(Great) white lies

By: CADE GRUNST

Posted: 1/18/08

When I was eight or nine, my dad took me on the Studio Tour at Universal Studios Hollywood. For the uninitiated, the tour is essentially a bus ride around the studio back lot featuring sets from various films, and though it may seem a bit jarring to have the Bates Motel standing on the hilltop next to an excerpt from The fast and the Furious 3, it's a lot of fun.

My 9-year-old self sat in awe as we putted stealthily past King Kong, narrowly thwarted disaster during a simulated earthquake and dodged a flash flood in a Mexican barrio. As we neared the edge of a suspiciously innocuous coastal town, our guide cleared his throat. "Please keep your arms and legs inside the cars," he intoned, "or they will be eaten."

Eaten, you say? My brain had barely processed this unexpected twist when a 25-foot long great white shark burst from the waters mere feet from my safely-ensconced limbs. Now, I'm no zoologist, but I'm pretty certain that that if Jaws had feet, he'd have extinguished all life years ago. He's a fearsome beast. You can understand my consternation, then, at being attacked by such a monster. I was petrified, but our guide kicked it into overdrive. Using his mysterious red button he activated the tram's rocket boosters, propelling us to freedom.

The next inlet we passed was much safer. Playing host to a set of props from old war movies, the eastern end of the lake was riddled with swarms of semi-submerged mines. The depth charges, combined with an array of mounted turrets, generally prevented Jaws from escaping his enclosure. I was relieved. Suddenly we stopped. Craning my neck, I discovered that we'd reached a bit of an impasse: The tram's tracks appeared to lead directly into the lake. I checked and double-checked my trusty Park Map to no avail, but our fearless leader was unperturbed. He rolled up his sleeves, cleared his throat and began to mutter under his breath. Slowly, with a commanding force, he raised his arms and slowly drew them apart.

To my unabashed shock and awe, the waters began to part. We rolled steadfastly onward. Suddenly disaster struck - a gust of wind, likely caused by the sudden departure of several billion gallons of water, reached into the car and snatched my map away off into the lagoon.

What was a 9-year-old to do? Quick as lightning, I lobbed my shoes to my dad and dove in after it. Even in those days I was a fairly strong swimmer, but I hadn't given a thought to the currents generated by the mystical separation of a large body of water. I was carried rapidly away from the tram and my astonished father, speeding toward my map and the minefield. Grabbing a certain extremely soggy bit of paper, I turned tail and swam with all my might. I had made precious little headway when I heard a roar of fear from the tram, so I slowed and looked over my shoulder. Jaws was following me.

Perhaps enraged by my encroachment on his territory, he was barreling towards me with rage filling his black eyes. He lunged. I dodged, lifting my feet and landing a solid kick square on his nose. Unfazed, he pressed the attack, so I hatched a desperate plan. I gave up my attempts to reach the train and cut sideways, letting the current carry me back toward the explosive charges.

Jaws is many things, but a trig whiz he is not. His altered course led him straight into a mine, resulting in an explosive chain reaction that could likely have been seen from space. Protected by his iron body, I was launched into the air only to land safely in my seat, neatly dried by the fiery blasts. And I had my map. True story.

Or perhaps not so true. After telling that tale for 10 years, I went back to the park last summer only to be greeted by a diminutive, creaky metal Jaws with the word "FISHY" tagged in spray-paint across his nose. I waved, and gleefully retreated back to my version of events. Most times, stories are meant to be told as they occurred. Others…

I've always liked my versions better.

Tell CADE GRUNST your own bald-faced lies: cade@ucdavis.edu.