DAY 4: DISNEY SPRINGS/TRAVEL #2
We waste no time packing the car. My mother informs us that my brother's flight was delayed three hours. I have no sympathy to spare.
Our flight doesn't leave until the evening, so we need to find some way to waste more time. We head to Disney Springs to meet up with my wife's lifelong friend. Somehow we didn't know until now that she's a Disney cast member. I offer my apologies, for what little they matter. But more importantly, we have a Disney expert in our group. I can shut down my brain and wait for the caffeine to kick in. Somebody besides my SIL can take point for a while.
We head to World of Disney to pick out souvenirs. I'm little more than a walking shopping cart. The child wants her own Minnie ears? Sure. A puzzle of the stretching room from Haunted Mansion? Fine. A Zero shoulder buddy? Cute. The umpteenth stuffie from this trip? Whatevs. The trinkets keep manifesting in my hands, I do not know from where. It's not until checkout that something is amiss. Wait, how many digits in the total? WARNING! WARNING! GET THAT BRAIN BOOTED BACK UP, STAT!
My wallet lighter but my hands heavier, we grab a bite to eat from Chicken Guy. It's good. Way more subdued than anything I'd expect from Guy "FLAVORTOWN!!!!" Fieri.
The child begins to whine about her feet. Me too offspring, but we must press on. Time will not kill itself, but I wish it could.
The complaints from the little one continue to build. I offer to buy a milkshake to calm her. My daughter eagerly asks for strawberry, and I quickly remind that she always asks for strawberry even though she HATES strawberry. She settles on chocolate. Two sips later and she decides she doesn't like chocolate either. My smile masks the screaming on the inside.
We head to the Dole Whip stand. They should have vanilla, and the pineapple will sate my fury. The cast member tells us they're out of lemon. I inquire if they have vanilla. She happily confirms that yes, they do indeed offer the most inoffensive flavor. We reach the counter. The vanilla soft serve machine is broken. The cast member's betrayal stings deeper than my sunburn.
Is this hell? I'm convinced that I died at some point on this trip, and I'll be trapped in Walt's legacy for the rest of eternity. Did I smack my head on the hill for Pirates? If that's the case, I can only hope my corpse defecated all over the bench before they hauled it away.
We've all reached our limit. We head to the airport. We've arrived too early, and we need to wait nine minutes before we can check our bag. The nexus of suffering refuses to let us escape.
The flight is a welcome moment of calm. I spend it watching Mad Max: Fury Road, a grim reminder of the trip that I've just completed.
We reach our destination. Six flights must all share a single baggage claim. They graciously open a second, but can't decide which flights will be dumped on the belt. A hundred tired travelers groan in unison with each announcement. The shared disappointment makes me feel as though I'm not alone in this world.
As theme park veterans, we were vigilant about taking photos of our parking spots throughout this trip. Unfortunately, we forgot to take ONE. I run around in the rain, pounding the car alarm button praying to hear a honk. If my little hatchback is buried underneath some lifted pickup truck, it would be the cherry on top of this turd sundae.
The drive home is uneventful. The gas station is uneventful. The gas station hot dogs, while a poor life decision, are also uneventful. Uneventful is good. Uneventful can't hurt me.
I let out an audible grunt when I crash on the couch.
It's finally over.
FINAL THOUGHTS
it's more than enough without EP too. If I were you I would take that time to spread out things so you don't become bored, take it slower, rather than rush rush rush.
