ZZUB
Roll Tide, Mean It
- Joined
- May 9, 2003
- Messages
- 947
Chapter Four: Twirl the Napkin, Twirl the World
We love Chef Mickey’s.
We probably shouldn’t.
As I sit here, detached by thousands of miles and several weeks from our dinner there, I can think of many things wrong with it. To begin with, the service was abysmal, horrendous, dreadful and three other words that also describe what Kris Kristopherson’s voice sounds like.
Our waitress happened to look like Kris Kristopherson as well.
But love Chef Mickey’s we do. And we try to eat there on the first night of our trip. That was a good idea back in the day when we lived on the east coast and were arriving in Disney World after a few hours in the car. It is a less spectacular idea now that we live on the left coast and arrive in Disney World only after getting up early and being crammed into two planes, losing a Coconut, trying to find a Coconut, waiting endlessly on a bus and then being spilled into the lobby of the Wilderness Lodge. So now we're thinking that maybe eating at Chef Mick’s on the first night is no longer a good idea.
But that is now, this was then.
Once we finished surveying our room, ripping into the gift basket, sanitizing everything. Twice. And taking pictures, we “freshened up,” whatever the heck that means. Then we headed for the lobby. We had 8:00 reservations at Chef Mickey’s so we had some time for an initial assault from the Mercantile.
It was our first night, and we had been upgraded, and the view was the opposite, and all of that. But that’s not why we willfully surrendered to the Mercantile’s wiles. No, we were drawn to its siren song because we’re idiots. Idiots who seemingly can’t get enough Disney crapola.
Actually, the first walk through is fun. We we’re in a great mood. We generally don't buy anything on the first night. We look. We touch. We smell. I smell. I’m a smeller. I’m a squeezer and a smeller. Which sometimes gets weird. Especially at the grocery store. They’re a little funny about squeezing and smelling the bread. And donuts.
We didn’t have a lot of time, so we left the Merc, our Key to the World unscathed, and walked down the ramp, out the door, into the blessed humidity and out the boardwalk toward the dock. My wife wondered where the ducks were. I looked at my watch and reminded her it was their break time. Duh. Once at the boat dock, we met and started talking with a nice couple and their 5 kids. They looked tired. Fancy that.
Our boat arrived and after a little tour of Bay Lake (read: a stopover at Ft. Wilderness), we arrived at the Contemporary. I understand there are people who don’t like this hotel. They’re entitled to be wrong. And I am continuing my experiment of not correcting stupid people in their wrongness. However, I think the Contemporary is beautiful. It is one of three structures which “are” Disney World for me. And although I’ve never stayed there, I try to go there on every trip.
Once inside, we rode up to the Fourth Floor and got in line to check in at Chef Mick’s.
For us, this line always seems long. And slow moving. Like The English Patient. But with more of a plot. The family in front of us was having issues. Problems. And odors. While I resisted a squeeze of the very squishable looking mom, the smells were unavoidable.
Can’t we agree on mandatory deodorization at the turnstiles and front doors of the hotels? I’ll take one for the team if it means my nose is never assaulted by the unwashed, deep fried, oversmoked again.
There appeared to be 20 of them. All of them in a large, pimple like cluster, right in front of us. Once they got to the podium, they all began talking at the poor CM. Loudly. He eventually solved their problem and sent them off to stand behind a large dish. We checked in with little fanfare. I asked about how long before our table was ready and he said about 15 minutes. He tried to send us to the large dish but I told him I would sooner French kiss Nancy Pelosi than stand for that picture. He laughed nervously, and wondered who Nancy Pelosi was. We headed off to BVG. Because we’re the ZZUBs and we love us some BVG.
As we walked around the store looking at the Disney Crap they sell and comparing it in our minds with the crap we had just seen at the Merc, I noticed a woman sitting on the floor.
She was naked.
From the waist down.
Welcome to Disney World!
I wondered what Paris Hilton was doing in the Contemporary. This woman seemed too old to be a young, boozy heiress. I tapped my wife and directed her eyes toward the Naked Woman. She did a picture perfect double take. And then she moved in for a closer inspection. I kept my distance because I avoid naked women who aren’t my wife. For her part, my wife managed to get close enough to confirm that Naked Woman was in fact naked from the waist down. Or wearing a barely visible thong. Either way, Mrs. Z was grossed out.
“Her butt is on that nasty floor!” she shrieked.
”I know,” I said. “Think of all the nasty germs that she’s exposing herself to.”
“Forget that! We walk on this floor! What if her butt diseases get on our feet?!”
