Yesterday I went to Disneyland. Alone.
I know; it’s a rather bizarre concept. Nobody goes to Disneyland alone except employees, people meeting friends, or weird-os that talk to themselves. I got more than a few raised eyebrows as I rode the tram into the park solo. Even I wondered what I was doing.
Going alone was something I’d always wanted to do. But it never made sense before. I had too many kids that would have died a painful, agonizing death if I had dared to go without them. Yet now I found myself in California due to a family emergency. And when things settled, I suddenly had two or three days to kill without spouse or children in tow. For a few days I sat around in sweat pants at my father’s house and did little but write. Then, on a whim, I decided to go to Disneyland. It just seemed like a novel idea.
Going to an amusement park alone means lots of people-watching. That’s because you have nobody to converse with. You’re silently going from place to place, or waiting in line, with nothing to do but listen. And watch. So I made some interesting observations in the land of Mickey Mouse. Here are my secret observations, peeves, and notes:
Peeve #1: People in a moving crowd who suddenly stop to consult a map, tie a shoe, or chit chat, oblivious to the idea that anyone else is behind them. I really don’t like skidding into someone’s rear end. And then, it’s appalling that it’s the skidder who has to say, “Excuse me.”
Observation #1: You need to wear an oxygen mask on the parking tram. Wear one, or lose brain cells.
Peeve #2: People who pretend to be handicapped to get easier access to the rides. I’m talking about the girl that giggles, stands up, adjusts her Levis, jumps on her boyfriend’s back and kisses his neck, then flops back into her rented wheelchair, swinging her feet enthusiastically.
Observation #2: Guys, if you want to get chicks, dress like a pirate.
Peeve #3: People who “save seats” for their group at the parades or FantasMic show, vigilantly protecting their invisible family member’s spaces, but the mysterious family doesn’t materialize. I suppose those hitchhiking ghosts enjoyed the show.
Regret #1: Wearing the wrong shoes to Disneyland. Oh why, oh why didn’t I wear my running shoes?
Peeve #4: Lines that appear short but actually zig zag around trees, fire hydrants, bushes, and statues, disappear into caves or underground beneath manholes, etc.
Observation #3: You can get those princess dresses at Target for a third of the price.
Peeve #5: People who cut in line. They do it with a distant, far off gaze, like they’re distracted or looking for something. Then voila! They’re in front of you.
Observation #4: There are a lot of spoiled rotten kids out there. I repeatedly heard stuff like, “Now which one do you want honey, the Ariel glitter teacups, or the Pirates Special Edition Monopoly game?” Or, “Billy says we ride the Dumbo ride next. And what will we do after that, Billy dear?”
Peeve #6: Women who might as well just be walking around naked, ‘cause we see it all anyway. (And honey, it ain’t pretty.)
Observation #5: It really is a small word, after all. Didn’t I just see that red-headed guy and his kids… wait…there they are again…
Now lest you think I’m the biggest whiner and smart aleck there is, let me also say that I am impressed that with so many thousands of people packed into Disneyland, the vast majority are courteous and well-mannered. Many, many people seem to be happily involved with their families. Lots of couples are in love. There are smiles everywhere I look. The Disneyland employees are sharp and professional. People eat ice cream and pineapple spears with gusto. The Indiana Jones Ride is as riotous as ever. And Captain Jack Sparrow in the new Pirates ride looks pretty darn real. Sigh. Life is good.
Biggest observation of the day: I love and miss my family desperately. Oh…and in my next life, I want to be one of those dancers on the ferry boat.
Biggest regret of the day: I didn’t buy that fabulous pirate ship snow globe in the gift shop. It was enormous, and had all the Peter Pan characters aboard, chased by the crocodile in an elaborate display. It took my breath away. But it was $75, and I couldn’t justify buying it. So instead, I bought a bunch of tiny, ho-hum snow globes, one for each of my kids, and when I got to the counter realized I’d spent $75. I should have bought the pirate ship. That’s a major life lesson: Always buy the ship.