GETTING PAMPERED, IN DISNEY WORLD

In May 1974, my friend RBOY and I made a detour to Grabstein's Delicatessen in Canarsie, on our way home from Brooklyn College. We didn't go there to eat.  Our true purpose was to get change and use their phone.

THREE STEPS UP FROM THE MAIN DINING ROOM, BETWEEN THE TWO RESTROOMS, GRABSTEIN'S HAD ONE PAY PHONE.

A few weeks earlier, RBOY had the idea of the century; a summer-long working vacation at Walt Disney World.  My knee jerk reaction to his brainchild was an enthusiastic , "YES!" Now it was time to validate his concept.  Once RBOY got through to the employment office, he did a lot of listening.  While nodding, he smiled through the windowed door and gave me a silent thumbs up. He had found out jobs were plentiful.  They made no offer but we were inspired to take a chance and head down in June.

It should be noted that previous blogs like March 15, 2010's, "TAKING THE SCENIC ROUTE TO HARTFORD HALL," dealt with getting the Disney job or a specific unusual circumstance.  Today's column is different because it explores the underbelly of Disney's "wholesome" culture.

Tired and straggly from our twenty-four hour odyssey, RBOY and I stepped off a Greyhound in front of the Disney World employment center. Like the reverence of a cathedral, the nearly full waiting room, was silent except for cloaked whispers. But every applicant, as well as the staff perked up and fixed on us as a drone of conversation developed into a buzz.  They must've thought the mothership had landed, and we were leading an advanced scouting mission from planet Xenon.  

Our dirty, hippie-like garb apparently didn't mesh with their "dressing for success standard."  The male candidates were wearing jackets and ties while the females were in dresses.  Only two people weren't in their Sunday best and those two people stood out even more because they were also schlepping luggage.

Once we worked out some complications involving reliable transportation and a place to live, we were hired.  Our choice was, flipping burgers or sweeping floors.  In a unanimous vote, RBOY and I opted for brooms, at $2.40 an hour, (minimum wage was $2.25).  However, in management's never-ending beneficent pledge to employee betterment and welfare, we were offered an additional five cents an hour to follow the horses after each parade...again in a unanimous vote, we turned down the windfall.

A big part of Disney's orientation/propaganda was to instill the belief that it was a privilege to work for such a pristine company that was emblematic of truth, justice and the American way.  Like putty in their hands, our New York street smarts didn't help us...we were just as "swept-up" in the hype as our fellow, (mostly local Floridian), new employees.  Our idealism was so strong that we had no preconceived notions about the actual job and were happily, (blindly) prepared to work hard.

RBOY was assigned to Frontierland.  His added responsibility (for no extra pay), was refilling mens room paper supplies as well as reporting toilet back-ups.

Together with a cute blond from orientation, I reported to our Fantasyland supervisor.  This"boss" turned out to be such a malingerer that I only saw him three other times in an official capacity, during the month I worked there.  His lack of dedication shot-down so much of the rah-rah spewage that had concentrated on the Protestant work ethic, (it should also be noted that my blond cohort was promoted to a merchandising supervisor after three days...we were told that NOBODY could even apply for a transfer before being on the job for ninety days. So an actual promotion was supposedly 100% out of the question).

On my first day, way before I comprehended the Disney hypocrisy, I absorbed all my duties.

THE PARK HAD A GAZILLION UMBRELLA TABLES.  LIKE CLOCKWORK,  EVERYDAY IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, CENTRAL FLORIDA HAD A SHORT, WINDY CLOUDBURST.  THE SWEEPERS HAD TO CLOSE THE UMBRELLAS DURING THESE STORMS, REOPEN THEM LATER AND DRY THE TABLES.

Just before five on my first day, the breeze picked up, swarms of gray clouds eliminated the blue sky and it poured.  Me and Blondie, like lunatics, ran around closing the endless sea of umbrellas.  During the chaos, I wasn't careful and the lowering mechanism gouged the soft tissue between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, (in addition to a pulsating pain, I lost a chunk of skin and bled).