Our coaster started buzzing so we had to leave for dinner before Naked Woman removed her tuchis from the floor. Still, my wife was certain she'd now have to burn her new sandals. I tried to allay her fears. I pointed out that Naked Woman was planted, so to speak, in one spot. And our shoes had not yet trod where Naked Woman hadn’t feared to bare. Or something like that.
We walked back up to the podium and turned in our no-longer blinking coaster. We were shown to our table which was right by the buffet. Baby ZZUB seems to be intolerant of Auburn Fans, Rosie O'Donnell and lactose. So my wife avoids any dairy or dairy products. I had this noted on all of our ADRs and sure enough, right after we sat down, someone who purported to be the chef came out to talk with her. He then walked her through the buffet and pointed out the things she could and couldn’t eat. He also told her that when she was ready for dessert to let Kris Kristopherson know and he would make her a dairy free, gluten free dessert. The Chef. Not Kris Kristopherson. She was busy disappearing for 30 minutes at a time. Not earning her guaranteed 18% tip. One imagines it takes 30 minutes to find her way to the designated smoking area, blow noxious fumes into the air and then wander back into the restaurant. If only she'd been a guest in the resort. Then she could stand on her balcony and smoke. You know, and flagrantly flout the rules. Because no one in the rooms around her minds smelling her smoke.
Who put this soap box here?
We gave Kris our drink orders and I took ZZUBY and headed to the buffet. Once back at our seats, the parade of characters started coming by.
The week before we left for Disney World, my five year old colored some pictures for the characters. She made one for Mickey, Minnie, Pluto and Belle. She told me she planned to give the pictures to them. Now, we don’t normally encourage drawing pictures for small people in costumes. But she did this of her own accord. And that my little girl wanted to do something nice for someone else, well that’s so sweet, it makes the Butter Grilled Pound Cake (may it rest in peace) seem like a rice cake.
Since we were going to see Mickey and Minnie our first night, I kept her pictures with me. I gave them back to her when we got to Chef Mick’s. My wife was a little worried that “Mickey” and “Minnie” might seem disinterested and so crush my daughter’s spirit. I was pretty sure she was wrong and that they would act excited. I imagined they might even keep the pictures, too.
As usual when it comes to Disney stuff, I was right. When ZZUBY gave Minnie her picture, she acted very excited, touched her mouth with her hand and then carefully folded the picture and put it in her pocket.
Dinner was as good as it ever was. The service was as bad as it ever was. Having already earned her 18% tip, Kris Kristopherson set out to abandon us. My suspicions were first aroused when she dropped off two glasses of tea each for both me and my wife and two boxes of juice for my daughter. That said, “I don’t plan on being seen for the next 30 minutes, so drink up me hearties. Yo Ho.” I drink a lot. I need to be properly hydrated for all of my smelling and squeezing. Two glasses of tea is nothing for me. I have a three refill minimum. When Kris Kristopherson didn’t reappear, I was left to seek refills of my drink from the table next to us. They had a carafe.
The tough thing about Chef Mickey’s is the food is good but the desserts are better. So you have to budget your stomach space. It’s a tough call for me. Yet, I think I found the right balance between parmesan potatoes and little bitty German chocolate cake squares. And sno caps.
But if I go to Chef Mick’s for the food, my daughter goes for the napkin twirl. She loves getting to stand up, twirl her napkin and squeal. Because we never do that at home. I reckon she doesn’t have to stand, but she thinks she does. She’s quite a proficient napkin twirler mind you. And if throwing my hard earned money around the Merc and BVG says vacation to me, then ZZUBY twirling her napkin says vacation to her. She tried to interest her baby sister in the art of the napkin twirl. But Baby ZZUB failed to grasp it, so to speak.
Once dinner was over, we began to make our way out but not first without a stop off at the Chef Mickey’s bathroom. It wasn't so much a ginger induced reason. I go there more out of habit. Some cry when they see the arches, some must ride Space Mountain, others must have a Dole Whip. I have to use the bathroom at Chef Mickey's. It’s a tradition. A Disney Thing.
It was filthy. Memo to Disney: scrap the Year of a Million Dreams and replace it with the Year of a Million Cleans. I for one would rather have the place looking nice again rather than some dreadfully silly looking pair of blue and white mouse ears.
We took the boat back to the Lodge on what had turned out to be a really nice, cool evening. The breeze off the lake was pleasant. We got off the boat and began the walk up the boardwalk, the lights of the Wilderness Lodge shining in front of us.
