We paid 19.50 to get into a play haven for your child. After getting by the mandated offers of promises from an employee that could care less, you walk down the stairs while the rest of your party takes the elevator not knowing this will be the last time you will ever see them. Both modes of transports never come together at the same location. Once you enter it is pure mayhem. I once thought I experienced mayhem in the arid climate of Afghanistan but I was deceived. The lightly tinged aroma of body sweat never leaves your nasal passages as you slowly crawl through the Labyrinth that hovers between hell and mythology. At least in both those realms you are promised a guide which give you some purpose. I left my kid with my wife and decided to hole myself up in a corner where I would be less disturbed. After observing the chaos for a moment I realize that all the kids around me embrace this fantastic form of juvenile anarchy. In this unbridled lack of order I might have seen one of the more depressing things I have seen in my life: the LEGOland employee. I saw her, in her green shirt, ardently waiting for children to stop playing/compiling/throwing the tiny bricks and then swoop in to pickup/deconstruct/catch every LEGO and return it to its bin. She did this continuously with some set of consistency. She reluctantly waited until the most vile of LEGO monstrosities or the most perfect architecture of beauty was complete and left so she could break these structures down to their most primitive form and dumped it in the most empty bin. Her only reward awaiting her was to return to her lurking. This all seemed meaningless and chasing after the wind but I finally met up with my kid and he seemed to enjoy himself so I guess the place is effective.