Disney Magic

Disney Magic: Prologue

“British, huh,” A large man, puffing on a cigarette, sat behind an oak desk. Pictures of himself posed next to various cartoon characters were scattered on the surface, all displayed proudly instead of the pictures of his family and children that should’ve been found on a grown man’s desk.

That’s the Disney difference.

“Yes sir,” Harry said simply, shifting uncomfortably in the chair he’d been escorted to, following his arrival at the office.

Mr. Smith was in charge of all Face Characters that were under Disney World’s payroll, and thanks to the strike that had recently broken out, only a month before Harry had arrived, he was supervising a bunch of amateur kids who had come to Disney World with great dreams, and little experience.

“We’ve got a couple of you,” Mr. Smith tapped his cigarette on a Mickey Mouse ashtray, filling one of his ears with black dust, “You’ve got a favorite Disney character?”

Harry smiled widely, running a hand through his hair, “Oh, all of them sir, although-“

“Dale,” Mr. Smith interrupted, lighting another cigarette with a Donald Duck lighter, the flame emitting from his beak.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Dale,” Mr. Smith repeated, leaning forward, “As in Chip & Dale. Your favorite character is Dale.”

Harry stared back in confusion, “What?”

Mr. Smith rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath, “Let me rephrase that to make it easier on you. Our Dale walked out on us yesterday, so you’re in. You’ve got the job, Dale. The chipmunk.”

Harry stared back silently. That hadn’t been exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d pictured himself working in America.

His mother hadn’t been exactly pleased with the idea of shipping him off to The States, not in the slightest. He was supposed to be taking a year off at home, working at the local bakery to help pay his way through University.

Moving to America to work at a theme park hadn’t exactly been the plan.

Harry hadn’t even considered it, until he heard rumors of a worker’s strike rumbling on the Internet. Nothing was official at the time, Disney claimed, but people were speculating the strike to take place within the next couple of months. And without their face characters, Disney would be desperate.

Which is when Harry had formed his brilliant idea.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t love his home and his family, it was just, working at the happiest place on earth sounded a bit, well, happier.

And within two months time, a few legal issues, and his Mother’s blessing, Harry was flying over the ocean to the land where The Mouse ruled. And that’s how he had landed up in this office,  for a job audition, with the offer to play the chipmunk no one ever even remembered.

Oh sure, everyone knew Chip; there was still a Chip without a Dale. But Dale was the forgettable one, the less prestigious one of the already less prestigious duo. 

There was no Dale without a Chip.

“Anything else?” Harry asked hopefully and Mr. Smith laughed, his smoky breath coming out in a large puff, right in Harry’s face.

“Nope,” Mr. Smith grinned, “I’ll buzz your Chip up here, nice kid, thick accent, can’t understand a fucking word he says. Only shits and giggles with him. He’ll be your roommate, show you the ropes. You start tomorrow.”

Harry’s jaw hung open, head reeling from the sudden inflow of information. Mr. Smith smirked at him, leaning back heavily in his padded chair, tapping another cigarette out onto Mickey Mouse’s face.

He watched the cigarette, his lip curling in disgust as he watched his childhood hero’s face fill up with ashes, and stared at a flame fly sadistically from Donald Duck’s mouth, lighting up another cigarette in a room, just a few feet away from obliviously happy families, running around in a fairytale land that didn’t seem as real as it once had.

And Harry had only been here for an past hour.

Harry began to question his decision, but before he could say much more his hand was in Mr. Smith’s hand, being shaken enthusiastically.

“Welcome to the happiest place on earth, Mr. Styles. I hope you have a Disney Day.”