When I moved from Philadelphia to Southern California 11 years ago, one of the many reasons why I chose not to move within the Los Angeles city limits is because of the friggin' traffic. I like driving. I hate traffic. Saturday afternoon, I'm driving down the 101 and the 5 freeways to get to Anaheim to meet up with my friend, Glenn, who was in town on business for a few days. Clear sailing, for the most part, until I got to the downtown area of L.A. on the 5. It took me almost an hour to drive a 13 mile stretch of highway.
This isn't Monday morning drive time, nor is it Friday evening rush hour. I'm talking about a Saturday afternoon. While stuck on the highway (with my bladder about to burst), I'm flippin' through radio station after radio station, trying to get a traffic report. After 20 minutes of near fruitless searching, I finally get a traffic report on KNX... and... nothing! Not one word about any problems on the 5. Which means one of two things: either something just happened down the road and there's no report yet (not likely), or I'm just stuck in something that's considered normal for the 5 at this time of day on a Saturday afternoon. Great! Just great!
Now, I know that the main reason for this frustrating madness is because of the antiquated highway system in that part of L.A. We're talking about the 5 freeway which (up to that point) is a breezy 10 (and even sometimes 12) lane highway suddenly narrowed down to six lanes and, in many spots, even down to a paltry four lanes (two in each direction). Ancient and unfathomably thick concrete overpass monstrosities prevent any remote possibility of expanding the freeway to a more reasonable number of lanes through this section of town. It just ain't happening. But once I got past Fullerton it's back to a more sanely 10 lanes, and I'm finally about to reach Anaheim by 5:00 PM. My bladder is thankful.
So I meet up with Glenn at the Disneyland Hotel. Yes... Disneyland. Never been there before. Never really had an inkling for it. It's not that I harbor any dislike of things Disney... not at all... it's just... well... it's hard to explain. My sisters, on the other hand, are total Disney freakazoids. Well, anyway... since I was only going to be there for a few hours, it didn't make sense to cough up a ton of cash to ride a bunch of rides. Instead, Glenn and I walked through what is basically a very large open-air mall. We also ate a fine dinner at the Napa Rose restaurant (excellent grilled salmon). We had reservations, so we were sitting in the foyer waiting for our table to be ready.
And then it happened. Something that happens every second of every day in Disneyland and Disneyworld. A pleasant young staff woman walks up to us and, as though a little switch was flipped deep inside her brain, her facial expression changed into this forced smile, flashing her pearly whites, from which emanated that sing-songy voice asking us if we're enjoying our visit?... would you like to order a drink while you're waiting for your table?... no?... well okay then... bye-bye... and off she went to the next party waiting to be seated.
Her movements even became mechanical in the process. Extending her arm out in a stiff jousting motion with the drinks menu in hand, and the sharp retraction of her arm when we decline to order a drink. The proper erect stance, the cocked head with the gracious "Thank you", the swift and flawless turn on her heels as she walks away (a kind of pirouette which would make the average ballet dancer blush with envy).
I guess that's what bugs me about the whole Disney experience. That whole forced pleasantries thing. It must be drilled into the staff so hard from the get-go that all genuineness is lost from the ear-to-ear grin and the batting eye lashes. I don't know about you, but give me Bugs Bunny & Daffy Duck any day of the week over Mickey & Donald.
I know it sounds like I'm being harsh. I'm really not. It's just not my cup of tea, I guess. Maybe if I was in a better mood after having been stuck in traffic for an hour to get there. Oh well. Maybe next time I'll like it... a decade from now... with a couple kids in tow, begging me to ride the Flying Dumbos just one more time.
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