I always said the only way I would ever go to Disney World again was if someone dosed me with a truckload of psychedelics or if I had a kid.
Last time I went was 1992. My family took in a French foreign exchange student, as a thank you the school packed the visitors and their host kids on a bus and shipped them up to Orlando. I was thirteen so I had a blast with any dose of freedom. The most memorable moment was on The Pirates of the Caribbean ride when the French boys in the boat ahead of us threw the scrawniest of their number in the water right where the cannonballs seemed to be shooting. The kid was evidently not related to Jacques Cousteau. He screamed and cried as he jumped back in the boat.
Since those innocent days though I have grown a deep seated fear of Disney World and all it seemed to represent. The crowds, the commercialization, the crass idea that you can manufacture and market happiness.
If a trip to Ikea had me one step away from a panic attack, I could not imagine what Disney World would do to me.
And so when my Love Interest requested that we take our daughter there I always turned her down. “Go with your friends and their kids.” or “I’ll drive up there, drop you girls off at the theme park, and I’ll find some watering hole to disappear into.”
But last month I relented. I rented a car, packed us in, and took the four hour drive to Orlando. The first rule I made to help myself get through this trip as a cheapskate was not to ask how much anything cost. If they started to tell me a price, I’d cover my ears, sing “When You Wish Upon a Star” and hand over the credit card. I broke this rule almost instantaneously as I drove into the theme park and they told me parking cost twenty bucks.
We got out of the vehicle and I prided myself that I walked the extra few booths down to find a shorter line. “These stupid tourists” I snickered as I saved us a few minutes, but I was going in with the wrong attitude. At Disney World as in life you will never defeat the line.
I don’t know if it was the high price of admission, but it wasn’t nearly as crowded as I feared and the clientele was not how I remembered it. In my memories every other person at the theme park was morbidly obese and every parent was threatening their kids with a whoopin’, but most of the people were trim and civilized towards their children.
You don’t see as many of the costumed characters anymore. You have to pay extra to get your pictures taken with the big dogs like Mickey Mouse or the princesses from Frozen. There were long lines for random supporting characters like the monkey from The Lion King who we started waiting in line for when he walked off and we were told he had to take a break to drink a banana milkshake.
Fortunately the lines for the rides weren’t bad. We went on the Jungle Boat which was filled with bad puns and African stereotypes. Our daughter’s favorite ride was the carousel. Mine was It’s a Small World which would be the safe zone if you did go to Disney World on a truckload of psychedelics.
When you’re there with a two year old though, the rides aren’t that important. The most amazing aspect is seeing it through her eyes, that all this manpower and resources were spent in celebration of an animated rodent.
This is a crazy world we live in, this Disney World.