PART SIX:
The alarm rings. I flop over on my stomach, flailing blearily in the general direction of the nightstand to find the clock. Until I have my contacts in, the room is just a colorful blur. No Mickey wake-up call today. I really wasn’t in the mood to be greeted by Stitch. Lowell and I are old people. From the Pre-Stitch era. Why do I feel like I have just said that we were born during the Pleistocene epoch.
“Race you to the shower,” I tell Lowell.
“Okay, you’ll need to run very fast.”
Neither of us move.
“I’ll just lie here a little longer, while you shower, but I’ll be wishing that it was me in there.”
“Decent of you.”
Silence. No movement.
Knowing that we have an early day, and can’t afford the luxury of lolling about in bed, we scrape up enough energy to roll out of our respective sides of the bed and start groggily moving about, all the while bumping into unfamiliar objects in unfamiliar places. Tomorrow we will wake up at the Wilderness Lodge and there will be a whole new room full of obstacles to bump into.
I want to eat breakfast early, because we need to get to Epcot before it opens for early entry today, and I still have to catch up with bell services and make arrangements for our luggage to be delivered to the Wilderness Lodge. I look out the window. It’s still quite dark. By the time we head to breakfast it should be light enough to take a few more pictures of the resort.
We shower, dress, and repack the few items taken from our suitcase and duffel. Lowell is wearing a dark green T-shirt with a giant Tigger bouncing on his tail. My T-shirt is pink and sports the whole gang: Tigger, Eeyore, Piglet, and Pooh. I was surprised last night at how few people were wearing character clothing. Good thing we don’t mind standing out in a crowd.
And now, at the start of the first full day of our whirlwind trip, it is important that we begin it correctly, because we don’t have much time. And we need to make the most of it. Unlike many people who come home and say that time flew by, and their trip was much too short, practically over before it began, when we Lucky Fourteens travel, time goes slowly. We get to the end of a week’s vacation and it feels we have been gone at least ten days, maybe two weeks. A four day trip feels like a week. It is all due to a strange, unexplained phenomenon that only seems to work during vacations. We discovered it a number of years ago. We call it the Time Dilation Effect. This phenomenon appears to be primarily an internal perception, although it is possible that we have somehow moved within the space-time continuum, and co-exist within our own universe as well as a parallel universe in which vacation time moves at a slower rate.
In rare cases, we believe the Time Dilation Effect can intrude on the actual physical world, at least briefly, with a ripple effect felt by entire groups of vacationers.
Perhaps you have unwittingly seen evidence of this. You are at the Magic Kingdom, moving through the crowd intent on reaching the next attraction when suddenly you are blocked by a person, or an entire family, that is just standing there. Not moving. Going nowhere. Simply blocking traffic for no apparent reason while the sea of people goes around them.
Ah ha! The Time Dilation Effect!
In their own perception, they are moving and speaking at a normal rate, whereas whatever is going on around them is briefly out of sync. Further evidence: if you say something rude to the people-obstacles, like calling attention to the fact that blocking traffic can be hazardous to their own well being as well as an annoyance to others, you will likely get a blank look. They will have no idea what you are babbling about. I rest my case.
So, Lowell and I must enter into the Time Dilation Field this morning to stretch our vacation. Persons with a natural inclination for Time Dilation can usually manage this by sinking into the depths of their own minds and finding that dark, quiet place where there are no jobs or busses or car pools, no bills and busy schedules, a place where all is still and peaceful, and time seems to slow. If this does not come naturally, it sometimes helps to stand and wrap your arms tightly about yourself, close your eyes, then spin as fast as you can in a Counter-Clockwise direction until you feel dizzy and disoriented. When you open your eyes, you should observe that the room is spinning and objects appear somewhat blurry at the edges. This indicates that you have successfully achieved Time Dilation.
Very good. You will note that this effect will also impact my writing (and you as the reader), and the trip report will begin to slooooooooowwww and be filled with a deeeepppppth of descrippption and detailss that would norrrrmally not be ffound in a trip repoooort.
There now, the Time Dilation transitioning effect is generally brief, and not too disorienting for the reader, although some people feel temporary nausea. I'll wait a moment while you adjust.
The TDE is useful as most people have seven or more days to describe what they did and saw, and they can spend several weeks writing about these events. Unfortunately Lowell and I had only two half days and two whole days to enjoy, and if I am going to have enough material to entertain myself (and you as well) for a number of episodes, well, you can see how the Time Dilation Effect would be useful.
