First Impressions
So, I finally got myself over to the Middletown Race Track. Heard a bit about it here and there, figured I’d see what all the fuss was, or wasn’t, about. It’s one of those things you just gotta do yourself, right?
Well, let me tell you, it was an experience. The actual racing part, yeah, that was pretty loud. Cars zooming, the smell of burnt rubber, all that jazz. You get the picture. But it’s never just about the main event, is it? It’s the little stuff, the in-between moments, that really paint the picture.
And boy, were there some moments. Like trying to find a decent place to just stand and watch without someone’s giant foam finger blocking your view. Or the epic journey to find the restrooms. You’d think these places would have that down by now, but nope.
Here’s a quick rundown of what really stood out, not always in a good way:
- The sheer volume of people who seemed more interested in their phones than the actual live action.
- The questionable quality of the so-called ‘gourmet’ food truck options.
- The way everything, and I mean everything, felt like an upsell.
But the thing that really got me, the bit that made me just shake my head, was trying to get a simple answer from one of the staff members about where the exit was. Not the main one, the other one. He just looked at me, deadpan, like I’d asked him for the meaning of life. That vacant stare. It just… it sparked a memory, a really annoying one.
Took Me Right Back, That Did
It reminded me of this time, ages ago, I was trying to return a faulty kettle. Just a regular kettle, still under warranty, the whole nine yards. I went back to the big department store where I bought it. Simple, right? Oh, how wrong I was.
First, I had to find the customer service desk, which was hidden away like some secret chamber. Then, I got this young fella, probably his first week. I explained the problem, showed him the receipt, the faulty kettle. He just stared at it. Then at his computer. Then back at the kettle. He had no clue.
He called a supervisor. Supervisor comes over, gives me the once-over like I’m trying to pull a fast one. Asks me if I’d “used it correctly.” A kettle! How else do you use a kettle? For juggling?
Then they started talking about needing the original packaging. I didn’t have the original box! Who keeps the box for a kettle for six months? They went back and forth, typed furiously into the computer, made a phone call. I swear, I was there for nearly an hour. All for a twenty-quid kettle.
Eventually, some other manager, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, just sighed and approved the exchange. No apology, just a grunt. That feeling of being stuck in a dumb system, with people who either don’t know or don’t care… yeah, that track employee’s blank stare? It was exactly that. Like talking to a brick wall that might, eventually, fall on you.
So, Middletown Race Track. Yeah. Cars went round. Some folks cheered. I mostly just remembered that stupid kettle and wondered if the staff got any training at all. Funny how your mind works, eh? Makes you think twice about venturing out sometimes.
