Sometimes I have to apologize to the first customers who get in my car after I have been talking to ChatGPT, because my brain is already doing seventy-five in a thirty-five. The conversation is not starting from zero anymore. It is already halfway through history, society, customer service, childhood memories, and whatever strange little moral lesson decided to climb into the passenger seat with me.
That is what happens when I get rolling. One thought turns into another thought, then that thought opens a side door, and suddenly we are talking about how people should treat each other. Not in that soft, tiptoeing-around-everybody kind of way, either. I am not saying the world needs to be wrapped in bubble wrap. Sometimes being blunt is the only way to get through to somebody.
You can tell a person, “Do not grab the bottom of that pot. It just came off the stove.” That should be enough. But for some people, the only lesson that works is the one that comes with the hospital visit and third-degree burns on their hands. I am not saying that is the best way to learn. I am just saying some people do not believe hot is hot until the skin says, “Congratulations, genius, now we understand fire.”
That is life. Some lessons are taught. Some lessons are explained. Some lessons are demonstrated by consequences.
My father learned one of those lessons when he left a young boy home alone with a flathead screwdriver and an expensive handheld CB radio. That is not a scientific experiment. That is not childhood development. That is a crime scene with batteries. Curiosity is great until somebody finds the pieces and realizes the radio is never going to talk to anybody again.
But that is how memory works. It does not stay in one lane. I can be talking about how people learn, and the next thing I know, I am explaining Riverside Park to a couple of young gentlemen who only know it as Six Flags New England. To me, that place is not just Six Flags. It is Riverside Park. More importantly, it is Riverside Speedway.
And if you remember Riverside Speedway, you remember the enduros.
Now, for the people who do not know what an enduro is, let me put it this way: “demolition derby” is probably not what you put on the booking sheet when you want the thing to sound organized. Enduros were rock’em sock’em, smash’em up bumper cars with actual vehicles. Real cars. Real engines. Real dents. Real bad decisions in motion.
Why did they stop doing that kind of thing? I do not know. Maybe it had something to do with oil, radiator fluid, antifreeze, gasoline, and all those other lovely chemicals that end up dripping into the ground when you turn automobiles into contact sports. Strange how time changes what people consider acceptable entertainment.
But back then, it was a show. It sold tickets. People went. People watched. People had a good time.
They even had concerts at the Speedway, because of course they did. It was an entertainment space. It made sense. You had stages. You had private groves. You had areas where people could gather, eat, listen to music, watch something loud happen, and go home with a story.
And Friday nights? That was part of the charm. Buy-one-get-one tickets for lovers. Take your honey down to Riverside, watch some chaos, ride some rides, eat some food, and call it romance. That was a night out. That was local entertainment. That was the kind of memory that sticks because it belonged to the people who lived around it.
Now it is Superman rides, DC branding, and a very different kind of entertainment. I am not saying that is all bad. Things change. Parks change. Business models change. Insurance companies probably had a few words to say somewhere along the line. But it is still strange to look at what something became and remember what used to be sitting underneath it.
That is the part people miss when they talk about nostalgia. It is not always about wanting everything to go backward. Sometimes it is just remembering that a place used to have a different rhythm. It had a different noise. It had a different smell. It had a different kind of crowd. It had local character before everything had to be branded, licensed, polished, packaged, and fed back to people as an experience.
And that is where I start realizing I am not much different from somebody flipping through TikTok. The only difference is I do not need TikTok to feed me other people’s memories. I have enough of my own bouncing around in my head.
That is why I make my own website. That is why I tell my own stories. That is why I entertain myself with the history I actually lived through instead of letting an algorithm decide what memory I am supposed to borrow for the next thirty seconds.
Because once I start talking, it all connects. Customers get in the car, and I might be coming off a conversation about AI, society, old radios, burned hands, Riverside Speedway, Superman rides, Six Flags, and the strange decline of local entertainment spaces. That is a lot for somebody who just wanted a ride.
So yes, sometimes I have to apologize.
Not because I regret the conversation. Not because I think people should stop thinking. Not because I believe every story has to be neat, quiet, and approved by committee.
I apologize because once the brain gets moving, it does not always come with a speed limiter.
And somehow, through that whole ride through memory, consequence, childhood destruction, amusement park history, and society trying to sand the edges off everything, I almost made it without swearing.
Almost.
Except for one clean little bullshit that slipped through the gate.
And here’s one of those times when I go like this and have to apologize to my customers, especially when they are the first customers I have in the car after talking to ChatGPT. Because this is how fast I go and talk and decide to go and make more and more idealistic thoughts about society and just on how people should treat each other. Not saying that we should all be tiptoeing around people because sometimes being blunt is the only way that you can go and get across to somebody that maybe you shouldn’t go and grab the pot by the bottom when it’s just been on the stove. But, you know, that’s things that you learn after you go to the hospital with third degree burns on your hands. Not saying that’s the best way to learn, but sometimes there’s only that way that certain people are ever going to understand things are hot when they come off the stove. Just like my father learned that you don’t leave a boy home with a flathead screwdriver and an expensive CB handheld radio. You know, that type of stuff is one of those things that generally doesn’t make a very good situation. But, you know, then again, I just had that whole conversation going through a lot of my history with these young gentlemen, especially the thing about going like this and saying, yeah, were you having a good time looking at the fine young ladies that are attending the events at the Six Flags of New England? Which I happily remember as Riverside Park and more enjoyably Riverside Speedway, where they had enduros. You know what an enduro is? It’s because demolition derby is not what you can go and say on the booking thing. Why did they stop this? I don’t know. Radiator fluid, oil, you know, all those nice little chemicals that end up dropping into the ground because you’re playing rock’em sock’em, smash’em up, bumper cars with actual vehicles. Ain’t that a thing? But yeah, you got to go and switch around, do all these other things, just so that you can go and have people go on the Superman ride. Yeah, you know, that’s when you go and remember that most of the DC bullshit that’s down there took out a very good entertainment situation as is. But hey, you know, that’s the thing when you go and have a whole private groves section with stages and everything else where you have to go and have people there. But you can’t go and have an area where people can have concerts. They actually had a couple of concerts in the Speedway. Why? Because that sold tickets, and it was so much of a good thing to go and take your honey down there at a buy one get one ticket for lovers on Friday nights because that was always entertaining. And now I digress into a whole other thought pattern because, you know what, I am just as bad as anybody flipping through TikTok. And you know what? I don’t need TikTok. I got all my memories. I’m not trying to go and have other people’s memories on my own. That’s why I go and produce my own website. I go and entertain myself. Not in that way, but, you know, sometimes. We’re just not talking about that because we’re trying to actually go and make this very, very clear that, yes, how many bad words did I say in this? I’m pretty much guessing none.
That makes the line better because it keeps the messiness honest. Here’s the updated comment note:
For transparency, this was the original spoken-style prompt that led to the article. I’m leaving it here so people can see the difference between the raw thought process and the finished version. The article is cleaned up for readability, but the memory, rhythm, and point of view are mine.
AI did not invent the story. It helped organize the pile after I dumped the toolbox on the floor, kicked it around two or three times, and played soccer with it because, you know, I like playing soccer.
That has the right “yes, this is chaotic, but it’s my chaos” tone.