THE INITIAL HOOPLA FROM DRINKING THE DISNEY KOOL-AID INFECTED RBOY AND I SO MUCH THAT DURING OUR FIRST WEEK, BEFORE OUR SHIFT, WE PLAYED TOURIST.


A few days later, on our lunch hour (unpaid, forty-five minutes), RBOY and I sat with griping sweepers.  They were profaning an employee perk called Little Lake Bryan.  A redheaded guy switched from grousing when he realized we were rookies to say to us. "Did y'all know that before he died in 1966, Walt Disney was frozen alive.  Mr. Disney's family and high-ranking park officials were waiting for science to discover a cure for his lung cancer."

To this day, I'm not certain whether it's an urban legend or not but our"coffee klotch" agreed that his body is being warehoused in a liquid nitrogen, cryogenic chamber, in the upper most spire of Cinderella's Castle.

Carl, (the kid next to RBOY), made fun of the "ugly" employees who oversaw Mr. Disney's body.  We were clueless what he was talking about.  Until it was pointed out that all the workers with obvious flaws, in either looks or personality were forced to work "underground," so as to not be seen by the public.  One of the girls stood up to leave and said, "When you work for 'The Rat,' (Mickey Mouse), even if you only have a tiny hickey on your neck, you better hide it or you'll never see the light of day till it clears up."

I mentioned Blondie and her mysterious disappearance from my section and that she hadn't been replaced.  It was shocking that everyone aleady knew of her meteoric rise to lower management.  I said, "I thought there were no promotions for ninety days?" Someone with a Ted nametag scoffed, "There's one surefire method..."  He saw my blank expression of naivete and whispered, "Special consideration for sexual favors." I was disappointed in the system and moaned, "All that AND I have to close all those damned umbrellas alone?"  Ted said, "You don't really close those idiotic contraptions?"  "Well yeah," I said, "that's a big part of the job."  I showed him the giant band-aid that extended into my palm and said, "Those things are dangerous, I got nipped the first day..."  Carl interrupted, "You should've ran to the office.  They would've sent you to infirmary for a tetnaus shot .  You could've killed an hour."  Ted said, "Forget that." He leaned in closer and quietly added, "As soon as the wind picks up, whether there's thunder or lightning or not, they close the 'SWISS SKY RIDE.'"  RBOY said, "So?"  Carl jumped in, "That's where the sweepers goof-off until the rain stops and the wind dies down."

DURING MY FIRST RAINY DAY VISIT TO THE FANTASYLAND SKY RIDE, I FOUND TEN GOLD-BRICKING SWEEPERS UP THERE.  THEY SAT ON THE FLOOR TO AVOID BEING SEEN FROM BELOW AND SMOKED CIGARETTES WHILE LUXURIATING FROM THE WATER COOLER AS IF IT WAS WINE.  IT BECAME A RARITY FOR ME TO MISS THIS EXTRA FORTY-MINUTE BREAK UP THERE.

The center of my territory was the, "CAROUSEL."  In front of it, I swept through, "CINDERELLA'S CASTLE," including both ramps on the other side.   To the left of the merry-go-round, I was responsible beyond, "MR. TOAD'S WILD RIDE," to the "SWISS SKY RIDE."  To the right, my area stretched past, "TWENTY-THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA," to the "GRAND PRIX," race cars.

While on duty, it was a necessity to get out of the broiling sun.  Therefore, to fight the monotony within the legal boundaries of my job description, I found it both refreshing and rewarding to tidy-up the air-conditioned shops. Overwhelmingly, merchandising was run by girls.  I began a flirtatious relationship with "C" from the stroller rental service, "D" from the perfumery and "M" from the camera shop.

"M" TOOK THIS PICTURE WITH ONE OF THE POLAROIDS THAT SHE SOLD, (DEMONSTRATED).  I BELIEVE THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I HAD A 32-INCH WAIST.

Of the three girls, I liked "M" the best.  She lived thirty miles from me and we both didn't have a car.  Soon, I was dating "C."  She also lived far away but had a car. In the end, the distance and scheduling clashes broke us up. However, "D" lived in my apartment complex, so we spent a lot of quality time together over the course of two weeks...before going our separate ways.

