Part 1. Better off unsaid
Stitch: Good MORNING! No sleeping! Ha ha ha ha ha!
Mickey: Sorry folks. Ever since Stitch escaped into the Magic Kingdom, theres been a lot of excitement around here. Well, have a magical day!
Stitch: Get moving!!!
[Inaudible noises]
Click.
I never realized how sweet Stitchs grating voice would be. When I learned that the classic Mickey call was changed to Stitch and Mickey, I was angry. Psychopathic, actually. I was all, bring me back my Mickey or the stupid little blue guy gets hurt. You cant mess with the classics. But after a few of these mystery calls Ive been getting, suddenly I was thrilled to hear Stitchs annoying throaty intonation. Its all a matter of perspective, I guess.
When I greet Jakie at her room, she tells me that she was visited by the towel animal fairy yesterday. Yet I wasnt. And thats odd for a two reasons. One is because surely we have the same cleaning woman since our rooms are right next to each other. The other reason is because I leave tips for Mousekeeping every day and Jakie does not. You see, Im of the opinion that my little two- or three-dollar tips are like an insurance program its my way of saying, Please dont steal my stuff. Heres a dollar. Youll get another one tomorrow if my things are still here. I tip every day of my trips except the last. By then my stuff is gone and the insurance isnt necessary. Jakie says she waits until the last day until she leaves her tip. And yet here she is, towel animal in hand, flaunting it at me, who is empty-handed. So let me get this straight
no tip = animal towel. Tip = no animal towel. My brilliant insurance program is hindering any means to obtain animals made of terry cloth. And dont call me Shirley.
Onward to class
After about an hour of lecture, Art does next what Art does best: he puts us into groups. After my silent groans, Art put us into new teams. Jakie is still in a different group than me. Team Orange or something. Im yet again in Team Green. There are two brothers who sit behind us in class, Carlos and Diego. Theyre British. Anyway, Diego ends up in my group and Carlos is in Team Yellow. This particular morning Carlos was voted Presenter Least Likely To Suck in his group and was The Chosen One to present. I forget who presented for my group. It really doesnt matter. Anyway, Carlos gives what I consider to be a better-than-the-usual-sucky transportation briefing. When it was time to vote, I dropped in a yellow marble. Diego, on the other hand, did not. He dropped a blue marble in the jar.
When we got back to class, I lit the fuse. I leaned back and whispered, Psst. Hey, Carlos. I just want you to know that Diego didnt have your back, man. He voted for Team Blue.
Carlos turned to Diego. You didnt vote for me?
Then I leaned forward in my chair and waited for the fireworks to start.
(What? I gotta keep myself entertained somehow between park visits.)
Carlos and Diego...a family torn apart.
(Pssst...that's Michelle way in the back there.)
Well, Team Green didnt win. Again. I did notice that the prizes were getting lamer. But still
its the pride in winning, not the token of the prize that counts. I just need to prove, in some materialistic way, that I gained something from this class besides hypothermia. And anyway, who doesnt want to be part of a winning team?
Speaking of shivering
at the next break we all scrambled outside to defrost. Derrick, an extremely handsome gentlemen that wandering eyes may rest upon when ones husband is a thousand miles away, was sitting directly into the sun when I came outside. I sat down a few feet away from him on my usual sunny bench, and quietly absorbed the Vitamin D rays. Suddenly, Derrick jolts up and immediately ducks into the shade. Thats why black people dont own convertibles, he said.
I decide to get up and head over to the Boardwalks reservation counter. I needed to change my reservation for Friday. When I originally drafted the schedule back home, I planned to be at Epcot after the last day of class. Jakie would spend a few hours at Epcot with me, then fly home, thus kicking off my first moments of solo-ism. I originally thought that Marrakesh would be a good place to eat since Dan didnt really care for it last time, and I wasnt sure if I would get another chance to eat there. But then, Tim mentioned that he and Marie and their son Mitchell could meet up with me for dinner that evening. I asked what they liked to eat, but Tim was noncommittal. Sitting in the sun that morning, I decided that Biergarten would be a better place to hang out.
Now keep in mind that my sister, who is back home planning her own dining meals at this time for her September trip in two months, is having a terrible time finding reservations. Shes going when the crowds are traditionally thinner, but theyre also promoting that free dining crap, so she cant get into any restaurant at all. So, mocking the free dining gods, I march right up to the Boardwalk reservation counter and change my reservation for the next day from Marrakesh For One to Biergarten For Four. Click, click, click. All set. Heres your reservation number, maam.
I walk back to my sunny bench, notice that Derrick is still standing safely in the shade, and text Tim that were all set for Biergarten on Friday. Then Tim texts back and says that Marie has issues with all dining establishments in Epcot, and that she wont eat at ANY restaurant there. So I mull this over and decide that I would rather eat alone at Marrakesh than at Biergarten. And I march back over to the Boardwalk reservation counter. I feel the need to explain, as if the cast member cares, why Im changing reservations minutes after making them. And moments later, Im carrying a reservation slip with the number that guarantees a reservation for one at Marrakesh. My first solo meal in the World. I guess the point of that whole three paragraphs was to point out how hilarious it is that, in the middle of summer, I can change my reservations
botta bing botta boom, but my sister cannot squeeze in one reservation for September. Or maybe its just funny to me.
At this time, our break is over. One by one we stand up and get ready to walk back in. Rex, a student that sits next to the British Brothers, comes outside. What took him so long to get out there is beyond me probably had to pay homage to the Porcelain Gods or something and everyone starts filing back inside the resort. Prolonging my walk back inside the freezer for as long as possible, I wait until the last person has gone in before getting up. As I open the door, I turn to Rex who is still standing outside as if break just started. You really know how to clear a room, I said. Which is probably what happened in the bathroom
before the break, too.
