Personal Narrative: Rocking Horse Ranch

The dining area of Rocking Horse Ranch was always hot and crowded during meal times, where the tired, overworked servers would bustle around attempting to provide excellent customer service for each and every inane request from the guests. I’ve heard that loud, hectic, quick-paced atmospheres filled with pretentious parents and scrambling children are almost calming sometimes. This atmosphere never brought me serenity; it gave me anxiety and stressed me out. Just the thought of sweeping melted ice cream cones off of the stained carpet and dry mopping the tiles floors gives me nightmares. Usually, the procedure was to head straight home with my older sister at the wheel of her black 2012 Nissan Altima on the deserted roads of route 9 zooming through stop light after stop light anticipating peeling off our
The teams were divided, the rules were set, and I dashed off with a sarcastic, plump coworker in search of the perfect hiding spot. Awkward conversation between us pursued while shouted whispers and muffled laughs filled the silent night air. Deep into the depths of the park we waited, when suddenly distressed shouts came from our coworkers as red and blue sirens lit up the darkness. We trudged out of our hiding spot and I sat on the cold gravel next to my sister as the cops took note of everyone’s identification ending the night and doling out warnings for trespassing on public property. Those coworkers might still be at the ranch, I’m not sure, I have made no efforts to see them since, but that summer night allowed me to let go of my everyday anxieties, if only for a few hours. I think back to this night – where my sister gave me the chance to step out of my comfort zone and bond with almost strangers – every time I see myself making new, real and long lasting