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By Patrick Hurley Aug. 16, 2006 My first visit to Disneyland over Thanksgiving vacation in 1955 was a memorable one. I was a diehard Mickey Mouse Club fan and to finally go to the Magic Kingdom as a second-grader was (and still IS) one of the greatest experiences of my life. I had my picture taken with Jimmie Dodd, the head Mouseketeer and met Cubby, Karen, Sherry, Doreen and several other performers from my favorite show. I remember there were only a handful of rides that first year...the Adventureland Jungle Cruise, Autopia, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, The Alice in Wonderland Teacups, the Rocket Ship to the Moon, Tom Sawyer's Island....and, that warped parrot-like creature that chirped incessantly at the Tiki tree. I even remember the lunch I ate that day. We were sitting on the pirate ship and I had a tuna fish sandwich and a small carton of chocolate milk. That was 51 years ago. It seems like yesterday. It was truly the Magic Kingdom. Then. I went back there this week. Like the Titanic that was so much fun on the first leg of its maiden voyage, the joy didn't quite hold up in the latter stages. There is a huge HOLE in Disneyland's bow these days. And, I could tell the difference from when Walt used to run things... I arrived at the parking facility at 1:00 p.m. Naturally, I expected the professionalism of the parkers to maintain their high quality as always. Uh, no. Make that a NO! We all sat in our cars as though it was 5:00 p.m. in downtown Manhattan. Nobody moved for twenty minutes. Then...we moved. One car length. My only regret was that I missed an excellent opportunity to bring a book to read while I was waiting...like, "War and Peace." We moved another car length. Ten more minutes went by. I wondered how many times Walt had shifted in his grave at this point. Finally, I was within one car of getting my parking pass. HALLELUJAH! There was a van in front of me and the genial man took the money from the lady and.... Nothing. The van sat there as if entombed in a concrete bunker. Why? Because for some UNGODLY reason, its occupants decided to chat with parking boy and make their first contact with anything Disney a lifetime moment to remember. Ten minutes went by as the ticket taker looked into the window of the satanmobile and chuckled as if he was at a family reunion with his favorite aunt. I chuckled too as I made a promise to myself to buy a gun. FINALLY, after passing a pen back and forth, more chuckling, some ribald laughter, the transfer of several park brochures and shaking hands with every person in the van, chatty park boy let them move on. I pulled up and he greeted me with a BIG smile... "WELCOME TO DISNEYLAND!" I handed him two five dollar bills and accelerated. I think I may have gotten his foot. That would have been nice. After being guided through a maze which included twelve turns, a detour and three parking levels, I finally got into my space and exited my car. I checked for blood under the tires and to my disappointment, there was none. Making my way hurriedly down the escalator to the next phase of Mickey hell, the shuttle train to the park. Fortunately, it did not take long for it to arrive and within another fifteen minutes, I was now ready to get in line to buy my ticket so I could join my sister, her husband and my beloved three year-old niece, Olivia Maureen who were waiting patiently for me at, "It's a Small, Small World." The Small, Small World had to wait as I stood in a Long, Long Line. I am not sure why it took almost fifteen minutes per customer to tell the cashier which of the two theme parks they want admission to so we could all GET ON WITH THE REST OF OUR LIVES! But, for some reason, this seemingly simple process turned into an explanation of Einstein's theory of relativity. I thought there had to be a catch why these people were mesmerized at the dark, tinted windows. I finally staggered up to one of the booths and said, "I would like a one-day pass for Disneyland, please." I handed the nice lady my credit card and she handed me my ticket. It took 40 seconds. I stared at her in disbelief. What on God's green earth were all the people in front of me doing for so long??? I realized I needed a LARGER gun. The last stop before being granted final admission into the damn,. "Happiest Place on Earth" was to take my ticket and hand it to the person at the entrance. I got into my individual line behind the 1,267 people who were either standing, pushing a stroller or riding on a mini-golf cart. (these were not necessarily handicapped or unhealthily obese people, either. I saw one mom who looked a lot like Christie Brinkley. Why walk when you can clog up Main Street with your riding mower) Ten minutes went by. The line didn't move. Another ten minutes. Nope. At this point, I was thinking weapons of mass destruction. My day was shot. I had no joy left. This wasn't a trip to Disneyland, it was the Bataan Death March. I got to the turnstile. The guy said, "Hey! Welcome to DISNEYLAND!" I gave him the same smile the bombardier on the Enola Gay had just before he dropped the big one on Hiroshima... I looked at my watch. It had taken two hours from the time I pulled into the parking garage until I was actually INSIDE the happy @#$# %&**&$!@* @%$^$& place! Just in time to collect my niece and stand in line for thirty minutes... ------------ About the author:   Pat Hurley has won three Emmy awards for writing, hosting and producing television shows. He resides in Southern California. Email: coolhumor@sbcglobal.net Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. Please link to this article rather than copying and pasting it onto your site (which would be unauthorized and illegal). |
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