Chapter 20: Soren Lorenson
I balanced a tray full of food and drinks in one hand while holding my daughter’s still kind of chubby hand in the other. While looking for a table. My sister and brother in law and their kids were “on their way,” which remains a phrase open to
WIDE interpretation. Unlike the Monroe Doctrine. So I needed a table large enough to hold all of us.
We found one and sat down and began unpacking, unwrapping and sanitizing. Then the lone cloud in the Florida sky moved and a bright, hot, angry sun shone large through the glass ceiling. Right on me. Burning the birdhouse in my soul. I don’t like sweating when I’m eating. Inside. So we re-wrapped and packed and went in search of a shady table.
Inside.
The incongruity was ironic.
I placed the tray on the table and we unpacked and unwrapped. We didn’t re-sanitize because in my estimation there hadn’t been enough germ exposure activity to warrant more anti-bacterial. And my neurosis has limits.
No sooner had I taken a bite of my sandwich and began wondering where the meat was under all of the fungus, then my daughter’s relapsing remitting course of whineritis flared up. I dismissed it for a few minutes as white noise and encouraged her to eat her food. She opened the negotiation by suggesting she just eat the meat off her sandwich. You may recall, my daughter doesn’t like bread except when she does. I quickly responded that we weren’t negotiating what she could eat and anyway, I dared her to find the meat on her sandwich.
She produced a piece of turkey. Which both surprised and impressed me. I was as of yet unable to find any such deli meat in my so-called sandwich. Having been bested by my four year old, I switched tactics and dangled dessert in front of her. Because like me, she cannot refuse a dessert.
I choked back about half of my salad sandwich and kept my eyes peeled on the upper walkway trying to spot my sister and her family in the parade of sweaty tourists pouring in like ants at a picnic. By now my daughter was complaining that she didn’t feel good. I was sure this was just another tactic that undoubtedly works on my weaker willed wife but would not work on me. And although I wouldn’t eat more than half of my crappy sandwich, dadgumit! she was going to finish hers. She nibbled on it some more and continued complaining that her head hurt. I gratuitously felt her forehead (because you can feel a headache?) and although she felt warm, I was certain that was merely a response to the heat. It was hot outside, and not much cooler inside the Land. It was like my dad was running the thermostat and it was kept at a balmy 82 degrees.
Still no sign of my sister. I finished my food and my drink. My daughter was still nibbling around the edges and complaining about her head. She crawled up into my lap where I helped her finish her lunch and kept an eye up above.
Nothing.
We continued to sit.
Like idiots.
Without even a refill on our drinks because I was unclear about the refill policy and also because I was afraid if we left our perch, my sister would walk in and we’d miss her and then she would call me and because we have Sprint, my phone would go straight to voice mail and I wouldn’t receive the voice mail for another hour maybe two. So we’d walk round and around the Land wasting even more time of this long anticipated vacation.
It’s exactly this kind of relaxation and rest that I work six days a week for.
Eventually, after a period of time hotly debated amongst my family members, my sister and her family arrived and we met at the bottom of the stairs to head to Soarin'. We got Fastpasses and then got in the 20 minute long standby line.
My wife and I first rode Soarin’ a few years ago in California Adventure. We loved it. It immediately became our favorite ride and during our time in
Disneyland we rode it again several more times. When we were in Disney World in 2005 we again rode Soarin’ several times and enjoyed it just as much. But my daughter was not tall enough to ride with us then. So she just heard us talk about it.
Between last trip and this one, she heard us talk about a lot of rides but Soarin’ was the one we talked about the most and the one we thought she’d probably be ready for this time. Earlier, when we were on Peter Pan, I explained that it was kind of like Soarin’ because you’re not really flying, it just feels like you are. She remained cautiously non-committal, kind of like Fred Thompson. For our part, we didn’t force the issue. We just reminded her that it was a lot of fun and not scary at all. I also told her that we would never force her to do anything she wasn’t ready to do. And when we got to EPCOT, if she wasn’t ready to ride Soarin’, she didn’t have to.
We’d just sell her to the gypsies instead.
Earlier in the day, when we walked past the Land, I asked her whether she was ready to ride Soarin’ and she told me she wanted to wait for her cousin to ride with her. My sister’s little girl is two weeks younger than my daughter but because she lives in Florida, has been to Disney World a good bit more than we have. She also has three older brothers and is less timid of so-called scary rides.
I’ll admit that when my daughter said she wanted to wait for her cousin, I thought it was a dodge. I was certain that once my sister and her family arrived, my daughter would have a new excuse not to ride. I prepared myself for that eventuality because I didn’t want to be disappointed when she opted not to ride on our favorite ride. And in
that moment, I didn’t want to turn into the ultimate jerkstore dad berating his kid for expressing natural child-like fear.
