I hate people - A Disneyland essay.
Posted: Aug Tue 23, 2005 5:07 pm
"I hate people...and I don't care if they - hate - me!"
-Ebenezer Scrooge as played by Albert Finney in the 1970 film "Scrooge".
Every time I walk through the turnstiles of the Disneyland main gate, I involuntarily smile. I walk onto the inner esplanade - there's a giant, floral Mickey head, smiling at me. Just above, the Fred Gurley, or maybe, the E.P. Ripley are pulling into the Disneyland Railroad Station, bells ringing, steam whistle blowing. Tourists from all over the world are gleefully clamoring to snap photos in front of this quaint backdrop. A fleet of strollers butts up against the flower beds that spread from one tunnel opening to the other. As I walk through the West tunnel (I always do for some unknown reason), I take in the large attraction posters that adorn the walls. Emerging from the tunnel, I enter the picturesque thoroughfare of Main Street. An antique Fire department car putters by, honking it's bulb-horn. Girls with striped shirts and smiling faces hold huge bundles of Mickey-head-shaped Balloons. Pleasant, Turn-of-the-century music floats through the air, over the buzz of the crowd traipsing the streets. Walking down the Boulevard of Main Street, the fragrant smells of coffee, pastries, candies and fresh Fruit waft by. It is a beautiful Morning, here at Disneyland. What could possibly go wrong?
I make my way towards Adventureland. I turn into the Tiki Room garden to wait for the show. I sit on one of the benches, taking in the atmosphere of the garden. The different Tiki Gods tell us about their different purposes. As I sit there, I look over to my right. I notice a teenaged Hispanic boy with a shaved head reaching up to try and grab on of the flowers that drop down from the Tonga Roa display. He is standing on a railing and is laughing as he yanks at the Plastic tropical flower. His friends giggle in embarrassed glee, as the boy strains to grasp the flower. He isn’t quite tall enough, and only manages to tear off a few plastic petals. He turns with pride to his friends at his paltry trophy. They laugh and make fun of him, not horrified at his complete disrespect for Disneyland Property or his blatant vandalism. No one anywhere says anything. These youths looks as is they might very well be gang members and no one wisely decides to chide them for their actions. They stand there for a second, their laughter subsiding. The boy who ripped off the petals wings them out into the passing crowd that walks through the entrance of Aventureland. A few of them hit some people, who look around, confusedly. These same teenagers will go into the show and disrupt it by making loud, stupid comments and throwing popcorn at the Animatronic birds. No one will do anything.
Afterwards, I venture over to the Indiana Jones Attraction. There isn’t yet a huge line, so I decide to stroll through the incredibly imagined queue area. I admire the amazing detail that went into the creation of this great attraction. I walk into the entrance of the Temple. Inside, there is a small table that sits below a decaying mural of the God “Mara”. Once, there was a navigation compass, a few rock hammers, a lantern, some assorted Archaeology tools, and a leather-bound journal with detailed, hand-drawn maps & illustrations of the Temple on this table. Now, the pages have all been torn out, the tools have been wrested from the bolts that held them down. It has been stripped clean of all the cool details that added more realism to this Fully-realized set piece.
As I make my way from Indy to the Haunted Mansion, I am constantly chiseled in the backs of my heels by rude, insistent mothers ramming their Strollers into my ankles. When I turn around to see who is tailgating me, I am met with blank stares, if any acknowledgement at all.
I decide to make a quick detour into Pirates of the Caribbean. After standing in a short queue, I climb into the bateau, and it heads off into the faux-darkness. Little to my knowledge, there is a group of Teenagers, mostly white, Midwestern-looking girls and looking like they belong to a cheerleading team. Before we even make it past the Blue Bayou, the screaming and laughing starts. Then, after the second hill, the splashing starts. I yell at the teens, which only fuels their fire. They giggle at me for being a stick-in-the-mud.
A ride on the Mark Twain Riverboat seems like a nice, relaxing thing to do on this gorgeous morning. I board the Sternwheeler and find a nice place to sit and enjoy the ride and view. A minute into the ride, and small Asian boy starts screaming at the top of his lungs, apparently horrified at the thought that we are on the water, in a slowly-moving vehicle. His tortured cries are met with parental dismay in an Indiscernible language by his father. This will continue for the entire ride. Next to me, an obese Hispanic woman talks loudly to her friend about...nothing...on her Cell phone from the time we leave the dock...until we return to the dock.
I wend my way through the endless maze of the Haunted Mansion queue. While edging forward, I see drink cups, popcorn containers, food wrappers, Straws, used Diapers and Fastpasses littering every planter that lines the queue. Once inside, High School kids, Gang-member-looking Hispanic and Black kids and even a few immature adults talk and laugh as loud as they would if they were in a crowded bar. This carries on well into the Doombuggy loading area. The ride is stopped a few times because of people breaking free of their Doombuggies to vandalize or just run around inside the attraction. I know this because of the ride Operators incessant admonitions to the errant guests.
