(The name of the theme park has been changed to protect the innocent.)
I love Dizneyland.
I go every chance I get
My wife and kids, however, have long-since stopped going with me.
"If you're going to let a little thing like embarrassment stop you," I'd tell them, "you'll never do anything."
But when they did go with me, we'd get in free. How? you ask. Well, like this: there's ALWAYS a long line at the ticket booth where you pay your entrance fee. While standing in that slow-moving line, I'd complain, loud enough for everybody around me to hear, "I'm hot. Are you hot?" and then, "I don't feel so good," and then, "I hope I'm not contagious."
After standing in the line for a reasonable length of time, I'd let myself fall to the hard concrete ground, pretending to have passed out. It's easy, you just let your legs go out from underneath you. It's a trick I learned that kept me out of the Army back when there was a draft. Rolling your eyes back so that only the whites can be seen is also a nice touch.
Immediately, the Dizney medics would come and take me to their infirmary, also bringing my family along, assuring them that I would be all right. Once there, I'd wait for the nurse to leave the room, scoop up my family, and rush out the door before she or he'd come back.
"I'm better now," I'd tell my worried kids, while my wife would roll her eyes knowingly.
"How come you always get sick at Dizneyland?" one of my kids once wanted to know. that put her down a couple of rungs on the ladder of which of my kids I love the most.
The nice thing about making our escape is we'd have to travel down the same passageway the Dizney characters enter and exit through, so my children would have a nice time meeting and greeting them without the usual crowds the common folk have to contend with..
On the rare occasion the nurse doesn't leave the infirmary, I'd just get up, tell him or her that "I'm better now," and just leave. What could they do? Chase after me? No, since there was always other sick people there, they wouldn't leave their post.
"But wouldn't they give their security force a description of you" some of you might wonder, to which I reply, "Quit wondering so much," but, since you must know, I would always wear a bright red shirt at the beginning of my Dizney adventure, then quickly discard it as I made my escape. Underneath the red shirt I would wear a subtle blue shirt. While the Dizney security force would be looking for a devilishly handsome man in a bright crimson shirt, I'd be happily riding their rides.
"What about your wife and children?" you might also wonder. "Wouldn't they recognize them?"
Hmm... you sure do wonder a lot, my friend. You wouldn't happen to work for Dizneyland, would you?
To answer you question, no.
No one ever notices the wife and kids.
Once inside the slap-dap-happiest place on earth, my family and I were free to roam the park without that broke feeling parents usually have. Gone are the days when they used to give you a book of tickets to ride the rides with. With the "E" ticket you would be able to ride the premium rides, like The House of the Rising Sun in the New Orleans section of Adventurousland. Gone also are the wrist bands or flourescent hand-stamps that glowed under a blue light. Today, once inside the park, you can ride any ride you wish as many times as you like. The main ride being the Waiting In Line ride which, unlike the other rides which lasts only minutes, lasts hours.
I try to avoid waiting in line if I can help it, and usually I can. The way I do it is, in a pinch I don't mind "borrowing" an unattended go-cart Dizneyland provides for the elderly and the handicapped, or, as I like to call them, the handicapped. If the user is on the ride, then how much does he or she really need that go-cart, if you follow my logic.
Now, I know you're asking yourself if I'd be low enough to steal someone's wheelchair. Of course not. Wheelchairs involve too much work. Unless they're motorized.
Dizneyland has a great team of maintenance workers constantly and efficiently cleaning up. You know what's good about maintenance workers? Having them mean I can drop or leave my trash wherever and whenever I want, and I can rest assured that it will be immediately picked up and not spoil my day there.
Empty strollers also make a convenient place to throw your trash. Sadly, selfish parents who don't care about the environment might not appreciate your thoughtfulness, so be careful. Also be careful not to throw your drink cup. You might want something to drink later.
Another way to get rid of your trash is just to hand it to someone else. As a student of human behavior, I've noticed that if you hand someone something, they'll usually take it. The trick is, you have to stick and movie.
The last time I was there, the LGBT were there for Rainbow Weekend. Or maybe it was a law enforcement convention. I've noticed the members of both groups all seem to have the same look.
When you're hungry, find a baby who is eating something and is being held backward over their parent's shoulder. If you look pleadingly at them and hold out your hand beggar-esque, they'll usually hand you what's left of their hamburger.
You can also go to one of the resort hotels, like the Grand Californication, and you can order anything you want, as long as you give them a room number. They never ask, "Are you staying here?" They ask, "And what room shall I charge this to?"
"Why, room 1408," I tell them, which happens to be one of my favorite Stephen King short stories. If they'd only ask me a different question, I might give them a different answer. Maybe even an honest one.
"Are you staying here?"
"No, I'm not."
I don't see it as doing something wrong, I see it as giving a departing family a final Dizney adventure when they try to check out.
The best time to eat from street carts at Dizneyland is when they're all packed up and moving away from you on their way back to restock. Walk behind them, and it's like an all-you-can-eat-while-you-walk buffet.
And, if all else fails, pull the old Slip & Fall at any one of their wonderful restaurants. One of my favorites is the House of Blues, because while I'm slipping and falling, I'm also listening to some good music.
Works every time.
And how did I get away with it?
I stuck and I moved.
written for, but not featured in DesertExposure.com