So when we left off last time, it was Sunday night, and we were about to go to Disneyland for a few hours. We thought we might get the "lay of the land", and know right where to go when we started again early Monday morning. I was pretty wiped out after driving along the Highway to Hell from Vegas to Anaheim, but I thought I could make it through a couple of hours.
In one of the few wise moves we made all week, we bought a pass for the whole family that would let us ride a shuttle from the hotel to Disneyland for the whole time that we were there. That would allow me to park the van for a few days, and not have to worry about traffic or parking spaces. More about the shuttle and one of it's drivers later on.
You know what? Disneyland has undergone some changes since I was there last. That may be because they're constantly making repairs and improvements to the park. Or it just might be because my last visit was in 1963.
That's right, 1963. I was five years old, John Kennedy was president, and my parents were still married. Within the next few months, by sheer coincidence, both my folks' marriage and Kennedy's brain would explode (other than that, Mrs. Kennedy, how did you like the parade?).
It is a small world, after all, isn’t it? Let's move on...
Now, for you people that have never been to the Magic Kingdom, let your chubby little pal give you one small piece of advice: When you first get inside the park, get the goddamn map. I spent the first half hour in that place spinning around in circles like Dorothy Hamill, trying to get my bearings. Then I had to go all the way back to the gate to get a map. Not a great start.
We got there at kind of a good time, because the people were all lining up on Main Street to see the big parade that they have every night. We thought it would give us a good chance to get away from the huge crowds, and explore the rest of the park.
At first, we decided to split up, with Annie taking The Girl to Toon Town, where they had small rides, and I would take the three boys to the Matterhorn ride, because I knew we could at least find that sonofabitch. I think it was in Adventureland.
The boys and I waited in line there for around 35 minutes, and right when we got to the front, the ride shut down because of mechanical problems. Now if you remember from the last article, we had just gotten turned away from a roller coaster earlier that day at the Buffalo Bill’s Casino, and the pirate show at the Treasure Island in Vegas the night before, because of mechanical problems.
Once again, not that great of a start to our Disney experience.
We were beginning to feel like the Griswolds from the movie “Vacation”. Everything we touched was turning to shit. We hoped that this wouldn’t last forever. If I could have found a live chicken, I would have sacrificed the bastard right there to change our luck.
So we found Annie, and made our way to Frontierland, or Spend-All-Your-Cashland, or some friggin' place. (Quick note: Never, ever go to Disneyland without a cell phone to track down people. You'll come home with half a family. Swear to God.)
Now, it was that first night when Annie and I discovered something that would affect the rest of our trip: we were going to have major problems with The Girl. No matter what the ride was, from the most innocent kiddie thing, like Dumbo, or something a little more grown up, her first response was, “I don’t want to ride that”. Then we’d make her, she’d cry the entire time in line, and then most often she’d have a great time.
This would be the pattern for three…fucking…days.
That happened with Splash Mountain, which was pretty cool, then Butt Pirates of the Caribbean, and some kind of big train ride. There were some others, but it’s all kind of a giant blur now. But it was always the same. She didn’t want to ride it, she’d cry, then she’d enjoy herself. It was day one, so I wasn’t in “find the shuttle bus, and then suck on the tailpipe until I die” mode yet. I was still pretty patient.
We actually had a pretty decent night overall. The lines weren’t that long, and we were getting on most of the good rides. But it was starting to get late, and everybody was pretty tired, considering we had driven in from Vegas earlier that day, and almost perished on the way several times because of the California drivers.
Around 9:00, they had their nightly fireworks display, and it got crowded again in the middle of the park. We happened to be in Tomorrowland, and discovered that there wasn’t much of a line at Space Mountain, which was supposed to be the best ride in the place. So we decided to hit that as our last ride before we called it a night, and went back to the hotel.
Now, you have to be 40” tall to ride Space Mountain, and The Girl comes in at around 42”. So we thought, “How bad can this be? They let little kids ride it.” So we got in line, she cried, and we ignored her. Same pattern as the rest of the night.
My friends, let me start by saying that Space Mountain is the most kick-ass ride I’ve ever been on. It’s a roller coaster that’s completely in the dark, and you’re supposed to be on a journey through space. The music’s fantastic, and you have no idea which way the coaster turns, so you’re bounced around all over the place. Just a superior experience.
Unless, of course, you’re a four year old girl that’s afraid of the dark.
She freaked. And, honestly, I can’t say I blame her. 40” or not, that is no ride for a real little kid. We bought 47 goddamn Disney guides before vacation, and not one of them said that. So I held onto her the whole time, she closed her eyes, and we got through it. The coaster came to a stop, the bars came up, and I was feeling pretty shitty for putting her in that situation.
When you get off the ride, you go out on the opposite side of the car that you got on. The Girl, believe it or not, was a little disoriented and started to exit the wrong way. It was then that this 18 year old female ride attendant yelled in a real snotty voice, “Come on! Get off the ride!”, at my four year old girl who had just been scared out of her wits.
