After our uneventful lunch, I decide to grab my camera and head into the bathroom. Now before you start wondering if I truly have bathroom fetishes, or if I crave illegal activities, know this: the womens bathroom in the Boardwalk Inns Convention Center is very pretty. The first time I walked into it, I remember gasping or whispering how pretty it was or offering a burned sacrifice to the toilets or some other perceptible admiration for its décor. And if you havent been there, make a special trip. Its quite lovely. Men, I suggest you get an All-Clear from a willing female participant before going inside.
So I do what any other Disney tourist would do: I pull out my camera and snap away. Its what Walt would have wanted. And to you legalists out there
no, the entire bathroom was empty. Its not like I was sticking the camera under stall doors or anything.
Pretty bathroom stalls. Notice they are all empty.
Pretty bathroom sinks. Notice the creepy woman in the mirror. [shudder]
Several clicks later, satisfied that I adequately captured the bathrooms ambiance, I open the door and step out into the hallway.
Yes, you know what Im going to say before you read it. A woman is just walking in as I am leaving. Imagine the visual if you will: a lone woman leaving a restroom with a camera in hand and a creepy smile on the lips. Then a stunned and embarrassed expression when she realizes that she isnt alone. I averted my eyes and quickly darted past her and down the hall, my quick exit only fueling her thoughts about my shenanigans in the restroom. Now
those would have been interesting thought bubbles to read.
The prettiest convention center this side of the Mississippi
The next stop is outside, where I could defrost before putting myself back into the freezer.
Back inside, I stop to talk to Michelle. How does the teacher prefer to be addressed? Ive been calling him Art before I realized he had a PhD.
Michelle gives me her award-winning grin and says, Naw, dont worry bout that. He doesnt have a preference. You can call him either Dr. Vandalay or Art, whatever you like.
Seriously. Could these people be any nicer?
But still. I felt suddenly awkward about calling him Art. And for the rest of the week, I wouldnt address him at all by name. Mostly I would just call him Truck Teacher or Ping Pong Ball Man or you with the pit stains. Thats much better than disrespecting him.
After we got back from lunch, it was time for another group project. Ping Pong Ball Man counted us off differently this time, but Jakie and I still ended up in different teams. Then we went into the next room to collect our thoughts and put together our second awful presentation. And once we all presented our findings to the rest of the teams, we once again voted for the least horrible group project.
Back at our desks, Truck Teacher announces that Team Blue is the winner this time, and he throws prizes at them. Once again my team was screwed out of gifts.
But the day got better. One With The Pit Stains announces that we have a guest presenter today, and it was a Disney Transportation and Distribution cast member. Boring job, yes. But with the Disney name attached to it, I assumed that it was bound to be somewhat interesting. Turns out, I was right. This guy had a lot of interesting things to say about his job
and what a job he had! It was much more involved than I ever imagined, getting merchandise in and out of Disney parks. I never realized the complexity of it all. And I know his one hour lecture barely brushed the surface of his responsibility. And leave it to Disney to do Transportation and Distribution the right way. I never would have believed this three days ago, but I was absolutely riveted to what this man had to say about his job. Then again, I am fascinated with Disney as a corporation. The way they run their business is superior to most, the way Walt intended.
Okay, Im not here to sell Disney because this audience is already sold. I just cannot adequately express just how much Disney continuously amazes me, both in front and behind the scenes.
For our next break, once again we are scurrying out the door to warm up. Yes, this would be a common theme for the next few days. When we got back from break today, Hershey Bars, Butterfingers, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, Pay Days, and strawberry smoothies were out. My god, they must want us to put on a hundred pounds this week. Or spike our blood sugar so high that we find it impossible to snooze during class. Some folks took a candy bar, some had a smoothie. I prided myself that I didnt take anything. Of course, I havent exactly been skipping the dessert line at lunch every day.
It was about this time I noticed that the double doors in the front of the room squeaked rather ominously when opening or shutting. Almost eerily. It was a slow, screechy sound that seemed out of place in such a pretty building. Even Art had mentioned that it sounded like we were in the Haunted Mansion. Pffft! A girl could only dream.
Soon enough it was time to go on our field trip to Orlando Post Office, where we could watch real-time transportation and distribution happenings right in front of our eyes. I had worked in a general mail facility one summer between college semesters, so I wasnt exactly unfamiliar with it all. But still
how can you NOT get excited about this trip? We all got on the charter bus and off it went.
Jakie sat a row behind me, next to a very friendly, albeit chatty woman. So, being the social reject that I am, I sat in the seat alone. Just me and my notepad. Just me, my notepad, and this moving bus. Just me and this gently rocking, vibrating bus
with the soft whirring engine, the soft chattering of eager folks on their way to the post office, and nothing to do but sit back and relax and think about
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
When I woke up, we still had not reached the post office. I dont know how long I was out, but this really seemed like the ride to nowhere. Well, Im glad I woke up because I was having a nightmare It was so Twilight Zone-like: I was in Disney World but instead of going to the parks or resorts, I was forced to go on a bus that just drove and drove forever. Oh wait.
Eventually the bus pulled into the post office parking lot and we disembarked. A gentleman from the post office greeted us as we gathered around the front of the building. He introduced himself, but in my drunken state of sleepiness, I didnt retain his name or position. Then he led us inside, through a secret door and down a hall. Our stop was a large meeting room, complete with 1973 linoleum squared floor, a dozen wooden folding tables, cork walls, and burned orange plastic Brady Bunch chairs. Scattered along the cork were aged, curling posters of safety tips and inspirational sayings. Leave it to a government agency to have all the latest in furnishings and style. I mean, where did they find this stuff? Ebay? Antique dealer? Garage sale? Garbage dump?
We all sat in the retro chairs that had seen rear ends since the 60s, and waited for our next instruction. Three more post office employees entered the room. We were divided into three smaller groups, each having our own personal tour guide of the facility.
I honestly dont remember much about the tour. I know, surprise surprise. All I know is that it was way better than any stupid Disney park tour
Disney could learn a thing or two from the post office. And I took some incredible pictures of the plant along the way. You should have seen the looks I got from the others when I started snapping pictures
like, what is worthy of remembering here? I snapped a few pictures (after getting clearance to do so), we walked through some of the facility (the place was freaking huge), and then we walked back to the Retro Room for a debriefing.
Awesome post office shot #1. Notice the absence of workers.
Awesome post office photo #2. Notice the abundance of antiquated machinery.
I was really hoping the tour would end with and each of you can take home a chair, courtesy of the United States Government. But no such luck there. Sigh. A girl can dream, I guess. Perhaps Ill save that dream for the ride home.
But it was not to be. I guess I was too upset about having to leave those vintage chairs behind to fall back asleep.
Coming up: Part 3. Why you should never order fish at the Flying Fish
Really, we're not related? 
The rush is over now--I have more time to devote to my favorite trip report!
