When I was a young child, I went to a local water park with my summer recreation program group.
With all sorts of reservations in my mind, I finally decided to take a trip down the water slide.
The employee at the top would wait a good ten seconds, then send the next rider down, as to give each person ample time to reach the pool at the bottom without interfering or colliding with each other.
I must have had bad luck, and for three different reasons.
When I finally heard the word "Go," I joyfully commenced my journey down the inclined slide.
Instead of sliding and gliding like a pad of butter in a hot pan, due to the material of my swimming trunks, my butt stuck to the slide like a Velcro shoe strip.
(Strike one.)
I started pushing myself like a skier with both hands to gain some speed, but it wasn't helping much.
I turned around, and much to my chagrin, the employee at the top of the slide wasn't paying much attention to me and my total lack of momentum and speed.
(Strike two.)
In his complete negligence, he waited his usual ten seconds and sent down the next rider, who just happened to be some dude whom I did not know.
At this point, he is gaining on me, and I am pushing quite a bit faster, trying to reach the pool at the bottom.
I didn't make it.
About a foot or two before the edge of the pool, I was kicked headlong into the pool by a screaming man.
I didn't know how to swim.
(That would be strike three.)
I was kicking and thrashing hysterically in the shallow water for a good ten seconds.
The lifeguard, who had seen the entire incident, had rushed over and grabbed me by the underarms and lifted me upright.
He said "Stand up!"
I realized that I was not going to drown, I was in no danger, and I stopped the hysterics and stood up.
"Don't be a flat-Earth-er."
