In Disney’s defense, all vacations can’t be great vacations – not even Disney vacations. Although getting a raging stomach virus on your birthday really sinks it for them. And I wasn’t the only one. When you see sawdust (at work we call that Vomit Comet) on the floor of your hotel lobby and they’re trying to tell you it’s “pixie dust” you know it’s time to escape. Escape we did, and probably infected everyone from Florida to The Carolina’s (I’m sorry) as we flew home. Husband says it’s my fault he feels sick but he’s the one who started feeling seriously dizzy after the second day there. If dizzy is all he got he should consider himself lucky because it didn’t completely go south (and north) for him like it did for me. It was actually hard to tell that I was getting sick since after every meal it seems my husband would make me go on a ride that would make any normal person want to vomit. A whirl on the teacups anyone? Kind of serves him right.
Did you know they don’t blare “it’s a small world” out into the street anymore? We tracked down my uncle who spends his time working at either Small World, Peter Pan, or the Little Mermaid ride and he explained that it’s because it would drive them all nuts. And by “them” I’m assuming he means all the old retired guys who work there because I don’t remember Disney ever caring about the mental health concerns of college-age students that are stuck listening to it. Which reminds me: how many international college students do you think are lured to Disney every year with the belief that they’ll get to be a princess and instead end up scrubbing toilets and wiping tables?
There were some cool moments like getting that urban legend-type email where we could sign up for a Quick Service lunch reservation at Be Our Guest, and seeing giant, decorated chocolate Easter eggs in the Grand Floridian lobby where we pretended to be rich people, but I seriously need a birthday do over. Not that you couldn’t get that sick anywhere, but for the price, it really made me wish I went back to Istanbul. (Yes, it would have cost about the same for two people.) It took us four years to get back there, partly because it’s gotten so stupid expensive that we end up going other places like California or St. Maarten. I don’t know when we’ll go back at this point. It’s hard to get excited about the return trip when you keep trying to pinpoint the exact moment all your paranoid germaphobe practices went straight to hell. Was it on the airplane? Was it the fancy character breakfast? Was it Be Our Guest (which was at least totally delicious)? Was it the random chicken nugget I found in my vegetable soup at Hollywood Studios? Was it just being around thousands of whiny, nose-picking kids all hopped up on Mickey-shaped chocolate Rice Krispie treats?
No seriously – what the hell is up with a chicken nugget is my veggie soup?
P.S. I didn’t state this above but really should have: Disney “cast members” are pretty much the most wonderful and patient people ever, regardless of what happened on vacation. They have the patience of saints to deal with Disney tourists because we are the neediest, doucheiest asshats ever. If you’ve been there I think you can agree to how awful we can be.