Lowell moves one of the chairs from the table by the window, places it against the wall, and stacks our small tweed suitcase and duffel bag on it where they can be easily spotted when Bell Services comes to retrieve them. Then off we go.
I stand on the balcony for a moment and take a picture. The sky shows blue through floating layers of clouds, glowing softly with the promise of sunshine.
It will be a fine, warm day. Of course. Because it is always unseasonably warm and nice, and seldom rains, when the Lucky Fourteens go on vacation, but that doesn’t mean we have stopped appreciating it.
Poor Lowell has to take the scenic route to the Intermission Food Court so I can snap pictures for my “imaginary friends” on the DIS.
He helps me find “just the right angle” for each shot, and trails along patiently while I admire the garden near the Country Fair section, which has a lot of cactus, (not a proper term – a lot of cactus), cacti, (doesn’t look right, hmmm) we usually call them: cactussusses. There is an inviting area here with picnic tables.
We approach Melody Hall which houses the lobby, food court and gift shop, with me still expounding on the relative merits of each of the All Stars Resorts and then contrasting them to Pop Century, none of which I have ever seen before, but I have a vast mental compendium of data assimilated from the DIS which is almost as good as first hand knowledge.
I didn’t take any notes, but as I recall, the food court opens at 6:00 for people to get pre-made bakery items and drinks, but the cooks don’t arrive to make waffles and omelettes etc. until 7:00. We peek inside and see a few people seated eating, but the food court is blissfully deserted. I had heard horror stories of vast noisy crowds and how hard it could be to find a table. Maybe ASMu is simply less crowded, or maybe the lack of people is due to the fact that we are arriving earlier than most families since we need to make the early opening at Epcot. It is only about ten to seven.
“Should we catch bell services now, before breakfast? Lowell asks.
“Yes, good idea. I’d like to get that out of the way. I was hoping we could arrange it by phone, but a CM told me yesterday we needed to speak to them today in person.”
I find a CM at reception who is not occupied and ask where we can find someone from bell services to arrange the luggage transfer.
“Outside those doors.” She gestures to our right. “But no one will be there right now. They don’t start work until 7:00.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, disappointed. No point wasting ten minutes standing around, so we might as well eat breakfast. We’ll have to stop back afterward and take care of it quickly. I want to be on the bus by 7:30. Epcot opens at 8:00.
It’s still a few minutes before 7:00 which is a good thing, because the cooks are gathering at the omelet/waffle station, and we are among the first in line, waiting to place our order as soon as they are ready. In another few minutes, a lot more hungry people filter in.
I have never in my life had a Mickey Waffle, a deficiency I am about to rectify. There are a few people ahead of me, who are ordering waffles, mostly children’s Mickey waffles. Until now, I have been so hopelessly ignorant about Mickey waffles, that I was unaware they came in more than one variety. I place my order for a Mickey waffle and Lowell orders an omelet. We watched the last two omelets being made and they look very good. Not swimming in butter, like some places we’ve been.
I begin to feel sorry for the cooks as I listen to the orders being placed. Three more omelets, four children’s waffles, one more adult waffle. They are going as fast as they can and it’s not fast enough. The egg and waffle assembly line clogs up completely when the woman ahead of us huffs over the fact that her order is up and they are the WRONG Mickey waffles. There is only one waffle iron making the child-sized portion, which is three small Mickey heads, and they made her order with adult size waffles. Back to the waffle iron to make more waffles.
The same problem occurs to the man next in line. Instead of three servings of children’s waffles, he gets one large and one set of small waffles which he had planned to share among three children. An easy solution would be a quick and bloodless cranial operation, severing Mickey’s head into two portions. He decides his kids won’t go for that, and reorders the child-sized waffles.
“I’ll take one of those,” I speak up, waving my hand toward the abandoned adult Mickey waffle. A serving lady hands me my waffle and bacon and calls out for any other takers on the remaining waffles. More anxious hands wave. Lowell gets his omelet plate and we head for a booth.
I rather like the colorful decor here. It’s sort of a 50s deco style. Whatever it is, it’s fun and cheerful, and puts me in a good mood. I find it hard to imagine all these tables and booths full. We had passed the food court last night on our way to the bus stop and it wasn't packed then, either, so maybe All Star Music is the neglected step-child of the Value Resorts, which is great if you don’t like crowds.
