....the reason they came to Disney World.
Part 1. Trapped in a room with a bunch of Disney heretics
Brrrrrrrrring!
[Fumbling for phone in dark, picking up receiver.]
“Hello?...Mickey? Is that you? Mickey, if you’re in trouble, give me a sign.”
[singing]
“Stick to the stuff you know
It’s better by far to keep things as they are
Don't mess with the flow, no no
Stick to the status quo…”
Click.
That was a sign, no question. Mickey is in serious trouble. Someone replaced my coveted Mickey message with some crappy tween song that has nothing to do with Disney World. Like a back-alley street drug pusher, some Disney exec is trying to tempt us with their free snippet of overly marketed music in order to get us to want more and to buy this junk. And they’re destroying the wakeup call to do this pushing, elbowing Mickey out of the way so they can shove their next Tween-Of-The-Moment at us. Well, I’m not falling for their evil ploy. I’m not buying any Hanna Banana albums, I’m not renting any High Stool Musical movies. All they’re doing is sucking the joy out of the first waking moments in Disney World. I need to contact the authorities about this. Just as soon as I have Folgers in my cup.
I didn’t get my Patrick phone call last night because of all the rushing around we did. So I called Dan in the morning to get the scoop how it all went last night. Did the roof cave? Did Patrick refuse to go to bed until Mommy read him the Poop Book? Is he on a hunger strike until my return? No? It’s like I never left? Great. That’s gratitude for you.
Well, gentle reader, I know you’re all anxious to hear about the next day’s adventure in Trucking. And I promise not to disappoint. Our day begins with berries, disappointment, and a woefully inadequate poncho…
The first thing that Art the Truck Teacher says is that the Space Shuttle is launching tonight. I practically spit out bits of raspberries in surprise as I tell Jakie that I was all over this like Patrick to poop books. For the locals, I’m sure shuttle launches are fairly ho-hum by now, but for a newbie like myself, I was buzzing in my seat like a (no, not like THAT you perv) delirious bumblebee. I hear that the view from Disney World is quite decent.
The next thing Art says is that we all had a wonderful time in Epcot last night, and for those who missed it, you’re complete idiots to skip a free night at the park. Okay, he didn’t say that. But I definitely thought it. Because yes, I actually talked to some folks who chose to stay in their room last night. On purpose. With a free Epcot pass in their pocket. Can you freaking imagine? It boggles the mind, it does. Truly.
Then Art asks us if we ate anywhere interesting for dinner last night. I found out this was one thing that me and Truck Teacher had in common: a love for food, and an interest in other’s eating habits. I was temporarily possessed by the ghost of Arnold Horshack: My hand shoots into the air and I slobber over myself to get his attention. “Me me me….pick me pick me pick me…ooh ooh ooh!”
“Yes, you with the large nose and New York accent. Where did you eat last night?”
“Jakie and I ate at Prime Time.”
Art addresses the class and says, “That’s a great place to eat folks, and if ya’ll haven’t been there you really should. It’s set up like a 50’s diner and the wait staff really get into character there and mess with you. Anyone else?”
I turn around in my seat and anxiously look around to hear other tales of culinary adventure. I wanted to know what other magical restaurants were frequented last night. I wanted to hear stories of culinary delight and fantasy in the World that Walt built.
Not one hand is raised. Somewhere in back, a cricket chirped.
Seriously, people. I’m beginning to think that I’m the only one here who faked a reason to take this class. I’m so ashamed of you guys. Skipping free visits to Epcot and not eating at any Disney establishments. You probably didn’t even bring a camera. I’m beginning to suspect you all would take this class if it was offered in the middle of Iowa. Disney heretics, all of you! No Disney for you, one year!
Truck Teacher Art then tells us that they have a special treat for us: we have a field trip this afternoon! We’re going to the post office distribution center! Yay! That is exactly how I would spend an afternoon in Orlando, given all the choices.
Soon enough, Art is back to talking about the Joy of Warehousing, and the air is slowly cooling down the room to a comfortable 14 degrees. Fahrenheit. I wrap my thin poncho around my shoulders and shiver. My fingernails and toenails start to turn blue. My nose is the perfect temperature for a Golden Retriever. The contrast between inside and outside is almost laughable: outside it’s egg-frying-on-the-sidewalk weather: 90+ degrees, hot, muggy, balmy. Inside the room it’s a meat locker: ice crystals dangling from our noses and the smell of raw bacon in the air. I can’t even imagine the cost of keeping the room this cold in the blistering heat, but it is probably the reason the class cost so much. After awhile, even the men are starting to mutter to themselves about the frigid conditions. Art, who must be in a different room than the rest of us, seems completely oblivious to the temperature. As he lectures, he wipes his brow as his armpit stains are slowly spreading outward. Maybe I should get up there and teach; apparently it’s labor-intensive.