Especially when I was trying to pawn her off on the gypsies.
Yet, I was encouraged by her behavior in line. She wasn’t displaying the telltale nervous chatter. She was just playing with her cousins and having fun. I confess I was a little nervous, though. I wasn’t sure what I would do if once the ride started, my little girl began freaking out. I’m pretty protective of my kids. There's a shock. If she’s scared I want to comfort her and if something is hurting her, I want to remove it. But when you’re on a ride, you can’t very well get off in the middle. And on Soarin’, because of the seating, if she got scared, I couldn’t very well hold her and let her bury her head in my shoulder.
While we were waiting in the David Putty area, I knelt down and asked her if she was ready to ride. She said she was. I reminded her that it was make-believe and although it was going to feel like she was flying, she wasn’t really. “It’s just like Peter Pan, right?” she asked. “Kind of,” I said. “We’re gonna be up in the air, but not nearly as high as you think we’ll be. And I’m gonna be right next to you the whole time.”
“Okay,” she said.
No lie, I think I was now more anxious than she was.
We walked through the doors and found our row. I got her situated into her seat and stowed her Bambi in the basket underneath. Then I checked, and re-checked, and triple checked her seat belt.
“Daaaaaaaaaaa-ddy!”
I climbed into the seat next to her and squeezed her knee, “I’m right here if you get scared, okay?”
“I’m fine, Daddy,” she said as she turned her attention back to her cousin who was sitting on the other side.
“Listen,” I said. “In a few minutes, we’re gonna take off, so don’t be scared. It’s not scary at all.”
If she heard me, I do not know. She was busy hanging on her cousin’s every word.
I checked her belt again and although it felt secure, I kept my arm across her. Just in case. Although I’ve never read of a seatbelt malfunctioning on Soarin’ there has to be a first time. Besides, gravity is no match for the strength of my arm.
The ride started. The music begins. I realized I was holding my breath as our glider climbed up through the darkness, then through the clouds. My eyes were fixed on my little girl. It was dark and I couldn’t make out her face but eventually the light of the screen made clear she was not afraid.
“Daddy! I love this ride!” she shouted long about the time we were clearing the Golden Gate Bridge. I sat back in my seat but kept my arm on her leg.
Just in case.
She laughed and kicked her feet the way you do when you’re on Soarin’. I pointed out all the stuff I remembered. The skier who falls. The hang glider who's actually fake. The smell of oranges. The golf ball that comes right at your head. And the fireworks over Disneyland.
And as our glider swiftly moved back down to the floor, one voice above many could be heard shouting, “Daddy! Let’s go again! Let’s go again!”
Good thing we had Fastpasses.
As we waited in the Fastpass line, my little girl was running 90 to nothing telling me all about how cool Soarin’ was.
Man, I love Disney World!
After the second time she was saying, “again! again!” But I explained that we should wait and ride it again with Mommy. My wife was going to meet us in EPCOT in a little while and then we could ride Soren Lorenson with her.
"Daaaaa-dy! It's Soarin'."
"Soren Lorenson"
"Soarin'!"
"Soren Lorenson!"
We walked out into the Land and tried to decide what to do next.
Her headache was back and my sister thought she felt warm. So while they headed to Test Track, we headed in search of some medicine. Evidently we don't pack as much as the LaLas do. I asked a CM where the nearest first aid station was and she directed me towards what used to be called the Odyssey. I thought that would be good since we were supposed to meet the rest of the family at Test Track. But by the time we hit the fake wind farm in Innoventions Plaza, the reality that the first aid station was a complete hike and my little girl needed something right now forced me to detour into Mouse Gear.
For the most over-priced souvenir we bought all week: Children’s Tylenol.
My first car didn’t cost as much money as this small box of liquid acetaminophen. It was so expensive that the CM who sold it to me said, “Wow!” when she saw the price. She actually said, “I’m sorry.”
It was
THAT expensive.
I gave my daughter the medicine and walked around in Mouse Gear to try to cool her off. When she didn’t ask for, or seem interested in, any prizes, I knew things were serious.
My wife was already on her way here. On the slowest ever Disney busses. So leaving wasn’t an option.
Instead, I pushed the stroller across the plaza into the counter service place for some water. I reckoned she needed to be hydrated.
The lines were long. Not longish. Long. Long long. We got in line but the lines were just not moving. I just needed a bottle of water. Not lunch. But the lines were filled with people ordering whole lunches. I don’t typically think I’m above waiting my turn, but my daughter was hot. She didn’t look good. She needed water stat. So I moved my way through the line asking people to let me in front of them because my daughter was not feeling well and we needed a couple bottles of water. One look at the pathetic little cherub in the stroller I was pushing told the whole story. To a person, everyone agreed to let me go ahead of them. Once at the front of the line, as I waited for the CM to turn her attention to our line, I joked with last person who let me cut in front of him, “You’d be pretty hacked off if I ordered a full meal right now wouldn’t you?”
