I sat down on the unusually clean red seats, resting my hands on the cool plastic of the long table. Fidgeting with my hair, I nervously glanced around at the sea of fellow employees sitting in their respective places.

 After so many years, I was finally home. 

The interior was different, with shiny decorations and brand-new technology lining the walls, but the structure of the building was still the same. With enough focus, I started to reconstruct the familiar scene in my mind. The hazy feelings of childhood came flooding back to me.

 Suddenly, I was six years old again, blissfully ignoring the “No Climbing” signs as I approached the stage starry-eyed. The popping of pressurized air, and the whirring of machines in the background, all felt like home. I extended my little arms out to give my oldest friend a warm hug. The animatronic chicken may not have been alive, and I knew that, but I felt a certain comfort in her presence. Despite them being inanimate objects, I was more interested in the animatronics than the people around me. After a few moments of standing on stage with my robotic friends, an employee took notice of my presence and chased me off the stage. 

Coming back to reality, a smile formed on my face. I was back in the place which sparked my interest in robotics. Although the animatronics may have been destroyed, my childhood was not. I would never forget them, and I had the feeling they were appreciative of my return. 

I was going to be the best employee Chuck E. Cheese had ever seen. 

I answered all training questions with perfect accuracy, flashing a bright smile toward my manager. The managers knew of my love for their company and expected nothing but the best. After all, I’ve spent most of my life training for this moment. All those hours of deep diving into the company history, accessing forty-year-old classified documents and befriending other people who had the same love for these characters that I do. I had never actually planned to get this job, it was more of a happy accident that I was even hired. My interview was quick, on the spot, and informal. It was like the owners of the restaurant noticed my love for the company as soon as I walked in the door. 

After the four hours of watching safety videos were complete, my first official day at work was over. I excitedly skipped up to the Technical Director, or Tech for short, and asked for confirmation on decorating my lanyard with vintage Chuck E. Cheese pins. 

Our Tech, Mike, had been at the location since before I was alive. He was the reason my childhood animatronics were as clean and operational as they were. He breathed life into these characters, and, ultimately, was the one who had to kill them. Once the company ordered the destruction of our animatronics, Mike was the one who was tasked with destroying what he spent so long repairing. He was the one who forced me off of the stage as a kid and remembered my antics as an animatronics-obsessed child.

 I got confirmation on the pins and clocked out for the very first time.

As the days of training continued, I got closer and closer to my team. My managers had an unspoken agreement that I would definitely be running the place one day, and the other brand-new employees were bewildered by my seemingly never-ending amounts of energy. My group consisted of five employees, each with their own fascinating backstories. 

There’s Killian and A’Quera, the quietest of the group. They almost seem overwhelmed by the energy of everyone else. Then, there’s Michael and Anthony, the sons of our tech. They look like little clones of their father and have the same love for the company as him, too. I get along with them the best out of everyone. 

The group fit together well, with the shyness of some balanced out by my ceaseless energy. Although, there was something I knew I needed to do for our team leader, Mike. I needed to thank him for everything he did. Everything he set into motion. Without him keeping the animatronics running for twenty years, I wouldn’t have been the person I am today. That night, after I went home, I spent a while working on his present.

Walking into work the next day, I clutched a small piece of paper in my hands. Unfolding it revealed a letter with a detailed sketch of my favorite animatronic, Helen Henny. Handing it to Mike, he was initially surprised by my gift. That was, until he read it. The letter contained my gratitude for his continual work on the animatronics, and thanked him for essentially being the reason I am so in love with robotics to this day. His face lit up. Soon, he was showing all the other managers the gift he had received. 

“Look, finally I get some recognition around here!” He joked, handing it to our general manager to take a look at before hanging my artwork on its permanent gallery for all to see, the corkboard in the Tech Room. 

I was ecstatic. 

Finally, my passion for these characters was no longer “weird” or “embarrassing,” thoughts I knew had crossed the minds of my parents as they struggled to understand my excitement. They would never say it out loud of course, but I knew from a young age that I was considered different. My interests were far too advanced for a child, with me focusing on the inner workings of the Titanic and being fascinated by other devastating shipwrecks. Now, my interests were too childish, as most people over the age of ten don’t usually ask to go to Chuck E. Cheese for their birthdays. I knew I was an embarrassment, no matter what I did. It took my parents a long time to understand my struggles as an autistic woman. They’re much better now, even if they don’t fully understand the way my eyes light up as the gentle clicks of a pneumatics animatronic are within earshot, how I spend hours scouring the internet for information regarding any animatronics currently for sale. They may never understand, and I am fine with that. 

I found a place where I belong. A group of people I belong with. A place my talents are appreciated, and I cannot wait to see what the future holds.