Here is a really funny trip report for your reading pleasure.
http://www.disboards.com/showthread.php?t=1899615
Here is an excerpt:
~~~~Flashback
Grandpa (then just my Dad) was driving me home from college for the break. Maybe he was driving me back. I do not remember. Mother was not along for the ride. I had consumed an enormous amount of soda. Was I drinking right out of the liter? It is possible. I was a wild cannon.
Now Dad, he is one of those guys that was not really interested in stopping for restroom breaks.
Now me, I was the kind of girl that wanted a break the minute I thought I might start to think about maybe using the potty. :drinking2
Conversations went like this:
Me~”Dad, I have to pee”
Dad~” Oh, for God’s sakes, We stopped two exits ago!” Exasperated sighing.
Poor dads. Us daughters have a secret weapon. Silence. We wait. And no matter how loud the dad sighs, no matter how high he throws his hands in despair. He is going to stop. Because he is a good guy. I am actually surprised how much fight he still had in him by the time I got to college. Three crazy woman were his life’s work.
So, needless to say, I was thrilled that we were stopping for lunch. Which could be a meal and a potty.
I was in the danger zone. You know when every bump feels like a giant is pinching your bladder like an engorged tick on his favorite dog? You can only see yellow?
I scrambled to the restaurant before Dad had even come to a complete stop. I fly to the restrooms.
There are three one seat toilets. A Men’s, a Woman’s and a Buffet (Man/woman/baby/handicapped). I try the ladies. Locked. I try the Mens. Locked. I turn and look at the restaurant. It is packed. And it is boring. No ambience music. Nothing to look at.
Except for the frantic blond trying the doors like I am in Mission Impossible looking to get away from Tom Cruise. I look at my last option. The buffet. I am not a fan of using the buffet. It is not right to clog up a handicapped bathroom with an able butt. I wait. I tap. What in God’s name are these people doing in these bathrooms. The giant squeezes harder. That is it. I have to buffet it.
I bust in the door and shut it behind me. The door could not be any flimsier. It was the negligee of doors. I think two pieces of paper glued together would be thicker than this door.
I push in the lock. Don’t you love when you can’t tell if it is clicked? I want my locks to be definite. Unlocked it should look like an outtie belly button. Locked it should look like a innie bellybutton. This lock was an inbetweenie. Damn it.
I finally see the potty. The answer to my prayers. The bathroom was the size of a football field. For Crap’s sake, when you have a flimsy inbetweenie locked bathroom door you want to be seated close, so if the door accidently flies open, you can smack it with your super fast hand. There is no faster hand than the “I can reach the door from the potty and oh crap it is opening” hand. It is like a miracle of speed and ferociousness. I love that hand.
I take the trek to the potty. I am required to hire a Sherpa and spend some time at base camp. Oregon trail wagons mosey by on my way to the toilet.
I sit down. Heaven. I watch the door like it is a bear riddled with rabies. Watchful. I could feel it coming.
The paper thin door busts open. I am now sharing the buffet with an older man I have never seen before.
Isn’t that an awkward moment? Staring into the eyes of a stranger from the toilet.
And Thank God. Although the bathroom is huge, cavernous, colossal, Every stinking person in that crowded, quiet, bored restaurant had a great view. And they knew. They knew this old dude was going to bust in on me. They saw me choose the buffet. Even though I did not meet the requirements of the signage. I bet they were thinking “See? Karma. That’s what happens.”
So the old dude is staring at me staring at him. I have time on my hands now. I find myself praying. “Dear God, I know I deserved this, considering the signage, but please, please, let this man close the door behind him when he leaves.”
I will never forget what he decided to do next.
He looked at me. Then he looked at the signage. Then he looked at me again.
Then we shared another awkward moment.
Later, when I had moved on my life, I often wondered what he was trying to gather from the door. Did he think he had any options? If it had said “Men’s Room” was he allowed to bounce me out like a fighting patron in a bar?
I finally spoke up. I decided to go with the obvious. “Occupied”. He stepped out and, thank you Jesus, closed the door.
I found my father sitting at a table blissfully unaware of my horrible moments. We proceeded to eat lunch. I kept my eyes on my plate and refused to look up.
So entertaining!
We can either see how much he heals on his own or spend $450 for surgery within the next few weeks that likely will not give him back 100% use of his leg. He can get around OK on 3 legs, but he is just so pitiful at times. Poor gimpy boy. I think he misses his mama. But at least she finally got a chance to see some of the sights in DC yesterday.
When he spent the night at a friends we had to tell him it wasn't normal to take all his clothes off to sleep and he had to stay dressed.
I even called AAA last night to see if they might have some rooms left in their block. No luck.
I really don't mind, it is exercise for me. Just don't want other kids teasing them that I walk with them. Getting them after school is my favourite because they are excited to tell me about their day and I get to socialize with other mothers while I am waiting for them to come out. 
But on the bright side, we will keep vacationing at WDW for the next few years (if we vacation at all) because everytime I price something else it ends up being the same or more and I like Disney. 