My wife was pushing the baby in the stroller. I had my arm around her and with my other arm, I was holding ZZUBY’s hand. We walked along a few feet and I gave voice to my inner monologue. I stopped, “I know this sounds corny, but seriously, I don’t mind working hard 50 weeks a year if we get nights like this. Being here, being together. This is good. This is a good time. When I’m stuck on a problem, or working late, I dream about this night. This right here. This is the thing I think about when I’m driving home.” I squeezed them tightly. Because I'm me and that's what I do.
And then I switched it up before it got all blubbery, like Extreme Home Makeover. “Reckon if Magic Express delivered our bags?”
We moved a little more quickly from that point. Inside the Lodge, over to the elevator, up to the fourth floor, down the hall, down another hall. Finally, our door.
I threw it open and was stunned by what I saw.
I can’t believe we brought this much crap!
It was all piled up in the hallway to our room. Like the Magic Express dudes just opened the door and flung our 8 billion bags inside. I moved it around so my wife and daughters could come inside. Then we got situated. "Sitched," if you're a ZZUB.
My wife gave the girls their baths while I unpacked my stuff and got the other bags ready for my wife to unpack.
Unpacking at Disney World is HUGE to me.
It still is.
I have a three night rule. If I’m going to be in a hotel for three nights or longer, I unpack. I initiated that rule in August 2001 when, for the first time, we stayed for three nights. Because we now routinely stay for longer than three nights, each time we start getting situated, I hearken back to the time when we couldn’t afford to stay for more than a night. I like to think about where I’ve been, or hadn’t you noticed that about me yet?
Once my stuff was put away and my bag neatly stowed between the bunk beds and the wall, I began unpacking the food into the cool as all get out food drawers over the fridge.
Here’s my drawer. Good stuff. The tan bag on the right is Almond M&Ms. Those rock!
Here’s my wife’s drawer. Healthy crap. The jelly beans are mine. They didn’t fit in my drawer.
Once the girls were done, I hopped into the shower for a sweet rinse off. After I was done and my wife got all her stuff put away, I jacked the camera into the port on the front of the TV and we looked at our pictures from our first night at Disney World. I love that time of day. I took some pictures of the Schpup! and my car before we left so we could look at them again while we were on our trip.
We finished looking at the surprisingly large number of pictures I shot on that first day and night and then we finished getting ready for bed. But we didn’t fall into a sweet sleep with dreams of our idyllic first night dancing in our heads.
No, the quiet peace of the first night of our vacation was upended by something truly disturbing and in fact, shocking. Something that has never happened before.
________
Click Here For Chapter Five
We love Chef Mickey’s.
We probably shouldn’t.
As I sit here, detached by thousands of miles and several weeks from our dinner there, I can think of many things wrong with it. To begin with, the service was abysmal, horrendous, dreadful and three other words that also describe what Kris Kristopherson’s voice sounds like.
Our waitress happened to look like Kris Kristopherson as well.
But love Chef Mickey’s we do. And we try to eat there on the first night of our trip. That was a good idea back in the day when we lived on the east coast and were arriving in Disney World after a few hours in the car. It is a less spectacular idea now that we live on the left coast and arrive in Disney World only after getting up early and being crammed into two planes, losing a Coconut, trying to find a Coconut, waiting endlessly on a bus and then being spilled into the lobby of the Wilderness Lodge. So now we're thinking that maybe eating at Chef Mick’s on the first night is no longer a good idea.
But that is now, this was then.
Once we finished surveying our room, ripping into the gift basket, sanitizing everything. Twice. And taking pictures, we “freshened up,” whatever the heck that means. Then we headed for the lobby. We had 8:00 reservations at Chef Mickey’s so we had some time for an initial assault from the Mercantile.
It was our first night, and we had been upgraded, and the view was the opposite, and all of that. But that’s not why we willfully surrendered to the Mercantile’s wiles. No, we were drawn to its siren song because we’re idiots. Idiots who seemingly can’t get enough Disney crapola.
Actually, the first walk through is fun. We we’re in a great mood. We generally don't buy anything on the first night. We look. We touch. We smell. I smell. I’m a smeller. I’m a squeezer and a smeller. Which sometimes gets weird. Especially at the grocery store. They’re a little funny about squeezing and smelling the bread. And donuts.
We didn’t have a lot of time, so we left the Merc, our Key to the World unscathed, and walked down the ramp, out the door, into the blessed humidity and out the boardwalk toward the dock. My wife wondered where the ducks were. I looked at my watch and reminded her it was their break time. Duh. Once at the boat dock, we met and started talking with a nice couple and their 5 kids. They looked tired. Fancy that.
Our boat arrived and after a little tour of Bay Lake (read: a stopover at Ft. Wilderness), we arrived at the Contemporary. I understand there are people who don’t like this hotel. They’re entitled to be wrong. And I am continuing my experiment of not correcting stupid people in their wrongness. However, I think the Contemporary is beautiful. It is one of three structures which “are” Disney World for me. And although I’ve never stayed there, I try to go there on every trip.