Well, your hero didn’t take that particularly well. As I carried her off, I walked by the bitch and said, “Thanks for being so nice about it”. Pretty tame response under the circumstances, I thought. Then she turned around and shot me one of those dismissive, shitty little 18 year old looks. Goddamn, I hate that look. So I called her a “skagg”. It was the fourth option of what I really wanted to call her.
I don’t know what she thought I said, but Skagg went bat-shit. She followed me all the way down the ramp, screaming at me about using bad language in front of my kids in a family park. I mean, she was all up in my face. I have to believe that in the Disney customer service guide, that’s probably not the way they’d want an employee to handle a dispute with a customer. But there she was, almost nose to nose with me, screaming at me about language.
What the hell would she have done if I had called her a bitch, or the dreaded “C” word”, (which, as it turns out, would have been accurate)? I swear I just called her a skagg. Shit, maybe she read my mind. Because I was certainly thinking the C word.
This turned out to be a pretty big scene. Now I was really pissed. There were only two things that kept me from unleashing my entire arsenal of obscenity (and trust me, it’s extensive). One, I wouldn’t ever do that in front of my kids. And two, I got a mental picture of her calling security, me getting tasered by Mickey Fuckin’ Mouse, and then getting led out of the park in handcuffs, having shit my pants in front of my children.
So I looked at her, shook my head, and said, “Just get away from me”, then turned around, and walked away. I was actually pretty proud of myself for stepping back. Twenty years ago, I would have showed her my ass. Okay, probably ten years ago.
Oh, but Skagg wasn’t done yet.
As we were walking out of Tomorrowland, and heading for GetTheFuckOuttaHereLand, another Disney clone came running after me. Now this was obviously a supervisor. She had to be at least 23.
“Sir, I want to talk to you about the language you used to my worker back there on the ride. You know this is a family park, and we don’t appreciate your use of those words.”
I think mainly because I was so tired, I actually had calmed down a bit. I carefully explained to her what had really happened, why I had said what I said, and that where I come from, the word “skagg” isn’t very nice, but it’s also not obscene. I’ll bet Skagg thought I called her something else.
Supervisor Girl seemed satisfied with that, because she turned around and went back to Space Mountain. I mean, what sense does it make for a 50 year old chunky dude with four kids to get off the best ride ever, look at the attendant, and say, “Oh, by the way, you’re a skagg”, without being provoked? I think she realized that. Plus she didn't want to have to explain to her boss why one of her people got in my face.
I found myself wishing that it wasn’t 10:30, and my kids weren’t exhausted. Because I would have gone back in there and gone up the chain of command, including digging up Walt Disney’s worm eaten, heroine taking, Jew hating carcass, until I got an apology from that little snatch.
Then she could apologize to my little girl.
Monday and Tuesday, July 22nd and 23rd
I won't bore you too much about the next two days at Disneyland and California Adventure, because this story is already turning into War and Peace. Let's just say there were lots of crowds, lots of lines, lots of sun, and we spent lots of money.
Okay, I can't help it. I'll just hit a few of the high points.
1) Our shuttle driver- I told you I'd get back to the shuttle and one of its drivers. Our last two nights at Disney, we had the same guy, and there's a very good chance that the dude was insane. He had a raspy voice that was a dead ringer for Gary Busey, and he would constantly get on the bus PA, and ramble on about all sorts of random shit. Nothing about the park- just whatever happened to be on his warped mind. He'd always start with, "Sorry to interrupt...". We called him Gary.
Some of my favorite moments we had on vacation were the times when my older boys and I would sit in the back of that bus during the trips back and forth to the hotel, and take turns doing impressions of Gary, and making up the weirdest announcements we could think of.
Here are just a few that I can remember (it's better if you imagine Gary Busey's voice):
"Sorry to interrupt, but am I the only one in here that names his socks? I'm wearing Steve and Tony tonight."
"Sorry to interrupt. When I was in Vietnam, I made it with a water buffalo. We have a son together named Dougie."
"Sorry to interrupt. Tonight my macaroni and cheese talked to me, and told me to steer the bus into oncoming traffic. So I'm gonna do that. It never lied to me before."
"Sorry to interrupt. Sometimes I like to hang out in public restrooms, and smell other men's crap."
So we'd spend 20 minutes trying to top each other. By the time we'd get back to the hotel, we'd all be crying, and the other people on the bus would be staring at us. This could only happen with my family. But that's a part of the trip we'll all be talking about 20 years from now. They'll all come to the senior home, and we'll reminisce while I fill up my Depends. It'll be fun.
2) The Foreigners- I know this is an international place, but we spent three days in the park, and there were only two other people the whole time that spoke English. I know the exchange rate is good right now for them, but holy crap. I was left wondering if there was anybody still left in Asia, or were they all with us at Disneyland?
What's really fun to watch is when they pose for pictures. They don't just stand there and try to smile like we do. They act like it's some kind of big spread in Vogue. They'll turn and look back over their shoulder, then put their hand on their hip and pout, that type of shit. Very entertaining.
