By Stephanie Lewis
My six kids manipulated me into spending Mother’s Day with Mickey Mouse. Because they know the “D” word stresses me out, they gave me a book, “Guide to Seeing Disneyland in a Relaxed Manner” (with a big red bow on it) and then cried until I tried out their “special” gift.
I haven’t gone in years but Walt would have a panic attack to see the mob scene on Main Street alone. “It’s a small world after all” has new meaning after I bump into everyone. According to my handy guidebook, I should immediately send my children on The Twilight Tower of Tower (with a sudden drop that ages a person faster than direct UV sunlight) while I wait in another line for some mountain ride. Disneyland likes the mountain theme. There’s Space, Splash, Thunder, and a snow-capped mountain, which has a Bigfoot-type creature ferociously roaring as you zip merrily around your bobsled. But you don’t need to know any of this. Just learn a magic word called, “Fastpass.”
ME: Hi there. Is this humongous line for Space, Splash or Thunder Mountain?
LINE-STANDER: None of those. This line is for Fastpass.
ME: Oh! What’s the height requirement to ride Fastpass?
LINE-STANDER: Uh, Lady. You better consult your guidebook again.
And that’s when it dawns on me! These people are standing in a zig-zag line all around Fantasyland to acquire an official time-stamped card that entitles them to return to ride a popular, nauseating rollercoaster at a certain time. A line to organize you to stand in another line. It’s brilliant in a way I cannot fathom.
You’re getting this, right? Essentially a Fastpass is a reservation for a precise hour to vomit. Walt would turn over in his grave to witness this state of affairs, but first he’ll need to obtain a particular type of “pass” to do so.
After my kids find me and scream to stand in line for some crazy river-rapids rafting ride, I approach another man.
ME: Excuse me, why do you need a FASTPASS for this? There’s no line. Why don’t you just float down that cold, polluted river right away? Enlighten me.
LINE-STANDER: Our family doesn’t like to get wet first thing in the morning.
ME: (sniffing, taking a step back) So, none of you have showered yet??
At 6 p.m, I finally get the hang of this Fastpass routine. I’ve put in a long day’s work, my shift is over and I’m ready to punch out. I began to whistle, “Hi-Ho, It’s Home From Work We Go” but my kids won’t hear of leaving because there’s one Fastpass remaining. It can’t be used until 8:45 p.m.
Idea time! I sprinkle water from that disgusting river across my face, fling my hand dramatically to my forehead and find someone dressed like Prince Charming.
ME: Pardon me. My children have waited all day to use these Fastpasses that aren’t valid until later tonight. As you can see, I’ve taken sick and wonder if they can ride earlier?
PRINCE CHARMING: Your skin does look White as Snow. I’ll make an exception for your “Little Dwarfs” just this once. Go lie down in that glass coffin around the corner.
ME: (Dirty Look) Gee, thanks. You’re a Prince.
Apparently Grumpy witnesses my charade and is unhappy. Really? Grumpy displeased?!
GRUMPY: What kind of parent role models dishonesty?
ME: An Evil StepMother! C’mon kids…let’s go before the clock strikes midnight.
GRUMPY: Wrong Fairytale.
KIDS: (whining) We’re hungry.
Me: (cackling maniacally) Ok, hush up and eat your Poison Apples!
Stephanie D. Lewis is a regular contributor to The Huffington Post. She writes a popular humor blog at OnceUponYourPrime.com. Follow her on Twitter @MissMenopause.