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©2001 Bonnie Wren
All Rights Reserved

Stuck in the Happiest Place on Earth

It had been over six years since our last visit to Disneyland, and the kids and I could hardly wait.

Unfortunately, we had to wait with Grumpy.

"Aaaargh!" blasted Hubby. "Lines! Nothing but... LINES!   We've died," he informed us. "And this is Hell."

I ignored him. Hubby is an engineer. They really hate to stand in line--it's some kind of superiority complex thing they've got going. Besides, we hadn't even passed through the Main Gate turnstiles yet.

"Cattle in a slaughterhouse," said Hubby. "That's all we are."

Every Main Gate line stretched out endlessly, but at least the others were moving. Our ticket taker was a little too happy to be efficient. He whistled as the woman in front of us gave him her family's tickets.

"Hey, LADY," he said cheerfully, waving the tickets. She and her family stopped. Happy leaned forward, his elbows resting on his turnstile desk.

"These are COMPLIMENTARY PASSES," he enthused. "You can keep 'em for SOUVENIRS."

The woman nodded, smiling.

"Moo-oove," said Hubby.

"But in THIS line," Happy continued, "I have to RIP 'em. That'll RUIN your nice souvenir tickets. Now, over THERE," he pointed stage right, "they STAMP your tickets. Keeps 'em nice and pretty."

He smiled broadly. "So, LADY. You want me to RIP 'em? Or you want THOSE GUYS" he pointed again, "to STAMP 'em?"

This woman obviously did not speak English, a fact that somehow escaped Happy. Yet even he should have understood her body language: she thought something was wrong with her tickets.

Hunching over her passes, she searched for the defect. Her family shuffled uneasily behind her. "Eh?" she asked.

Happy politely cleared his throat. Then he repeated his speech.


Hubby groaned. "Seven bucks. Just to park." he said pitifully. "So we can walk a mile to a tram. To wait in a LINE."

Maybe the boys and I could give him the slip once we got inside. I really wanted a nice family experience, but I doubted even Jessica Rabbit could've put Hubby in a decent frame of mind at that point.

"So, lady," said Happy, slowly, deliberately and oh, so very loudly. "You want I should RIP 'EM? Or you want THOSE GUYS" he pointed, "to STAMP 'EM?"

The woman's family craned their necks to look where he pointed. They didn't know what they were looking at, but you could tell they hoped it was an explanation.

"Tell you what," Happy annunciated. "I'll call down THERE," he pointed right again. "One of THOSE GUYS can come up HERE, and STAMP your tickets!"

Happy picked up his phone and dialed. The family discussed this latest development in hushed and worried whispers.

"Look!" Hubby gave an anguished cry. "If we'd gotten into that line, we'd be walking through the gate right now. But NO! We're rats.  In a maze."

The woman suddenly stiffened. She pushed the tickets forward, gently but purposefully, her eyes locked on Happy's face.

Happy put his phone down, his buoyant brows now furrowed. Then he grinned.

"Oh!" he said. "You want me to RIP the tickets. Okay, lady, sure thing! Here you go!"

The entire line gasped in relief.

"Amazing!" said Hubby. "We've actually taken a step. It's a miracle. Hello! Another step. Praise Mickey."

Happy waved us through the turnstiles. Hubby didn't wave back.

"Finally," he said, power-walking down Main Street. "C'mon! Time to go wait in some more lines."

It was coming back to me, the reason we hadn't returned to the Magic Kingdom for over six years.

And we really had to scoot to keep up with him.

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Mr. Beefcakes Goes for the Burn, and

My Chicharones

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Go Away! Ant that Means YOU,

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PLEASE NOTE: This is my old website. My new website is HERE.

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©2003 Bonnie Wren. All Rights Reserved