You do not want to dance on the pole in the middle of your gondola.
“Gondola” is a funny word.
You’re about to get slung, repeatedly, more than 60 feet in the air AND THERE ARE NO SEATBELTS.
Or even bucket seats.
Just a slippery plastic bench, surrounded by a plastic wall about 6 inches tall.
Although the gondola we
cried shat rode in does now have 10 little finger divots, where I may have white-knuckled the side.
Even if you are not particularly keen on opening your eyes to watch your impending doom (hey, even the firing squad victim gets a freaking blindfold!), a jovial stranger in your
flying coffin gondola will feel the need to announce, repeatedly, when you have arrived at THE VERY TOP, WE’RE AT THE VERY TOP! ZOMG WE’RE STOPPED AT THE VERY TOP!!!1!!1 NOW WE’RE GOING DOWN!!!