All that sympathy got me in the mood for some space travel. Imagine, if you will, the enthusiasm to hit another singles line since I am flying solo and all and quite eager to take advantage of every perk I can…and then running up to Mission:Space with all the intent in the world to jump in one. When I approach the cast member at the entrance, I frantically search the wait times. I saw a time for standby Orange, I saw a time for standby Green, I saw a return time for FastPass, and I saw a time for people with nothing better to do but wait in lines. However I didn’t see a singles time. Did I miss it? Is it around the corner where I can’t see it? Befuddled and confused, I asked the cast member where the singles line is.
An equally befuddled and confused cast member asked how long it’s been since I last rode this thing. “We haven’t had a singles line since Swing Out Sister had a hit.” Then he asked if I wanted the super-cool, gravity-defying, awesomeness-inspiring real space flight, or the wimpy wimpy store-brand ride that never leaves the ground.
“Do I LOOK like a ninety-year-old woman? Give me that orange badge thing, mister and get to working on fitting a singles line back into this queue.”
So my beloved singles line was gone forever. And the Green mission was put in its place.
Sigh.
But then I turn the corner. Behold! The Green mission line is as long as I-75. The line of Greenies stretched from here to Detroit. At first I stifled a snort, but then realized it was because of them that my single line was taken away. So instead of containing my pleasure, I breeze by the Greenies, taunting them by skipping through the queue, evil smile playing on my lips, and flashing my orange badge at each of them as I pass. Like it was a badge of honor. Or victory. Or courage. Mocking their wimpiness. Laughing and ridiculing their pansy ride and long wait.
Yeah. That will show them Greenies about messing up my singles line. In your FACE, Amy!
After my amazing, realistic, non-vomiting Orange orbit into space, I decide to leave Future World behind and start working my way toward…well, food, of course.
I walked to World Showcase. It’s bizarre to me how much this section of Epcot feels like I’m in a completely different park. The big part of that is the music. In Future World… I don’t know…it feels so much like my “home” park. I love the cheesy, futuristic music. I could sit and listen to it for hours. Ever since the first time I stepped into this park, I fell in love with it. It was January 1986. I was fifteen and it was my second trip to Disney World. (The first time in Disney World was in 1980, and EPCOT Center was still two years out from opening to the public.)
I remember how differently this park felt from Magic Kingdom, from the first moment of stepping inside. I didn’t know what to expect, and I only had one park to compare it to. Back in 1986, this cheesy futuristic place with all its cheesy attractions and music didn’t feel cheesy at all. It WAS the future, and it really impressed me. And as much as I loved Magic Kingdom, I preferred Epcot. It didn’t have near as many rides, and it certainly didn’t have that nostalgic appeal that Magic Kingdom did at the time. But I could ride World of Motion and Horizons and Spaceship Earth and Journey Into Imagination over and over and over and enjoy it every time. I loved the educational nature of this park, and I adored the futuristic atmosphere. It really appealed to me back then.
No matter how many times I come back to Disney World, Epcot still remains my “home” park. I pass the turnstiles and instantly I’m back to being a fifteen-year-old girl when I see reminders of the past and hear those synthesizers pulsing through my ears. I love its new age music, giant golf ball, 80s fonts, lighted sidewalks, dancing fountain, those spinning thingees, and just the general feel of it. And that’s just Future World.
I step into World Showcase and yes – it’s a whole different planet. With each country having something exceptional to offer, and each having its own unique atmosphere, it’s like you get a bunch of mini-parks within a park. I love that Disney had the forward thought to actually employ natives from each country…just another way to let yourself get immersed in the experience.
I have time to kill before my ADR, so I head into Canada (not the real Canada…that would be a long walk). I had made a promise to myself before I left home that since I didn’t have anyone else to tour with, that I would stop and appreciate the details, the hidden corners, the non-attraction entertainment that Disney had to offer. Sometimes that’s when you get rewarded the most here.
I first stop at Le Cellier. Not for the details. But because I’m still trying to taunt the Free Dining gods of the Fall. I step inside and say to the hostess, “I came here with the remote possibility that there may be an opening for one tonight.”
After I was laughed out of the place, I went downstairs to see the next showing of O Canada! (Not that I included an exclamation because of my anticipation/excitement for the show, but because one is included in the actual title.) I hear the film has been updated and I’m down with that. The old one was a bit tired.
Once again, I must have just missed the last show, so I sit down – alone – on a half-log and admire the dark walls and lack of detail. It was kind of weird being all alone down there, so I was pretty happy to see a family arrive. Soon enough, more people began to trickle in and before I knew it, there were a whole lotta people waiting for the next show to start.
Feeling generous, I gave up my seat for an elderly couple and walked up to the doors. A man and his teenage son were standing next to me. The son was wearing a grey hoodie. The man was holding a giant beer glass that, although empty, looked like it recently contained a whole lotta beer. Considering the age of the boy, I mused that the man must have been the one to empty the glass. That, and the man seemed pretty to be in a rather cheerful mood.