But I didn’t. I don’t play the sick child card very often, and when I do, it’s for a sincere reason. Once I paid for the water, I moved to the counter where I was stymied by the phlegmatic CMs who were not so interested in giving me our water. So I called out to one of them and asked for my water. Which she obliged.
If Soarin’ and people letting you cut in front of them are the best of Disney, what we experienced next is the worst.
After we got our water, we moved over out of the way so my daughter could drink it and cool off. While she drank, we witnessed the most ridiculous display of parenting I’ve seen since I was 4 and ditched my parents in the JCPenney and hid in the center of a clothing rack forcing my parents to eventually have me paged.
At least my parents didn’t stand in line shouting my name and yelling at each other to go get me.
Which is
exactly what these morons did.
Because when I'm in public I want to share in your personal squabbles.
I also want to hear the most intimate details of your cell phone conversations, want to smell your flatus, want to see pictures of “the baby” and want you to rub you fatty, sweaty, inexplicably hairy arm against mine.
And I want to know that the cat has not bitten the moron you left to watch him. Her. Whatever.
Mother Aubrey was in line. Aubrey was on the stairs. Jumping off the steps to the floor. Father Aubrey was somewhere. No one knew just then.
Mother Aubrey noticed Aubrey’s leap to the floor and shouted, “AUBREY! STOP THAT!” It was so loud, that everyone in the place stopped what they were doing.
Also, Mother Aubrey’s voice was so completely nasal and whiney that hearing her screech made me wonder when Disney added Staten Island to the World Showcase countries.
And what I’m sure is a pretty sounding name when spoken softly, sounded truly hideous when screeched over the din of the Electric Umbrella,
“Awwwwww-breeeee!”
Aurbrey, by the way, must have a hearing disorder. Either actual or learned. She was not responding to her mother’s screech. She climbed back up the stairs and jumped down again. And again. And again we were treated to:
“Awwwwww-breeeee!”
Of course, Mother Aubrey couldn’t leave her place in line and go properly discipline her child. Why should she?
Aubrey jumped again and Mother Aubrey again shouted:
“Awwwwww-breeeee!”
Surprising no one but Mother Aubrey, Aubrey did not respond to this heckling. Which prompted Mother Aubrey to shout for her knee-high tube sock wearing husband, forcing him out of hiding:
“Chaaaaaaaaar-ley! Go get her!”
From somewhere in the crowd, Charley must have responded to her, although if he spoke audibly, I didn’t hear him.
Mother Aubrey was apparently now frustrated with him as well, “Don’t just stand there! Go get her! Chaaaaaaaar-ley! Get her off the stairs. Now, Chaaaar-ley! Now!”
Charley appeared from amongst the crowd and walked over to Aubrey and jerked her off the stairs and told her to come stand with him.
Which she did.
For a good half a minute. Long enough for the people of Ohio to wonder how much longer they must be humiliated by the fine athletes from the SEC.
And then Aubrey was back on the stairs. Jumping to the floor. It occurs to me only now that maybe Aubrey wasn’t playing. Maybe she was trying to find a high enough stair to jump from.
Her dad disappeared back into the crowd and Mother Aubrey began shouting again.
“Awwwwww-breeeee!”
“Chaaaaaaaaar-ley! Go get her!”
Look it. I love dinner theatre as much as the next guy but even I had grown tired of this spectacle.
Yet I couldn’t look away.
So I got us the heck out of there. I called my wife to find out where she was and she said she was just coming through the turnstiles. We walked up front to meet her.
Kiss. Kiss. Hug. Hug.
“Hey, she feels warm to me,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. I just gave her some Children’s Tylenol.”
We discussed the huge cost of the Tylenol and why my daughter would now have to attend a state school instead of a private one and then we discussed what if anything we should do in EPCOT.
After surveying our options, we decided to leave. So my daughter could go rest. I felt bad for my wife. It had taken her an hour to get to EPCOT on the fakakta Disney busses. No sooner had she arrived then we were leaving. We walked up the Monorail ramp and caught the next Monorail to the TTC. From there, we caught a bus back to the Lodge. The whole thing took about 20 minutes.
Which was longer than the food I would eat later that night at Teppanyaki stayed inside my system.
But that’s really a story for another day.
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Click Here For Chapter Twenty-One
) In the past week I've gotten in fights at the movie theater and playground due to projectiles being thrown in the direction of my nephew. 
It's the new Easter Bunny.
