As the audience, we, ourselves, are drawn into the process of living through the sounds of the roller coaster by proxy; we recognize the invitation to climb aboard, we are anxious to hear the satisfying strains and clicks of the safety restraints, and our hearts pound as the voices on the ride get increasingly more restless. We follow the natural lifetime of the ride, as it climbs tick-tick-tick up the first and most aggravating incline. Our cheeks tighten as we anticipate the peak, the tension breaks as we are swept in the course of the ride, and we are lost in the throws of the machine. People scream and laugh, and we are tempted to join them...though we don’t, because we don’t want to look foolish in front of our classmates. Some of us get dizzy; some of us wish we were dizzier. Finally, the coaster screeeeeaches to a stop. We pry our fingers off of the greasy handlebars or the rickety library mouse.
In a way, we are somewhat disappointed upon reaching the end of the ride (either because it is over, or because we are forced to remember that we never actually rode the roller coaster), but -- as maybe should happen after any intensive, interactive human process -- we ask ourselves: “Was that fun or what?!”
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