Now I'm sure it's because they're used to dealing with crowds, but they have no problem pushing and shoving to get to where they want to go. About the fiftieth time that happened, I almost backhanded one of those five foot nothing, 110 pound, skinny sons-of-bitches. But there was that mental picture again- Mickey Mouse, taser, handcuffs, shit my pants. You know the rest.
3) The Little Friggin' Mermaid- Our second night, after seeing all of Disneyland that we could stand for awhile, we went next door to Disney's California Adventure. As the name indicates, the theme there is all about California, complete with movie studios, ocean fronts, etc. This park is a little more suited to older kids, but there is still plenty there for the little ones.
So we were strolling down a boardwalk by a "pier", and happened upon a restaurant called Ariel's Grotto. Now for those of you that don't have a daughter or a gay son, Ariel is the princess in the Little Mermaid movie.
I haven't mentioned this yet, but Ariel is the reason that The Girl wanted to go to Disneyland. She is all Ariel, all the time. Ariel toothbrush, Ariel sheets and pillow cases, Ariel nightlight, and so on. So imagine when she looked inside the restaurant, and there was Ariel, in person, posing for pictures with the guests. She freaked yet again, but this time sort of in a good way.
So we naively walked up to the restaurant hostess, and the conversation went a little something like this:
Me- "When will Ariel be coming out of the restaurant, so that we can get a picture of her with our daughter?"
Hostess (chuckling to herself)- "She stays inside and just takes pictures with the dining guests, you poor, stupid, little man. "
Me- "But you wouldn't mind if we go inside for a minute and take a quick one and we'll be on our way, would you?"
Hostess- "Not at all. Just go ahead and pay for two dinners now, and you can go right on in. In the meantime, do you think you could get your daughter to stop pressing her face against the window so hard? She's going to break through the glass."
I looked down, and The Girl looked like one of those Garfield dolls that is plastered against a car window. She wanted to give Ariel a hug, and right now. The ironic part was that in order to save a hundred bucks, the whole family had gone back to the hotel, and just eaten dinner in the room. We had a suite with a kitchen, and had made chicken burritos. Isn't that smart? Yeah, I thought so, too.
I looked back up at the hostess, and she gave me her extra special, "I've got you by the balls, and you know it, bitch" smile. And of course, she was right. So Annie and The Girl went inside and ate their second dinner in an hour.
That's dinner at the Disney park. We had been warned about the cost of eating a meal there in almost all of our 47 guides. Uh, oh...
To their credit, the restaurant does it up real well. She got to hug and visit with not only Ariel, but a bunch of the other princesses (Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Brian Boitano, etc) came by the table, spent five minutes with her, signed her special Disney autograph and photo book, and took pictures with her. It was very sweet, and was absolutely the highlight of the trip for The Girl.
That's the good news.
The bad news, you ask? Well, that would be the tab for this hour of magic. Annie had a sandwich and salad, and The Girl had a chicken finger platter, or some such nonsense. Oh, she didn't eat it, by the way. Wasn't hungry. Not exactly the Surf and Turf, right? Plus there was the autograph book, and all the photos we bought with her and the princesses.
So when they came back out of the restaurant, I asked Annie what the final damage was. She didn't answer. She just looked at me, dollar signs flashed in her eyes, and I heard the sound of a cash register bell (cha-ching!).
How much? The low, low Disney discount price of $108.
Okay, maybe this is just me talking, but for $108 I think I should have gotten some kind of Little Mermaid "happy ending". Or she could have at least slapped me around for a few minutes with her tail and called me Suzie.
I think the worst part was when the boys and I came back to pick the girls up, the hostess had gathered a bunch of other employees, and they all pointed at me and laughed. I felt so...used.
So those were some of the bullet points. Overall, Disney and California Adventure were pretty cool to see- once. The detail was amazing inside the rides- it really is a visual spectacle. And it was exceptionally clean inside the whole complex- they do a great job with that.
They also had a 3-D Muppet show inside one of the theaters, and that was fantastic. We went to that twice- partly because it was funny, and the images were so amazing. And partly because it was one of the few places where The Girl didn't scream like a mashed cat. She never really got over that Space Mountain experience.
But there aren't enough "kick-ass" rides there to make it worth coming back. The California Screamin' roller coaster is good, the Tower of Terror is spectacular because they drop you about 10 stories, and of course, Space Mountain is the best ride I've ever been on. Well, it's even better if you don't get into a shouting match with a teenager.
But that was really about it. So I've decided that I'm going to wait another 45 years before I go back to Disneyland. I'll be 95, I'll have a cyborg body, and I'll just beam myself there instead of driving through the desert. And I'll bet Skagg will still be letting people off Space Mountain and yelling at little kids.
This time, I'm going to use the "C" word. It won't matter if I get tasered- I'll be shitting my pants by then anyway.
Next time in part three: L.A. traffic sucks ass, the San Diego trip sucks ass, and just to be different, the trip home sucks ass.
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