While ambling through the claustrophobic caves of Splash Mountain, I smell the worst, most god-awful odor of flatulence that almost chokes me and enacts my gag reflex. I hear a few boys further back in the line guffawing and reacting to the stench as they start punching each other in the arms for committing the heinous act. As I stand there, in horror that someone would inflict this torture on the entire queue, I silently wish I could take my turn at a punch. About fifty feet from the spot, I see the same adolescent boys, mostly white, obese, Redneck-trailer-trash-looking kids trying in earnest to yank one of the Railroad lanterns off the wall. When they don’t succeed, they leave the bent and damaged lantern hanging pathetically from the wire, shrug, and then walk away, giggling moronically. Unfortunately, the people in front of me are waiting for their other friends to catch up, and I end up in the same boat with these cretins. They proceed to splash me and the Senior Citizens in front of me the entire ride. When I yell at them to stop, they tell me to f*** off. Being as they are most certainly minors, I resist the urge to climb over my seat’s backrest and toss them out of the log-shaped boat.
I take the Disneyland Railroad from New Orleans Square to Tomorrowland. I walk over to the restroom just next to where the old Skyway staircase was. While inside, I notice that some kids have wadded up paper towels and plugged up one of the sinks. They have managed, albeit with difficulty, due to the fact of the Faucets being the automatically turning off-kind, to fill one of the sinks until it is overflowing onto the floor. I see a Disneyland janitor coming in to remedy the situation and feel for him as he sighs and unplugs the drain to start cleaning up the mess. He flashes me a look as if to say “What’re ya gonna do?”. I walk outside to take a look around the haphazardly remodeled Tomorrowland to marvel at how ugly and what a completely horrible waste of space and poor designing it is. As I stand there, I am distracted by a few young, Hispanic girls who are giggling and looking down in front of them. I stand to one side to see what they are laughing at, and am horrified to see what I see: a small Hispanic child is peeing against the wall of the building. He is smiling away, tiny penis in hand, just peeing away. I can feel my jaw hanging agape as I witness this. Did I mention we are standing twenty feet from the Men’s restroom with a sign that reads “MEN” in huge black letters? I notice a CM walking towards a Hat-selling Kiosk and flag him down. I grab his arm as I’m barely able to muster the words for the sight that I can’t believe I am seeing. I can see the anger rising in him, but he keeps his cool. “M’am? The Men’s rooms is right over there. Could you please use it?” The two girls, who obviously don’t speak English, stare back at us, incredulous, still giggling. He disgustedly shakes his head and turns back to his co-worker who I hear him tell of what he just saw. They call over Maintenance to clean up the fresh, hot urine.
It is only 11:00 AM.
I’m going home.
I hate people.
-Ebenezer Scrooge as played by Albert Finney in the 1970 film "Scrooge".
Every time I walk through the turnstiles of the Disneyland main gate, I involuntarily smile. I walk onto the inner esplanade - there's a giant, floral Mickey head, smiling at me. Just above, the Fred Gurley, or maybe, the E.P. Ripley are pulling into the Disneyland Railroad Station, bells ringing, steam whistle blowing. Tourists from all over the world are gleefully clamoring to snap photos in front of this quaint backdrop. A fleet of strollers butts up against the flower beds that spread from one tunnel opening to the other. As I walk through the West tunnel (I always do for some unknown reason), I take in the large attraction posters that adorn the walls. Emerging from the tunnel, I enter the picturesque thoroughfare of Main Street. An antique Fire department car putters by, honking it's bulb-horn. Girls with striped shirts and smiling faces hold huge bundles of Mickey-head-shaped Balloons. Pleasant, Turn-of-the-century music floats through the air, over the buzz of the crowd traipsing the streets. Walking down the Boulevard of Main Street, the fragrant smells of coffee, pastries, candies and fresh Fruit waft by. It is a beautiful Morning, here at Disneyland. What could possibly go wrong?
I make my way towards Adventureland. I turn into the Tiki Room garden to wait for the show. I sit on one of the benches, taking in the atmosphere of the garden. The different Tiki Gods tell us about their different purposes. As I sit there, I look over to my right. I notice a teenaged Hispanic boy with a shaved head reaching up to try and grab on of the flowers that drop down from the Tonga Roa display. He is standing on a railing and is laughing as he yanks at the Plastic tropical flower. His friends giggle in embarrassed glee, as the boy strains to grasp the flower. He isn’t quite tall enough, and only manages to tear off a few plastic petals. He turns with pride to his friends at his paltry trophy. They laugh and make fun of him, not horrified at his complete disrespect for Disneyland Property or his blatant vandalism. No one anywhere says anything. These youths looks as is they might very well be gang members and no one wisely decides to chide them for their actions. They stand there for a second, their laughter subsiding. The boy who ripped off the petals wings them out into the passing crowd that walks through the entrance of Aventureland. A few of them hit some people, who look around, confusedly. These same teenagers will go into the show and disrupt it by making loud, stupid comments and throwing popcorn at the Animatronic birds. No one will do anything.
