The Happiest Place on Earth

Every super bowl Sunday I shout at the television screen. It has nothing to do with football. It has to do with the super bowl winner’s MVP. Once selected, someone yells at the MVP so-in-so you have just won the Super bowl-- now what are you going to do? And so-in-so says I am going to Disney World. That’s when I shout at the television No!! Don’t do it!!

I think a trip to Disney is the booby prize-- a miserable trick played on the most valuable player.

I remember when Disney world opened. My friends Donna and Elissa went with their families. Families back then very often didn’t fly to Orlando. They took the auto train for 20 some odd hours. Even then I thought it sounded awful---and I was still young enough to think Disney was the happiest place on Earth.

When I had children I knew at some point I was going to have to make the mecca---it’s what good parents do—good parents take their children to Disneyworld. Good parents take their kids to meet Mickey and Minnie and ride in the teacups and down Space Mountain. And when Kara was just tall enough to meet the minimum height requirements for all the rides, we went.

We left for our one week Disney trip on the last day of school in June. And we started the trip off with Samantha being angry at me for making her miss the last day of fourth grade—even if it was for Disney. I had a child in a snit before we even walked on the plane. And that’s when I knew for sure that it was going to be the most miserable week of my life.

In case you have not already guessed, I am not a Disney person. It is way too crowded, hot, and expensive. And I just could not understand waiting in line for over one hour for a 5 minute ride—no ride was that good. I found myself thinking awful thoughts like why can’t I have a handicapped child like those people? And I also feared the people who walked the property—not the ones in the Goofy suits—the scary toothless white people that must have cooked meth for a living to have afforded the daily pass and water bottles. I was spending a large fortune to be in Disney—I expected the patrons to look like me—not Daryll, Daryll and Daryll.

And then there were the downpours of rain, getting locked out of our room, and Samantha’s heat stroke and low blood sugar. Oh did I mention the potent-Disney antibiotic resistant strain of pink eye Briana developed? It was disgusting—from a place everyone raved was so clean.

But besides my fear of someone going postal on the top of Cinderella’s castle and picking people off with a sniper gun, what really really puzzled me was the infatuation people had with Epcot. Before we left everyone (including my parents) said you are going to love it. I did not. I can buy a tiny bit into pretend magic castles and pretend main street-- but pretend Europe? I have been to Europe and I can tell you unequivocally that Epcot is not even remotely a facsimile of Europe. It’s like saying Stouffer’s frozen chow mein is authentic Chinese food. And I heard people say out loud when they were in Epcot Gee, now that we have been here, there is no need to tour France or Italy or Germany.

So no, I do not plan on going back to Disney. I have enough memories. Nor have I been convinced to visit Las Vegas---the decadent x-rated version of Disneyworld. I just don’t think I do well with pretend places. They are punchlines I do not get even when they are explained to me.