Haunted houses aren’t the only places to find jump scares

C’est l’Halloween, to quote the 1981 elementary school French class banger by Matt Maxwell, but you know what’s already plenty scary? Life.

We all have our personal haunted houses, so to speak, hence the popularity of the “a haunted house but it’s just…” meme that pops up every October. Sample: “a haunted house but it’s just a bunch of men telling you you’d be prettier if you smiled.”

In the spirit of the season, I thought I’d offer up a few jump scares of my own.

A haunted house but it’s just Gate E25

The airport has become an absolutely lawless place and, while there’s an argument to be made that this haunted house actually starts back in security — no you can’t bring your full shampoo or unopened bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red through the scanner, my man! — but it really reaches top terror at the gate.

The people in Boarding Zone 9 who are are already standing and hovering. The people playing fast and loose with the definition of “personal item.” The unmediated coughing that’s best described as “wet.” And the final boss: the distorted cacophony of earbudless TikTok videos and FaceTime calls at top volume.

A haunted house but it’s just AI flyers from Facebook

From carnivals to yard sales, it seems everyone has hopped aboard the slop train I keep begging to leave me behind. Just a bunch of weirdly slick, uncanny valleys that simultaneously have too much information and not enough, crammed to the margins with such frightening redundancy as “date night for two” followed by “perfect for two.” (To add to the terror, that’s a real example.)

A haunted house but it’s just my social media posts circa 2012

I have nothing in common with the woman who used to earnestly post vaguely humiliating things such as “my hamstrings still hurt from aerobics!” (we get it, you worked out) on Facebook, or photos of heavily filtered avocado toast and notebook in a cafe on Instagram with the hashtag “#amwriting” (girl, you were never #amwriting).

Revisiting these posts is like wandering through a veritable graveyard of cringe, haunted by the ghosts of your past selves.

A haunted house but it’s just perimenopause

Enter through the Chamber of Brain Fog before taking the Roller Coaster of Hormones through the Waterpark of Night Sweats. Enter the Hall of Mirrors — which are just the communal change room mirrors from Aritizia — where you can admire your new facial hair.

Oh, does your one armpit smell like onions and do your ears itch? Congrats, you’ve reached the Cauldron of Secret Symptoms.

A haunted house but it’s just a bunch of things I find incredibly overstimulating

That one hair that keeps sticking to my face. Someone talking to me while the TV is on. A sleeve bunching inside of another sleeve. Hearing Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime in a hot store. The fan above the stove. Mittens!

jen.zoratti@winnipegfreepress.com