knights.
Within minutes, food is uncerimoniously dumped in front of
you. First comes a soup of unrecognizable, but edible
content, and a surprisingly delicious slice of garlic
bread. Part of the deal with these medieval theme
restaurants is that they are supposed to be authentic, so
they don't issue you any sort of flatware. I have a feeling
you would probably be dragged around the arena behind a
horse if you asked for some. This fact made the second
course, the chunk of potato, lukewarm half chicken, and
single rib, substantially less enjoyable. This is really
not the kind of authenticity I enjoy. If I have to eat with
my fingers for the sake of authenticity, I had best have
slaves, heretics being drawn and quartered, plague rats,
and all the sexual escapades and diseases that come with
being royalty. Maybe I'm just bitter becuase the food was
terrible, and tasted like reheated dorm cafeteria food.
During the whole eating part, there wasn't really a whole
lot going on in the arena. There's very little that is
entertaining about watching horses walk in different ways.
I can walk all kinds of different ways, yet I am not
considered dinnertime entertainment. There's also a guy who
comes out with a falcon that flies around the room.
Exciting. The only good part is that they insist you keep
your hands down so the bird doesn't take a finger. That
would be a priceless way to spend your eigth birthday. Even
better would be if the bird became accustomed to fingers,
and it was part of every show that it would devour some
kid's digit. I'd pay to see that.
Finally, after choking down our god-awful food and probably
getting salmonella, the "entertainment" began in earnest.
It started with a series of jousting type events, like
lancing a ring on horseback, or throwing a javelin at a
target. Each knight would compete against each other and
when they won, would throw roses to their fans in a victory
lap around the arena. This is where the gay knight part
comes in. We were seated in the front row, and every time
the knight came around, he made very suspicious eyes at
Tom. Never made eye contact with the rest of us, and he
certainly didn't give us his "look". Then, after he started
winning events, he threw roses to Tom. He may have been
looking to do some "jousting" later on. Har har. I equated
a lance to anal sex.
Eventually, there was some kind of story that started going
on. There was a wizard who came out of fog (fog which is
responsible for the blurry pictures), someone who tried to
assisinate the king, and an evil "master of horse".
Honestly, I wasn't really paying attention. All I know is
that after a number of unconvincing fights, our dude won.
The only good part was at the end when the king asked the
crowd whether or not to spare the traitor, we got to hear
an arena full of seniors and children yelling, "kill him!
KILL HIM!" I love seeing the youth embrace violence.
Now here comes the angry part. Because we (or at least I)
had difficulty tolerating the whole ordeal sober, we
decided to buy shots. Fortunately, one of the serving
wenches (their term, not mine), came by with booze, though
only after we turned down her assuredly delicious
medieval-themed strawberry milkshakes. We ordered a round
of three Jager shots, and upon tossing them back, she
informed us that we owed her a jaw-dropping thirty dollars.
I think our collective "what?!" was heard even by the king
himself. Our consolation was that we got to keep the shitty
pewter faux-antiquity shotglass to remind us of what chumps
we are. It's sitting in my kitchen as I write, and when I
get up to get another beer, I will look at it, and, sure
enough, feel like a chump. Adding insult to monetary
injury, our waiter had the gall to swing by and say that
just like at any other restaurant, he works for tips.
Thanks for the subtlety, bucko. I didn't know waiters
elsewhere served the food out of large tubs and gave every
parton the exact same food. He got a collective six bucks
from the four of us, and I still think that was more than a
little generous.
After the show, all of the poor knights were forced into
the lobby to sign all the kids' newly purchased wooden
swords. They looked less than thrilled to be there.
Fortunately, our yellow knight was game for a picture with
a bunch of asshole college kids. As an aside, the princess
was a total butterface. I'd still do her though.
There were many questions raised over the course of the
show. How does one become a knight? Are they struggling
actors, or more akin to carnies? Are they shamed of where
they work, or proud of it? Does knighthood get them action,
and more specifically, are they running a train on the
princess? Why do they wear sparkly tights in place of real
chain mail? How in god's name can they justify ten dollars
for a shot, even if I can keep the glass? Knighthood has to
be one of the weirdest jobs on earth, even weirder than,
say, civil war reenactor, because people actually go to
Medieval Times for entertainment, not just educational
field trips.
In conclusion: I shall never return to thee, Medieval
Times. I took your paper crown and worthless shotglass, but
you emptied my wallet and made me die a little inside. I
feel like I should make some closing joke about dragons or
something, but I'm tired, and don't want to give this
worthless establishment the pleasure.
