They shall, at all times, be humanely treated…

We went to yet another children’s birthday party this weekend.  I swear, we go to a birthday party every single weekend without fail.  I do not remember going to this many parties when I was a kid, and neither does my mother.  I’m considering finding a Jehovah’s Witness school just so we can eliminate birthday parties from our weekend plans.

The thing is, the parties are almost always at the same damn places.  We get Peter Piper Pizza, Pump it Up or Chuckie Cheese. 

Pump it Up is my favorite of the three.  If you are unfamiliar with the place, it’s a pretty cool concept.  It’s a giant warehouse divided into big rooms that are filled with giant, inflatable jumping castles.  There are  slides, obstacle courses and basketball courts – all inflatable.  The part I love the best is that the rooms are closed and only the particular party of which you are a part are allowed in the room.  You can talk to the other Moms and Dads without needing to keep an eagle eye on your kid.  There is no danger the children are going to get lost or absconded with.  There is also the very real possibility that the place will exhaust your children which is every parent’s dream, isn’t it? 

Chuckie Cheese or, as I think of it, The Home of the Saltine Cracker with Spaghetti Sauce, is horrible, but not the worst.  They do have a rudimentary safety system in that they stamp your hand and your child’s with a code and you’re only allowed to leave with kids who match your code.  However, and this is an all caps HOWEVER, it is the loudest place on the planet.  Besides the hoards of screaming, hyper children, there are the a million video games and the jerkiest animatronic band in the history of creepy attractions played at ear splitting levels and, as you may have surmised by my alternative name for the place, completely inedible pizza.

The last place these parties take place makes me cringe and whimper.  Peter Piper Pizza **shudder**.  We have a brand new one in town and I’m just so excited to tell you we now have the busiest franchise in the country.  It’s loud.  It’s unbearably crowded.  There is extraordinarily bad, in fact no, supervision at all.  The staff is surly.  The only plus is the pizza is at least edible. 

Let me give you some examples of what I’m talking about when I define “loud.”  The building is cavernous so the acoustics are nonexistent.  It’s so big, there is a roller coaster and a merry-go-round inside. The restaurant holds approximately 75,000 screaming, running, hysterical kids all under the influence of cake. 

Quite frankly, I suspect it’s entire existance is against the Geneva Convention.  Merely edible pizza isn’t a recommendation.

My poor Honey has been to this place three times in January alone.  The first was relatively uneventful.  I would characterize it as migraine inducing torture but not fatal.  The second time he lost the boy.  I was at a meeting so he was forced to take the kids alone.  The boy was there and then he wasn’t.  My Honey was calm when he related the story to me later, but I’m certain there was panic at the time.  The boy was found wandering around the parking lot.  The PARKING LOT!  Alone!  ACCCCK!!

This weekend, I had to leave the current party midway.  This time the text I received was less inducing of hyperventilation but no less aggravating.  Some one took off with one of Bandit’s Spiderman tennis shoes, taking his twelve and leaving a nine in it’s place.  I hope, somewhere out there, there is a child who walks with a seriously floppy foot. 

Next week there is another party at that same blasted place.  This time it’s one of Sassy’s friends turning eight.  My Honey has told me, under no uncertain terms, that he will not be going.  There wasn’t even a glimmer of a smile when he said it, either.

Who do you complain to about Geneva Convention violations?  Can it be done online like the Department of Motor Vehicles or do you have to go down in person like when you post bail?