Dizzy World
He that is hasty of
spirit exalteth folly.
—
Proverbs 14:29b
We should have known it was going to be one of "those" trips.
We couldn't even get the name of our destination right. We told everybody that
we were going to "Walt Disney World" where we would visit "The
Magic Kingdom."
Our relatives who live in Orlando laughed like crazy when we
used those terms. Rubes! Hicks! Nerds! Out-of-towners! Tourists!
NOBODY calls it "The Magic Kingdom."
EVERYBODY calls it "The Mouse."
Oh.
We did the same thing in Boston. We said we wanted to go to
"Cape Cod." Eventually, we were courteously corrected: it's not
"Cape Cod." It's "The Cape." Of course, I got mixed up and
kept calling it "The Cod."
Then we found out that there's no such place as "Palm
Springs." When you go there, you say that you are "On the
Desert." 'Course, that always made me think of crawling around on hands
and knees in the blazing sun with a canteen clunking around your neck . . . but
oh, well.
Anyway. We were on our way to Disney World . . . uh, that
is, The Mouse.
We were only going to do this once, so we wanted to do it
right. We were going the same week as several other families we knew.
Each family made a vacation schedule with synchronized
movements of personnel and materiel that rivaled the battle plan for D-Day.
Backpacks? Check! Restaurant reservations? Check! Sunscreen? Check! We
scheduled several joint outings and meals with these friends. We had each
vacation day organized down to the minute. Chop, chop, chop!
We rented a
car and drove to the various venues every day. We packed water bottles, tissue,
bandages, postcards, stamps, extra film, safety pins, breath mints, binkies . .
. but it was out of character for us to be so organized. Something had to snap.
On the last day, it did. Exhausted from so much relaxation,
we overslept. We had to leap into clothes, hurl ourselves into the rental car
and race to the parking lot at EPCOT to catch the monorail to our breakfast
with friends at The Magic King . . . uh, I mean, The Mouse . . . some miles
away.
If we missed that monorail, we'd get . . . GASP! . . .
behind schedule.
The rental car lurched into a parking spot. All of our eyes
were fixed on the monorail in the distance. It was still there! We had a
chance! Our feet hit the pavement before the car even stopped. We morphed from
a tired family from Omaha into super-action hero figures with amazing speed.
Hooray! We made it!
We enjoyed the breakfast, had a full day, and wound up back
at EPCOT for the lightshow after dusk. Wonderful! We limped weakly but happily
back to the rental car.
But it was locked. And my husband couldn't find the key. We
searched everywhere. Had it fallen out of his pocket on the mini-boats? In the
teacups?
Frazzled, he leaned up against the fender and put his hand
on the hood.
OUCH! It was hot!
Hunh?
Brain King was perplexed, then mad:
"Heyyyy! Somebody must have PICK-POCKETED me! And taken
the key! And figured out which car was ours! And took it out for a joy ride!
And parked it back in the same spot right before we got back! And then locked
it and left with the key!"
HUNHHH?
Just then, a Mouse security guard arrived . . . with the
key.
HUNHHHHHH?
It seems we had been in such a big hurry to make the
monorail that morning that my husband had slammed the car door with the key
still in the ignition, and the locked car still running.
Allllllllllllll day. Hours and hours.
The guard had driven by at dusk, saw that the lights on the
dashboard were on, and figured out what had happened. He got a hold of a
locksmith, got the car turned off, safeguarded the key, and even put a couple
of extra gallons of gas in the tank so we could get back to the condo.
Good thing it was dusk, so no one could see how red our
faces were, and not from any Florida sunburn. Fortunately, the car was OK, even
if our egos weren't.
We were back in character. Rubes! Hicks! Nerds!
Out-of-towners! Tourists!
At least now we know enough not to call the place "The
Magic Kingdom."
Now we call it what it made us: "Dizzy World." †