Eventually, that giant beer mug was too much to hold so he placed the glass inside his son’s hood. He told the boy not to move or he’ll drop the glass. The boy, who looked like he didn’t care one way or the other, just stood in his spot, hands thrust inside the hoodie’s pockets. This scenario made me giggle. The man hears me, looks up, and warns his son that I was eavesdropping, and that I looked like trouble. I reminded him that he was the one making his son carry the giant mug.
“Well…it’s heavy,” he complained.
Soon enough, we’re given the All Clear to move into the theatre. I flirt with an adorable little toddler before the show starts. She’s in her mother’s arms and keeps smiling at me and then turning around and throwing herself into her mom. She keeps doing this. It is really sweet. And it makes me miss my little guy back home a little more.
I thought that the new O Canada! film was actually kind of funny. Martin Short adds much-needed personality to such a dry show. I especially like when he remarks about how coincidental it is that his family owned a CircleVision camera when he was a boy during his hockey game. Funny stuff.
After the show I did wander around Canada a bit, exploring a few areas I never saw before. Then I left, thumbing my nose at Le Cellier as I passed. Stupid six-month waiting list.
It was about this time that I notice so many people were smiling at me. At first I think, what? Do I have a stringy booger hanging from my nose? Did someone place a Kick Me sign on my back? Are my bangs standing straight a la There’s Something About Mary? But when I smile back, I realize then that I’ve already been smiling. Which would explain things. There, plastered on my face, was my state of mind…like a window to my soul. I was happy. And people could clearly see that.
Isn’t that cool?
So I’m walking outside of Canada and walking toward United Kingdom to see if my friend David is home…until I sense that familiar pressure…and I turn to the stranger next to me and ask, “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?” And then I realize, oh silly, it’s just you today. You don’t need permission or company to use it, even from a stranger. Just go. Go directly to the bathroom. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
I walk into the bathroom and pick a stall. Any stall. The one I pick is a winner, apparently, because hanging on the hook on the wall is a Disney World shopping bag. It looks like it holds a small item, because it in’t very full or heavy at all. I poke my head outside of the stall, but there isn’t anyone around to ask. I don’t want to pry and actually open the bag because I have no intention of looking through someone else’s belongings. So after I am done with my business in the stall (sorry, no details today), I grab it and walk out. I hold the bag like I’m not claiming ownership of it. You know, instead of holding it tight against myself like it contains the cure for cancer, I hold it out away from my body like it contains the digested remains of yesterday’s sauerkraut. So that it indeed appears like I have no intention of keeping said contents. Just in case the owner is outside the stall after they realized they accidentally left it behind.
I wash my hands and walk out of the bathroom, still carrying the bag away from my body and making sure that my body language is shouting, “Not mine! Not keeping it! Trying to find its rightful owner!” I certainly don’t want to put out the “It’s mine! I bought it! It was with me the whole time!” vibe.
I immediately turn into the nearest store I could find. It is a little toy shop in the United Kingdom. I walk in and find two young gentlemen cast members kicking a soccer ball (sorry, football – when in Rome and all that) to each other. One of them kicks it harder than intended, and it bounces into my leg. “Sorry,” he says to me in that sexy (English? Scottish? Irish? Welsh?) accent. I kick it back.
“Do you have a Lost And Found here?” I ask, holding up my bag with my fingertips so as not to exhibit ownership. Do the UK folks call it that too? Or do they call it something else? Like Filch and Fancy? Bodge and Barmy? Dekko and Duff? (Yes, I went with alliterative nonsequitors.)
“Sure, what’s that you have?” The other asks. I hand him the bag and shrug.
“I don’t know. I found it in a bathroom stall right next door.”
“You should just keep it,” he says. Then he opens up the bag and says, “Well, let’s see then. Looks like you won…” he reaches in and pulls out the item. “A wooden spoon!”
The other boy laughs. There, in his hand is a plain wooden spoon. Seriously. Someone bought a wooden spoon in Disney World. That has to be the most expensive wooden spoon in Florida. Who would buy this here? And for what reason? It isn’t even stamped with a Mickey face or foreign phrase or creator’s signature. Nothing. That’s kind of weird. Unless they were going to use it on unruly children…then I suppose it would be a good reason to buy one. Anyway, here I am, handling it like it’s a precious gem or something, and being all careful not to peep inside the bag to encroach on someone else’s privacy.
I give myself one fierce pat on the back for my admirable moral code, anyway. Almost brings a tear to the eye, doesn’t it? My strong ethical practices?
[bowing to tumultuous applause] Thank you, thank you. You are all too kind.
So I marvel at my own goodness, wish the two boys pip pip and all that, and continue on my way back onto the streets of World Showcase.
Coming up: Part 5. Crossing the line between man and bum
look he's giving you! Ha!
But let's picture that smiley not smiling, shall we? 
I'm joining the league to get you to write another.
I also make them fetch them. Puts the living fear of God into them. Which is the whole point anyway.
Years ago, I received a copy of a copy of a copy of EP mood music some CM illegally swiped. Great working music! 