So its the afternoon in class. Im in my post-lunch coma and patiently waiting for 5:00 to come. Art is droning on about something truck-related and Im resting my head on my fists, longingly staring out the window, and dreaming about Captain Hook. (Hey, I dont criticize your fantasies, buddy, so leave me alone.) I let out a slow, sad sigh and eventually turn my attention back to Art. Yes, Lean Manufacturing is a real warehouse goldmine, Art. No need to get all excited about it.
But he's talking transportation like it was porn. Funny thing was, most of the people in this class were coming from this industry and already had a big interest, if not fetish, for this topic. Let me repeat that, because Im not sure it really sank in with you people:
most of the people in the class cared more about transportation than they did about Disney. It bears repeating because it just boggles the mind, it does. Each day Art would lecture on and on, and while Im dozing off, staring out the window, or eyeing my watch, theyre all full of rapt attention, leaning forward and nodding and grinning and laughing at his elusive transportation humor.
Nothing sexier than a man who can tell me all about Productivity vs. Utilization.
As I daydreamed, I recalled exactly what this scenario reminded me of: a scene from Better Off Dead, when Lane Meyer is in math class and Mr. Kerber, the goofy-looking mathematics teacher, is lecturing about triangular equations to a captivated classroom. All of the students are engaged (except for Lane): smiling, nodding, and laughing at his highly technical and scientific humor. Then Mr. Kerber asks the class to pull out their projects that were due that day. The students enthusiastically pull out their massive, complicated assignments in large cases and accordion-style holders. Cut to Lane: he looks around the classroom like hes lost. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds the paper, only to find that its glued together because of the wad of dried gum stuck in the middle of it. The paper reads, Do math project. When the Mr. Kerber asks who would like to present their findings, all hands go up impatiently. Lane crumples up the paper, shields his face with his hands, and sinks down in his desk. When the bell rings to signal the end of class, Lane is visibly relieved but the rest of the class groans, and Mr. Kerber nods and says, I know, I know. But well pick off from where we left off tomorrow. Remember to memorize pages 39 to 110 for tomorrows lesson.
Thats exactly who I felt like all week: Lane Meyer. Clearly out of my element. And clearly surrounded by a bunch of nutballs who were into this stuff. And NOT Disney.
Even when I tried to fit in, I stuck out. Art peppered his lectures with questions to keep us engaged (not that the rest of the students needed help with that), and inevitably I would answer incorrectly. Like every time. For example, he was discussing a slide and turns to us and ask, Is this scenario better or worse? And Id pipe up: Better! and the rest of the class would say, Worse. And Art would nod and say, Thats right, its worse. Now we have other methods of supply
And I would sink down in my chair and hope not to get noticed. After several times of this happening, I learned to keep my incorrect responses to myself. All I needed was to get through this week so I could bring back my Certification of Completion back to my supervisor. I just needed to keep my mouth shut. Not an easy task, I admit.
So when Art mentions an opportunity to discuss even
more truck stuff after class graduation on Friday, there were some excited people in the room. He said that he was meeting with some folks in some wacky supply organization for about two and a half hours afterward, and that we were all invited to stay and learn even more than we originally imagined. It was pretty difficult to not blow snot after hearing that, but I managed to keep my laughing fit to a stifle. Hmm
supply talk or Disney World? Supply? Disney World? Decisions, decisions.
Good thing we have an entire day to think this one over. Funny thing was, there were some disappointed people in the room who had a flight Friday afternoon and were unable to make it.
So I'm back to daydreaming about the Captain when
a surprise twist that shook the whole classroom. Or at least, shook me.
The unmistakable sound of those double doors creaking open like we were on the front steps of the Haunted Mansion
and there stood Mickey Mouse, all dressed up in a green cap and gown. It was no fantasy
there stood The Mouse for real, in all his live glory.
I audibly gasped and almost emptied my bladder right there in my chair. This paradox in front of my eyes was almost too good to be true
here, in the middle of the most boring and non-Disney class in the World
stood a happy, bright-eyed old friend. Like a little piece of Disney magic somehow found its way inside the classroom. Found its way to ME. Like Disney tapped me on the shoulder, and when I turned around it said, THERE you are! and then gave me a big hug.
Right now I'm sitting in a puddle of my own urine.
Mickey Mouse and his handler came inside the room. Art had arranged for Graduation Mickey to present a few certifications to folks who had graduated from the universitys logistics program. Suddenly I was heartbroken that I hadnt sat through more of these classes. One by one, the few students walked up to Mickey and received their certificate and got a picture with him. Im snapping away myself, unable to contain the excitement of the moment. When the individuals were done, we all stepped outside and got group and (gasp!) one-on-one photos with The Mouse. It was all so very Disney.
Poor Graduation Mickey, surrounded by a bunch of Disney heretics. That's me, the freak in the white poncho and shivering in the 90 degree sun.
About a half an hour later, Mickey was gone and Art was back to talking about transportation again like the wole thing never happened.
Sigh.
Coming Up: Part 2. Offending dinner hosts, part II
and I don't know why, I don't even know what a Hucifer is and with a name like Sneezie I really shouldn't be so picky, but I was and what a mistake! 
I got so much mileage out of him being a pseudo-celebrity. Folks just ate that up. He's a real estate agent now, which, I suppose, would make me less popular in such a scenario. Fine. I didn't want to socialize with geeks anyway. 
Weirdos.
Gotta love Tommy Boy!!
