Not Exactly the Happiest Place on Earth

I attended a meeting at the Disneyland Resort recently and came away with the distinct feeling that it was not the happiest place on earth. I have never set foot into a Disney themed land or world, and I am sure there is a Patriot Act enforcer reading this is a dank cubicle somewhere preparing paperwork to revoke my passport and my U.S. citizenship.

I won't bore you with the details of how it took an hour to check eight people into their hotel rooms, how the hotel managed to misplace our tickets into the park so we missed the evening parade, or how a fellow co-worker and I kept our boss entertained all night so that she would not physically wrap her hands around someone's neck and throttle them into next week. My boss, the longer I work with her, the more I appreciate her. She did ask that I put my writing skills to work (at least someone recognizes my genius--ha ha) and write a letter of complaint. I did, and sent my two page missive off for her approval. If it ever makes its way to the desk of the Disney CEO, you will be the first to hear about it.

I grew up with an appreciation for Cinderella and for Snow White, but it was the Grimm's version of events, complete with step-sisters cutting off their toes so that their boats would fit into the glass slipper. I am waiting for Bambi to be released missing the gunshot. There are televisions all over the hotels, and pint sized chairs arranged in a semi-circle around them, so the little tikes can stare, glassy-eyed, at a movie they have at home. That was one part of the trip that bothered me, it just seemed like brainwashing, which I guess is their aim. The Rev. owns nearly every Disney cartoon on VHS, and at the rate we are having children, I am hopeful that the tapes will be so degraded that they will be rendered unwatcheable. Don't tell him I said that, because I know deep down that he and I will be saving for two years to take the kids to see Mickey and Minnie, pay $7 for an ice cream bar, watch them puke their lunch on the roller coaster, and then have them bug me to plunk down $45 for an overpriced stuffed animal. Call it one of the joys of parenthood that I have already recognized and accepted, like college tuition.

When I returned, everyone was shocked by my reaction to Disney, and several people have offered to take me there this summer to disprove my notions that the Disney Board of Directors have a secret plot to take over the world, with the ultimate goal of having every man, woman, and child wearing mouse ears as part of a standard issue, American uniform. If I do make it back to Anaheim this summer, I will let you know. But if you see me glassy eyed, spouting quotations from a variety of Disney cartoons, and trying to squeeze myself into a tiny chair, promise me you will do an intervention.