Once inside, we rode up to the Fourth Floor and got in line to check in at Chef Mick’s.
For us, this line always seems long. And slow moving. Like The English Patient. But with more of a plot. The family in front of us was having issues. Problems. And odors. While I resisted a squeeze of the very squishable looking mom, the smells were unavoidable.
Can’t we agree on mandatory deodorization at the turnstiles and front doors of the hotels? I’ll take one for the team if it means my nose is never assaulted by the unwashed, deep fried, oversmoked again.
There appeared to be 20 of them. All of them in a large, pimple like cluster, right in front of us. Once they got to the podium, they all began talking at the poor CM. Loudly. He eventually solved their problem and sent them off to stand behind a large dish. We checked in with little fanfare. I asked about how long before our table was ready and he said about 15 minutes. He tried to send us to the large dish but I told him I would sooner French kiss Nancy Pelosi than stand for that picture. He laughed nervously, and wondered who Nancy Pelosi was. We headed off to BVG. Because we’re the ZZUBs and we love us some BVG.
As we walked around the store looking at the Disney Crap they sell and comparing it in our minds with the crap we had just seen at the Merc, I noticed a woman sitting on the floor.
She was naked.
From the waist down.
Welcome to Disney World!
I wondered what Paris Hilton was doing in the Contemporary. This woman seemed too old to be a young, boozy heiress. I tapped my wife and directed her eyes toward the Naked Woman. She did a picture perfect double take. And then she moved in for a closer inspection. I kept my distance because I avoid naked women who aren’t my wife. For her part, my wife managed to get close enough to confirm that Naked Woman was in fact naked from the waist down. Or wearing a barely visible thong. Either way, Mrs. Z was grossed out.
“Her butt is on that nasty floor!” she shrieked.
”I know,” I said. “Think of all the nasty germs that she’s exposing herself to.”
“Forget that! We walk on this floor! What if her butt diseases get on our feet?!”
Our coaster started buzzing so we had to leave for dinner before Naked Woman removed her tuchis from the floor. Still, my wife was certain she'd now have to burn her new sandals. I tried to allay her fears. I pointed out that Naked Woman was planted, so to speak, in one spot. And our shoes had not yet trod where Naked Woman hadn’t feared to bare. Or something like that.
We walked back up to the podium and turned in our no-longer blinking coaster. We were shown to our table which was right by the buffet. Baby ZZUB seems to be intolerant of Auburn Fans, Rosie O'Donnell and lactose. So my wife avoids any dairy or dairy products. I had this noted on all of our ADRs and sure enough, right after we sat down, someone who purported to be the chef came out to talk with her. He then walked her through the buffet and pointed out the things she could and couldn’t eat. He also told her that when she was ready for dessert to let Kris Kristopherson know and he would make her a dairy free, gluten free dessert. The Chef. Not Kris Kristopherson. She was busy disappearing for 30 minutes at a time. Not earning her guaranteed 18% tip. One imagines it takes 30 minutes to find her way to the designated smoking area, blow noxious fumes into the air and then wander back into the restaurant. If only she'd been a guest in the resort. Then she could stand on her balcony and smoke. You know, and flagrantly flout the rules. Because no one in the rooms around her minds smelling her smoke.
Who put this soap box here?
We gave Kris our drink orders and I took ZZUBY and headed to the buffet. Once back at our seats, the parade of characters started coming by.
The week before we left for Disney World, my five year old colored some pictures for the characters. She made one for Mickey, Minnie, Pluto and Belle. She told me she planned to give the pictures to them. Now, we don’t normally encourage drawing pictures for small people in costumes. But she did this of her own accord. And that my little girl wanted to do something nice for someone else, well that’s so sweet, it makes the Butter Grilled Pound Cake (may it rest in peace) seem like a rice cake.
Since we were going to see Mickey and Minnie our first night, I kept her pictures with me. I gave them back to her when we got to Chef Mick’s. My wife was a little worried that “Mickey” and “Minnie” might seem disinterested and so crush my daughter’s spirit. I was pretty sure she was wrong and that they would act excited. I imagined they might even keep the pictures, too.
As usual when it comes to Disney stuff, I was right. When ZZUBY gave Minnie her picture, she acted very excited, touched her mouth with her hand and then carefully folded the picture and put it in her pocket.
