Disney

Well, I figure it’s been long enough since my last blog post. Almost 8 months, in fact. Actually, I started writing this post over the Xmas holidays, but then I got busy lying to my kids that Santa really exists, and, before you know it, two more months slipped by. Wait, do you still believe in Santa? My bad. I guess I should’ve included a “Santa is fake” disclaimer.

I’ve passed a few milestones along the way, including the 2-year mark. I’m not really sure how to describe the past 2 years, other than to note the usual clichés: the recovery is a marathon, not a sprint; the surgery seems like it happened just yesterday; blah, blah. Eventually, I’ll post a 2-year update about my knee. And I promise I won’t wait another 8 months to do so.

But not today.

Instead, I’m going to share my recent Disney adventures. The Florida one, not the SoCal one.

Alright, let me get the usual Disney platitudes out of the way. Every story you hear about how Disney bends over backwards to accommodate visitors – especially kids – is dead-on. All of Disney’s employees were phenomenal – the hotel workers, ride operators, character helpers, the bus drivers. You name it. Even the cleaning people who didn’t speak English. Very friendly. And not fake-friendly. You know the type. The superficial syrupy-sounding people who deserve to be punched in the kidneys. These Disney people were genuine. I don’t know how they remain this friendly, day-in, day-out. After five minutes of kids tugging on my shirt, I’m pretty sure I would start playing Wack-A-Mole with anybody shorter than 3 feet tall. Honestly, I was most impressed with the girl portraying Jasmine. Not only was she smoking hot, but she never broke character, like an old school WWF wrestler. Well, except for the time when the creepy old man started groping her. That freaked out Jasmine, not to mention ruining the Disney experience for some family’s little Princess. Rough memory for a kid, right?

But I assume most Disney travelers know these tips. Therefore, this blog entry shares some observations that, perhaps, are news to you.

First, a random observation.

Disney’s bathrooms never ran out of paper towels. I’m pretty sure I visited every crapper in the park. No, I didn’t have diarrhea, just two little kids needing to piss constantly. Incredibly, there was never an empty paper towel dispenser. Never. I wonder if Disney employs a stable of Sherpas just to fetch paper towels.

Ok, now to my main observation. I’ve never seen so many f*cking fat people in one place in my life. Enough fatties to keep The Biggest Loser busy for 40 years. Holy lard asses, Batman.

Here’s another under-the-radar scoop about Disney – they lead the world in rascal scooters. All those fatties scoot around the park all day rather than trying to walk off the BonBons. Disney was like a giant bumper car park for very large people.

Now here’s the really annoying part. Call me crazy, but I thought rascals were only for non-ambulatory people. You know, the crippled; extreme elderly; or even the morbidly obese people who simply cannot walk on their own. Not at Disney. I lost count how many times some gump of sh*t scooted up to the entrance, parked their rascal, and walked onto the ride. Seriously? At first I thought Disney had some kind of magical healing power, like one of those Sunday morning revivalist churches where worshippers gets blessed, and hallelujah! they rise up and hop onto roller coasters. And get this -- these fat f*cks go straight to the front of the line!

Thankfully Disney’s “Fast Pass” limits the wait time for most rides. But picture this scene: you spend 45 minutes creeping along 2-3 feet every 15 seconds to ride Space Mountain. Like an Oasis in the middle of the Sahara, the final turnstiles appear on the horizon. You can sense Shang-ri-La. You inch closer, squeezing through the final set of gates, reaching the coveted “next rider” status. The moment of truth. Space Mountain, baby!

But as you prepare to board the coaster, you hear a wheezing puttering sound, like a 1970 Pinto desperately in need of a new muffler. “Hold on, folks,” says the ride operator. He’s smiling, of course, because all Disney employees smile more than the Joker. As you struggle to comprehend the last-second delay, the Blob dismounts from his rascal and steals your ride. Sure, it’s just 1 more ride to wait, but those 45 seconds feel more the 45 minutes you just spent in line. You want to enjoy the ride, but you’re kinda ticked about Tubby stealing your turn. And you can’t shake the fear that his 470lbs might’ve stressed Space Mountain’s brakes. Can this car handle those twists and turns? Will I go flying off the track? And why is this seat so God damn warm?

Anyway, the kids had a blast. A definite “must” vacation for families.