Afterwards, I venture over to the Indiana Jones Attraction. There isn’t yet a huge line, so I decide to stroll through the incredibly imagined queue area. I admire the amazing detail that went into the creation of this great attraction. I walk into the entrance of the Temple. Inside, there is a small table that sits below a decaying mural of the God “Mara”. Once, there was a navigation compass, a few rock hammers, a lantern, some assorted Archaeology tools, and a leather-bound journal with detailed, hand-drawn maps & illustrations of the Temple on this table. Now, the pages have all been torn out, the tools have been wrested from the bolts that held them down. It has been stripped clean of all the cool details that added more realism to this Fully-realized set piece.
As I make my way from Indy to the Haunted Mansion, I am constantly chiseled in the backs of my heels by rude, insistent mothers ramming their Strollers into my ankles. When I turn around to see who is tailgating me, I am met with blank stares, if any acknowledgement at all.
I decide to make a quick detour into Pirates of the Caribbean. After standing in a short queue, I climb into the bateau, and it heads off into the faux-darkness. Little to my knowledge, there is a group of Teenagers, mostly white, Midwestern-looking girls and looking like they belong to a cheerleading team. Before we even make it past the Blue Bayou, the screaming and laughing starts. Then, after the second hill, the splashing starts. I yell at the teens, which only fuels their fire. They giggle at me for being a stick-in-the-mud.
A ride on the Mark Twain Riverboat seems like a nice, relaxing thing to do on this gorgeous morning. I board the Sternwheeler and find a nice place to sit and enjoy the ride and view. A minute into the ride, and small Asian boy starts screaming at the top of his lungs, apparently horrified at the thought that we are on the water, in a slowly-moving vehicle. His tortured cries are met with parental dismay in an Indiscernible language by his father. This will continue for the entire ride. Next to me, an obese Hispanic woman talks loudly to her friend about...nothing...on her Cell phone from the time we leave the dock...until we return to the dock.
I wend my way through the endless maze of the Haunted Mansion queue. While edging forward, I see drink cups, popcorn containers, food wrappers, Straws, used Diapers and Fastpasses littering every planter that lines the queue. Once inside, High School kids, Gang-member-looking Hispanic and Black kids and even a few immature adults talk and laugh as loud as they would if they were in a crowded bar. This carries on well into the Doombuggy loading area. The ride is stopped a few times because of people breaking free of their Doombuggies to vandalize or just run around inside the attraction. I know this because of the ride Operators incessant admonitions to the errant guests.
While ambling through the claustrophobic caves of Splash Mountain, I smell the worst, most god-awful odor of flatulence that almost chokes me and enacts my gag reflex. I hear a few boys further back in the line guffawing and reacting to the stench as they start punching each other in the arms for committing the heinous act. As I stand there, in horror that someone would inflict this torture on the entire queue, I silently wish I could take my turn at a punch. About fifty feet from the spot, I see the same adolescent boys, mostly white, obese, Redneck-trailer-trash-looking kids trying in earnest to yank one of the Railroad lanterns off the wall. When they don’t succeed, they leave the bent and damaged lantern hanging pathetically from the wire, shrug, and then walk away, giggling moronically. Unfortunately, the people in front of me are waiting for their other friends to catch up, and I end up in the same boat with these cretins. They proceed to splash me and the Senior Citizens in front of me the entire ride. When I yell at them to stop, they tell me to f*** off. Being as they are most certainly minors, I resist the urge to climb over my seat’s backrest and toss them out of the log-shaped boat.
I take the Disneyland Railroad from New Orleans Square to Tomorrowland. I walk over to the restroom just next to where the old Skyway staircase was. While inside, I notice that some kids have wadded up paper towels and plugged up one of the sinks. They have managed, albeit with difficulty, due to the fact of the Faucets being the automatically turning off-kind, to fill one of the sinks until it is overflowing onto the floor. I see a Disneyland janitor coming in to remedy the situation and feel for him as he sighs and unplugs the drain to start cleaning up the mess. He flashes me a look as if to say “What’re ya gonna do?”. I walk outside to take a look around the haphazardly remodeled Tomorrowland to marvel at how ugly and what a completely horrible waste of space and poor designing it is. As I stand there, I am distracted by a few young, Hispanic girls who are giggling and looking down in front of them. I stand to one side to see what they are laughing at, and am horrified to see what I see: a small Hispanic child is peeing against the wall of the building. He is smiling away, tiny penis in hand, just peeing away. I can feel my jaw hanging agape as I witness this. Did I mention we are standing twenty feet from the Men’s restroom with a sign that reads “MEN” in huge black letters? I notice a CM walking towards a Hat-selling Kiosk and flag him down. I grab his arm as I’m barely able to muster the words for the sight that I can’t believe I am seeing. I can see the anger rising in him, but he keeps his cool. “M’am? The Men’s rooms is right over there. Could you please use it?” The two girls, who obviously don’t speak English, stare back at us, incredulous, still giggling. He disgustedly shakes his head and turns back to his co-worker who I hear him tell of what he just saw. They call over Maintenance to clean up the fresh, hot urine.
It is only 11:00 AM.
I’m going home.
I hate people.