Dinner was as good as it ever was. The service was as bad as it ever was. Having already earned her 18% tip, Kris Kristopherson set out to abandon us. My suspicions were first aroused when she dropped off two glasses of tea each for both me and my wife and two boxes of juice for my daughter. That said, “I don’t plan on being seen for the next 30 minutes, so drink up me hearties. Yo Ho.” I drink a lot. I need to be properly hydrated for all of my smelling and squeezing. Two glasses of tea is nothing for me. I have a three refill minimum. When Kris Kristopherson didn’t reappear, I was left to seek refills of my drink from the table next to us. They had a carafe.
The tough thing about Chef Mickey’s is the food is good but the desserts are better. So you have to budget your stomach space. It’s a tough call for me. Yet, I think I found the right balance between parmesan potatoes and little bitty German chocolate cake squares. And sno caps.
But if I go to Chef Mick’s for the food, my daughter goes for the napkin twirl. She loves getting to stand up, twirl her napkin and squeal. Because we never do that at home. I reckon she doesn’t have to stand, but she thinks she does. She’s quite a proficient napkin twirler mind you. And if throwing my hard earned money around the Merc and BVG says vacation to me, then ZZUBY twirling her napkin says vacation to her. She tried to interest her baby sister in the art of the napkin twirl. But Baby ZZUB failed to grasp it, so to speak.
Once dinner was over, we began to make our way out but not first without a stop off at the Chef Mickey’s bathroom. It wasn't so much a ginger induced reason. I go there more out of habit. Some cry when they see the arches, some must ride Space Mountain, others must have a Dole Whip. I have to use the bathroom at Chef Mickey's. It’s a tradition. A Disney Thing.
It was filthy. Memo to Disney: scrap the Year of a Million Dreams and replace it with the Year of a Million Cleans. I for one would rather have the place looking nice again rather than some dreadfully silly looking pair of blue and white mouse ears.
We took the boat back to the Lodge on what had turned out to be a really nice, cool evening. The breeze off the lake was pleasant. We got off the boat and began the walk up the boardwalk, the lights of the Wilderness Lodge shining in front of us.
My wife was pushing the baby in the stroller. I had my arm around her and with my other arm, I was holding ZZUBY’s hand. We walked along a few feet and I gave voice to my inner monologue. I stopped, “I know this sounds corny, but seriously, I don’t mind working hard 50 weeks a year if we get nights like this. Being here, being together. This is good. This is a good time. When I’m stuck on a problem, or working late, I dream about this night. This right here. This is the thing I think about when I’m driving home.” I squeezed them tightly. Because I'm me and that's what I do.
And then I switched it up before it got all blubbery, like Extreme Home Makeover. “Reckon if Magic Express delivered our bags?”
We moved a little more quickly from that point. Inside the Lodge, over to the elevator, up to the fourth floor, down the hall, down another hall. Finally, our door.
I threw it open and was stunned by what I saw.
I can’t believe we brought this much crap!
It was all piled up in the hallway to our room. Like the Magic Express dudes just opened the door and flung our 8 billion bags inside. I moved it around so my wife and daughters could come inside. Then we got situated. "Sitched," if you're a ZZUB.
My wife gave the girls their baths while I unpacked my stuff and got the other bags ready for my wife to unpack.
Unpacking at Disney World is HUGE to me.
It still is.
I have a three night rule. If I’m going to be in a hotel for three nights or longer, I unpack. I initiated that rule in August 2001 when, for the first time, we stayed for three nights. Because we now routinely stay for longer than three nights, each time we start getting situated, I hearken back to the time when we couldn’t afford to stay for more than a night. I like to think about where I’ve been, or hadn’t you noticed that about me yet?
Once my stuff was put away and my bag neatly stowed between the bunk beds and the wall, I began unpacking the food into the cool as all get out food drawers over the fridge.
Here’s my drawer. Good stuff. The tan bag on the right is Almond M&Ms. Those rock!
Here’s my wife’s drawer. Healthy crap. The jelly beans are mine. They didn’t fit in my drawer.
Once the girls were done, I hopped into the shower for a sweet rinse off. After I was done and my wife got all her stuff put away, I jacked the camera into the port on the front of the TV and we looked at our pictures from our first night at Disney World. I love that time of day. I took some pictures of the Schpup! and my car before we left so we could look at them again while we were on our trip.
We finished looking at the surprisingly large number of pictures I shot on that first day and night and then we finished getting ready for bed. But we didn’t fall into a sweet sleep with dreams of our idyllic first night dancing in our heads.
No, the quiet peace of the first night of our vacation was upended by something truly disturbing and in fact, shocking. Something that has never happened before.
________
Click Here For Chapter Five
Baby ZZUB (ZZUBella?) might enjoy it under her napkin.
WAY TO GO ALABAMA!!!!