On one of my dates with "C" she took me to Little Lake Bryan.  This free "indulgence" that Disney provided, (to spoil their staff)  was original topic of complaint the sweepers had during our lunch break. 

"C" and I were greeted by a lone, embittered parking lot attendant.  He wasn't thrilled to get out of his chair and the sanctuary of it's attached umbrella.  He struggled, (walking ten feet with two canes) to check our ID's and tell us, "Park anywhere."

Inside an open air pavillion managed by a girl our age with a contorted face, (hopefully from something temporary like Bell's Palsy), avoided eye-contact and never spoke.  She was in charge of handing out locker keys and tending to inflatable rafts and other toys.  Other than some vending machines, there were no amenities...like food.

Tha actual lake lacked the most basic necessity for Florida...shade.  We walked out onto the broken seashells and joined the sparse crowd before making a U-Turn and leaving.

PLEASE NOTE, TODAY LITTLE LAKE BRYAN IS A 30-ACRE RECREATION HAVEN FOR DISNEY CAST MEMBERS.  IN 1974, IT LOOKED MORE LITTLE DEVIL'S ISLAND.

In late June during my Fantasyland rounds, I began gravitating to the shady spots that the ride operators worked in.  The two big exceptions were, the Carousel because its repetitive, loud tune drove me crazy and "IT'S A SMALL WORLD," because its famous music, (of the same name), was a hundred times worse.

I developed a friendship with ticket takers at the other rides. But it was insulting that many of them made me work harder, by throwing the stubs on the floor. This perflexing problem ended when I went to sweep up the litter and was asked not to.  Soon I noticed that they weren't destroying the tickets.  When nobody was looking, these clever lads scooped "the unused tickets," off the ground, for their own use.

THE RIDES WERE PRICED IN FIVE CATEGORIES, (A, B, C, D and E).  AN "E" RIDE WAS THE MOST EXPENSIVE, NINETY CENTS.

To the dismay of the ticket takers, I made it a habit of keeping their area immaculate, (more so on the expensive rides).  Soon, I took "C," (the girl from the stroller rental store), to the park on our day off.  The next day, I realized that I still had a surplus of "free" tickets that I could never use up.  I mentioned that to "C" and her girlfriend from the gift shop. Her friend said, "Give them to me.  Then come in (to her store) wearing street clothes and I'll give you a gigantic discount."  When my face soured "C" said, "In the 'Tragic Kingdom,' what goes around, comes around.  Jeez, when I was dating Johnny from the 'lost and found,'  a lot of times, he called his brother to come in on his break and make claims on jewelry, wallets and expensive souvenirs."

The next morning, RBOY and I came into her gift shop.  She didn't flinch when I said I brought a friend and said, "Whatever you guys get, make sure you pick a bumper sticker too."  She stopped speaking suddenly as her supervisor (Blondie), appeared from out of the storeroom.  I couldn't believe my ears when C's innocent looking friend added, "When that fucking, psycho-bitch whore leaves, I'll wink when the coast is clear." 

I was afraid that Blondie would recognize me.  Plus, I was too inhibited to really go nuts.  So I hid behind display racks and only picked one tee-shirt, a Happy, (from the Seven Dwarfs), figurine and a bumper sticker.  RBOY did about the same. When Blondie left with a much older man in a suit, our connection winked.  We could have bought-out the store because she treated us like regular customers...and only rang up the fifty-cent bumper sticker.

MY SISTER HAD JUST GOTTEN ENGAGED.  I "BOUGHT" A SIMILIAR "HAPPY" FIGURINE FOR THEM, IN THE HOPE THAT THEY WOULD ALWAYS BE "HAPPY."  I'M THRILLED TO REPORT THAT TOY HAS BEEN HANDED DOWN TO THEIR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN...AND THEY STILL HAVE IT.

RBOY and I lived in an apartment complex in Kissimmee.  I befriended two residents "B" and "R" from rural South Carolina.  Disney hired them after RBOY and I. The only jobs left for them was as after hours, power-washers.  Like us, they came down for a working vacation with an emphasis on socializing.  When people hired after them got regular jobs with normal hours, they were pissed-off by Disney's nepotism/cronyism, (double-dealings).  They quit and got better jobs, (waiters at our local, RED LOBSTER).

