Indoor fast food playgrounds. Just the phrase might evoke a mixed bag of feelings for parents. On one hand, they’re a haven, a place where kids can burn off energy while you grab a quick bite. On the other hand… well, have you ever really smelled one? That distinct aroma – a potent cocktail of sweaty feet and, dare we say, urine – hits you the moment you walk in. It’s an olfactory punch that makes you question everything.
What was the thinking behind moving these playgrounds indoors anyway? Outdoor playgrounds are simply superior. Think about it: sunshine provides natural Vitamin D, fresh air disperses germs instead of trapping them in a confined space, rain acts as a natural sanitizer, and kids can be as loud as they want without disturbing the entire restaurant. Plus, no more constant in-and-out through that germ-ridden playground door, and definitely no more barefoot sprints across the restaurant floor after a play session.
A young boy happily playing in a colorful indoor playground structure, climbing through tubes and smiling, suggesting the fun but potentially overlooking hygiene concerns.
Maybe I’m not the ‘coolest’ mom on the block, but these indoor playgrounds genuinely fill me with dread. And I know I’m not alone in this sentiment, even if we are a somewhat silent minority.
Let me share a couple of personal experiences that solidified my aversion to these germ factories.
Story #1: The Mystery of the Slide
It was a casual meet-up with friends at McDonald’s when Preston was barely two. A friend of mine, bless her heart (she’s the opposite of me when it comes to germs – truly unfazed), was there with her kids, navigating the joys of potty training her youngest. Suddenly, a slightly older boy emerged from the slide with an announcement that would change my perception of indoor playgrounds forever: “Some kid peed in the slide.”
My friend, ever the pragmatist, ventured into the slide entrance (thankfully, it wasn’t too deep) and attempted to clean the mess with a wipe. It was in that moment that the horrifying realization dawned on me: this was likely not an isolated incident. What unseen horrors lurked within those opaque plastic tubes, those oversized hamster tunnels designed for children?
We were actually having a pleasant time until Preston, in his toddler curiosity, decided to follow his older friends into the towering tube that led to the highest slide. He reached the summit and then…froze. Panic set in. I could hear his cries, a desperate call for “Mommy!” All the other moms turned to me, a silent chorus of “Well, what are you going to do?”
I paused.
I waited.
I foolishly thought, “Surely, he’ll just come down! It’s just a slide!”
But no. Just escalating cries and screams.
I was left with no choice. I had to venture where no germ-conscious parent willingly goes. I had to climb into the depths of that dreaded, oversized hamster tube.
And let me tell you something, my friends. If you think it looks questionable from the outside, if you think it seems a bit grimy when you’re extracting your child from the bottom of the slide, if you think it smells faintly of feet upon entering the playground area…
YOU HAVE TO EXPERIENCE THE SUMMIT OF THAT AWFUL PLACE!
It was breathtaking, and not in a good way. More like a comedic, yet terrifying, scene from a sitcom.
Stains of unknown origin decorated every surface. Pieces were missing, bits that clearly should have been there. A sticky, smelly residue coated everything you could touch. The temperature inside was easily ten degrees warmer, thick with humid, stale air that felt like…puppy dog sweat mixed with little kid grime.
I scrambled up as quickly as humanly possible, scooped up my terrified toddler, declared a moratorium on hamster tubes until he reached adolescence, and slid down that twisty slide, actively trying to minimize contact with anything.
My friends, witnessing my ordeal, were in stitches. “I bet you’re going to shower when you get home!” one of them chuckled. My response? “Ladies, I’m practically heading there right now!”
Story #2: The Puddle of Mystery
Preston wasn’t exactly a potty-training prodigy (understatement of the century!). One day, in a moment of playground-related amnesia (clearly, I hadn’t fully learned my lesson from the first incident), we found ourselves at a Chick-fil-A with friends, and yes, Preston was in the dreaded playground. I went to retrieve him, and as I opened the entrance door, I was greeted by a truly horrifying sight: my child standing BAREFOOT in a sizable puddle of yellow liquid.
My parental patience snapped. I was instantly furious. “Preston, why did you pee on yourself! I can’t believe you did this! I just asked you if you needed to go!”
Just then, a dear friend, acutely aware of my germ anxieties, intervened. “I was trying to move him before you saw him. It’s not his.”
Wait…what?!
“Preston didn’t have an accident. Someone else did, and Preston is just standing in it.”
Just…lovely.
After a moment of stunned silence and internal gagging, I yanked my child from the puddle of someone else’s urine and made a beeline for the bathroom. I performed an emergency sink bath of sorts in that tiny restaurant restroom, and then we raced home for a full-scale sanitization from head to toe.
These experiences, while slightly humorous in retrospect, cemented my deep-seated aversion to indoor fast food playgrounds. While they might seem like a convenient way to entertain kids, the unseen germ factor is something that, for me, is hard to ignore. Maybe outdoor playgrounds, or even just a walk in the park, are better options for everyone’s well-being – and sanity.