It is so cold in there (how cold was it?) that as soon as Art tells us it’s break time, just about everyone beelines outside to the balmy hot air, desperate to feel the hot rays of the sun again. As soon as I step outside, I inhale the muggy oxygen and dive for a bench in the sun. My extremities are so cold. Even in this heat, it will take awhile to thaw them out. I’ll give Art this much: his climate conditions are keeping me awake.
When the bell rings and recess was over, we give a collective groan and wearily drag our thawing butts back to the classroom. I sit down at my desk and happened to glance at the binder sitting in front of me. It was the introductory slide to class: it had the class name, location, and the instructor’s name… Art Vandalay, PhD.
Oops. Totally missed that “PhD” part. I’ve been calling him “Art” for the past two days. I may not be a smart man, but I do believe that is disrespectful. I mean, he never corrected me or shoved me in a corner and put a dunce cap on me or smacked me with a ruler, but that’s not right. And that’s when I noticed how the others were addressing him, mostly as “Dr. Vandalay.” Great. Now he’s probably going to flunk me. And my boss will never send me to Disney World ever again.
So it’s like 11:30 or so, Truck Teacher Art is in the middle of talking about something related to warehousing, and my stomach is complaining so loudly (how loud was it?) that I thought the teacher might tell me to keep quiet during class. I eat on a schedule (think low blood sugar issues) and don’t normally wait this long for lunch. So when 12:00 rolls around, the stomach growling gets even louder, and quite frankly by now I’m hoping it interrupts the teacher’s lecture.
At 12:30 I actually hear someone else’s stomach rumbling. I turn to Jakie and whisper, “Did you hear that?” Well, apparently Art didn’t. He clicks to the next slide and makes no indication like he’s even thinking about lunch…no tummy-patting, no watch-glancing, no “I sure could eat that podium.” Nothing. And it is taking every effort I have to not jump up and yell, “Let’s eat already!” I take my meals very seriously.
Next slide. Click. “Here we have a truck pulling into the bay.”
Click. “Here we have a truck unloading its contents.”
Click. “Here we have Hucifer eating those contents. Boy, look at her go. She must really be hungry.”
Click. “Here we have the truck leaving the bay.”
I don’t remember what time he finally quit yapping. In my delirious state of hunger, I’m surprised that I even stayed conscious. But, all good lectures must break for lunch eventually, and no sooner did he mention lunch being served in the next room, and I was jumping out of my seat and flipping over tables to get to the door.
Because of the unfortunate seating arrangement, Jakie and I are located furthest from the door. So, despite my Chariots of Fire sprint to the buffet, I was still about 6 people deep in the food line. Jakie, however, is first in line…she apparently sprints in faster slow motion than me. I hop impatiently in place while I wait for the slowpokes in front of me to fill their plates and move on, all the time hoping that they’ll see my urgency and let me go ahead of them. When it’s my turn, I rush through the line as I pile food on my plate.
I didn’t offend or bore anyone at lunch today, and apparently it’s as noteworthy as not getting lost.
I also didn’t get any amazing Special Vegetarian Meal made in my honor. The buffet line had Mexican food, so there was plenty of food for me there. So no vegetarian lasagna today. Boo.
Coming up: Part 2. The Brady Bunch sat here
When I went I just made stuff up when they asked.....Not even a Sticker, did I get! Come on I deserved at least a "sticker" for celebrating "my successful runner up to employee of the month for 3 stinkin months in a row"!
Sadly YES! Lets just say Disunc's Nephew is no longer "welcomed" at the 50's Prime Time Cafe! Mama Clara just provoked a very hot, very tired 11 year old boy...a bit oo much about finishing his string beans one day!
Good Save!
That's not Tim. And it isn't Jakie. And her name isn't LuLu. And she's not 33. It's anyone's guess what her screen name really means.
Whadda pain!
Besides..thats what they all say!
exhasberated and under his breath (which for most people is normal everyday speaking tone) he had a suggestion for where Mom can place the leftover StringBeans.