When I’m in a hurry I become disorganized, which makes everything take even longer, so that I’m even more in a hurry, which makes me increasingly stupid and distracted. We get ready to eat. Looks good. Er umm utensils might be a good idea. And napkins. Lowell leaves the table in search of those items. He comes back with them and I realize I have no syrup. I get up and circle the drink dispenser and condiment area looking in vain for syrup. I see on a side table bottles of sugar-free syrup. Aaacccckkkk! Unthinkable. After circling another time or two, someone points me to the big metal dispensers that contain syrup. On my own I would have continued circling endlessly looking for bottles or for individual size serving tubs. Thank you kind stranger. Have a magical day. I hurry back to the table. So much for a nice hot breakfast. My Mickey waffle is getting a head cold.
I try to let the Time Dilation Effect kick in, because I want to enjoy my first-ever Mickey waffle and the whole colorful ambiance of this place. The bell hops and the bus get crowded into their rightful place, at the back of my mind. I get a few bites of Lowell’s eggs and he tastes my waffle, because we have no class, and we like to share our food. I think maybe I should be grooming Lowell for our Sunday Afternoon Tea at the Grand Floridian. Food swapping is probably frowned upon there. And tea slurping. Which could be a problem. Lowell is, by nature, a slurper. He slurps coffee. And his breakfast cereal. He insists that it tastes better that way. According to him, the mixture of air with the food, and breathing in while tasting it, enhances the flavor.
We had taken his oldest girl on vacation with us to the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains in October. She lives with his ex-wife, and the three kids make day visits, but they like to go home to their own rooms and “stuff” and don't like to spend over-nights. This was the first time to spend an extended amount of time together, and I had an irrational concern that his daughter would have breakfast with us the first day at our timeshare condo and be surprised and embarrassed that her dad slurps his coffee and cereal. We made it ten minutes into our first breakfast before I broke out into hysterical laughter.
Oh my gosh, it was hereditary!
She slurped her cereal too, just exactly as he did. It was like two-part harmony listening to them. And like Lowell, she wasn’t even aware that she was slurping until I pointed it out to her.
Pardon the digression. We finish breakfast and go in search of the bell hops. By now they are stationed outside and we quickly explain to the nice lady (wo)manning the desk that we are headed to Epcot to check out the Food and Wine Festival, and that we would like our luggage transferred to the Wilderness Lodge today. She is all smiles and informs us that she is headed to Epcot today, too, and that we absolutely must try the plum wine. She is in ecstasies over plum wine, extolling it’s excellence and her enjoyment of it in great detail, to the extent that I begin hoping the subject will ever come back around to our luggage.
“About the luggage,” I prod, with a patient smile.
“Oh, yes. “I’ll mark it down. Room 3141. Going to the Wilderness Lodge. They don’t make any luggage deliveries until after 1:30, so it will be about 3:00 when it arrives.” She scribbles a note, then looks up. “Have you left the luggage on top of the table? With the curtains drawn so they can see it when they come?”
I give her a worried look, “Well, no. No one said anything about leaving it anywhere in particular. Should we go back and move it?”
“Are you going to Epcot right now?”
“Yes. It’s early entry today, and we had hoped to be on our way by now.”
She nods understandingly. “Never mind then. Just leave it there.”
“So, they’ll pick it up. Even though it’s not on the table in front of the window where they can see it?” I say, trying to reassure myself.
“The luggage is right on a chair near the door,” Lowell tells her.
Why did there have to be a set procedure that no one had told us about in advance? That we were not following?
“Can’t they find the luggage just by the room number?” Lowell asks me, a bit disconcerted, as we walk to the bus stop. “What do they do, walk down every hallway, looking in windows until they see it?”
“Maybe they want it on the table so they don’t have to look for it when they get inside the room,” I say, then realize how silly that sounds. Right. So they don't have to look for it. This is the All Stars. With the smallest rooms on Disney property. It’s not like they walk in, have to cross the living room, the formal dining room, then get to the stairs, leading to the master bedroom, which is at the top on the right, just past the linen closet, next to the other two bedrooms, right before the servant’s quarters.
It’s only one room, people!
I’m a bit nervous about the whole luggage delivery process now, but I must put it behind me because the Epcot bus is just pulling in, and we’re off on our first day’s adventure.
Next Episode: Epcot, and a morning of Rides, Rides, Rides!
Hi Kay!! 
so if you or anyone else knows the answer to that, please pass it along. Maybe it's a secret test to monitor how many guests have already been indoctrinated by Disney to follow random, non-sensical orders, as this conditioning will prove very useful once guests reach the parks, gift shops and hotels. 
