1000 Things We Hate #199: Plastic Ball Bins

9 11 2011

He contemplates the decisions he will make in life...

Every person from the 90s growing up has a kid has (or at least should have) a picture of themselves playing in those plastic ball bins.  They were so popular, you could find them at nearly every fast food restaurant claiming to fight childhood obesity by terribly constructed violent mayhem play centers.  They were the shining star of the community!  “Oh, let’s take the kids out to McDonalds so they can play… and then we can eat!” Who needs parks!?

I loved these things as a child, but now, thinking back, they were one of the more dangerous aspects of my childhood.  Just think about it: your parents force you to go and play and you are greeted with thousands of plastic balls… they look inviting, so you jump in.  THEN SOME FUCKING 5th GRADER NAILS YOU IN THE HEAD WITH ONE.  Aren’t they a little old to be in there and a little young to be such douches!?  hmmm?

Let’s take the “other human” element out of this.  The balls themselves are like wading in a pit of toxicity.  There’s spit and blood and piss all over them.  How often does the people who own the bins clean them?  Seriously, there must be a hundred pounds of dried up gum at the bottom!  You would need a hazmat suit in order to navigate the dangerous terrain that is the play area.

I'm dwowneng Dad!

Plus, nothing was more frightening than being held down underneath all of those balls.  It felt like you were drowning on plastic air!  Sure, it was pretty sweet to act like a crocodile with only your eyes showing and then attacking.  But, for people like me with massively tall foreheads, there was no joy in the attack because it was so goddamn obvious where you were.

Really, play ball bins must have been a logistical nightmare for parents worrying “where the fuck is my child!?”  Oh wait, just over there being held under against there will.

Overall, I have fond memories of the plastic ball bins, but, in retrospect, they could have been the worst part of my adolescence.

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Can’t get enough hate to satiate your appetite!?  Well, check out the MASTER LIST, to fulfill your quench!


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