The brainwashing didn't work on "B" and "R." From their prospective, I began seeing my little J-O-B in a different light.  I never got used to working Fantasyland alone. This was proven the next day when a kid vomited and they sent for me during my break as if I was the only specialist in "THE TRAGIC KINGDOM," who could handle such a delicate situation, (a sawdust-like product called ZIP-ZORB.  It was effective in masking the smell and drying the mess so it could be swept...but until it kicked in...yuck)!  Then, later that shift, I almost needed ZIP-ZORB for myself when the malodorous machine, (AVAC), that used a vacuum system to flush trash away, got backed-up.

On the Fourth of July, the last remnants of my rapidly deteriorating positive outlook took a major hit.  I was sent to my long lost supervisor's, supervisor.  A stranger to me, "G" was gawky six-foot-six giant. He was pale, bone-skinny and about twenty-three.  He stood to shake my hand with the stern sobriety of a judge. I was reminded of Doc from SNOW WHITE when he looked down at me, (over his glasses), until I could see his acne ravaged face and a bobbing Adam's apple on his elongated neck.  Through his strong Southern accent, he spoke so slow that he came-off as Dopey.  While I agonized over every drawn-out syllable he managed to utter, I imagined that he had worked exclusively in the bowels of underground Disney, before rising to this position...and even now, like a leper, he was restricted to,"backstage."

His main point was that this was the busiest day of the season and that he received a report that I wasn't smiling enough.  I rebutted with something about the natural curvature of my face.  He cut me off, "Son."  Son? He lost me immediately.  "This is not a written reprimand.  Let's just say I have some constructive criticism to help you thrive here in Disney that will help you with whatever future endeavors you might have."

I left angry.  Back at my apartment, I spoke with "B" and "R."  They're description of Red Lobster made it seem like a paradise, (ten minutes of travel and a 5 1/2 hour day...Disney with travel was an eleven hour day.  Waiters made about $50.00 a day...my Disney take home was $78.38, a week). I went to Red Lobster and was hired on the spot.

I went in to see "G" the next day.  I politely said I got a better job.  He said, "Y'all oughtn't burn down your bridges." He urged me to give two days notice.  I wasn't starting the new job till the weekend, so I agreed.  During that next to last shift, I told my work friends the situation.  In the photo shop "M" was surprised by my decision but was supportive. She said, "Let's make sure we have lunch together tomorrow."

I was really having trouble getting through the last few hours and was dreading coming back for another day.  In my last twenty minutes, at the "DUMBO" ride, somebody left a white plastic packet on a bench.  It was too big for my dust bin so I picked it up with my hand. I couldn't figure out what it was except that it was squishy, warm and felt kind of nice.  A group of women crossed my path. One lady stopped, pointed at me and started laughing, "Hon, you know you're squeezing...Pampers?"  Soon all of them were laughing and more people came over to see why.  I shrugged, "What's a Pamper?"  The woman broke out into hysterics, "It's a disposable diaper, stupid!"

I was mortified.  I cleared out my locker and didn't show-up for my last day.

"B," "R" AND ME. THE KISSIMMEE RED LOBSTER WAS GOOD TO ME.  I WORKED A LOT LESS, OPENED A SAVINGS ACCOUNT AND BROUGHT A CHUNK OF MONEY BACK UP NORTH, IN SEPTEMBER.

On the downside, friends from New York visited during Labor Day weekend.  I still had a ton of free tickets so we went as a group to Disney.  At the same gift shop, I was prepared to be much bolder. When I saw my connection, I offered her a bribe with all my remaining tickets.  I said, "I'll make sure we all get bumper stickers, right?"  She shook her, "Sorry.  No-can-do. My new supervisor is a real hard-ass."  She changed the subject, "What happened to you?"  I said, "What do you mean?"  She said, "'M' made a going away party for you...she really liked you...and you didn't show up."  I felt awful and said, "Is she here today?"  "No. She's back at school and only working weekends.  She was so disappointed by you.  She brought in a cake and about five of us got you little gag gifts and..."

I started to tell her the gory details of how I got "pampered" but she turned away in disgust, to help a customer.