Trapped in The Happiest Place on Earth

Six

Six

At exactly 5 o’4 in the morning, the Disney specialist, “Dastan”, knocks on my door. I groan and pull the covers over my head. For a moment I forget where I am and what happened last night, but with Mr. Disney Dude’s impatient knocking I remember quickly that I’m in the Cinderella Castle, and trapped in my own personal nightmare of unending torment. This should be fun.

I walk across the pitch black room to where I think the door is. But before I reach the door I trip and fall on my face, which just shows how low the bar has been set for today. I scramble to the door before someone makes bruises on their knuckles from knocking so hard.

“It’s about time.” He says.

“You’re…”

“Dastan.” He says putting his hand out for me to shake.

“Mickey.” He nods as if he already knew. Now that I think about it, he’s probably known my name for a long time; after all, Fairy Godmother has probably trained Dastan herself for the tragic case of my heart-lacking-magic-producing-powers.

“Do you need a tissue?” He asks staring at my face. “Your nose is bleeding.”

My hand flies to my nose as I realize that when I fell I must have triggered a nose bleed.

 That’s great.

When we walk into the room he turns on the lights and hands me a tissue. In his hands are a couple of bags, one looks like it has clothes in it, and the other something like a backpack you’d use for a three week hiking trip.

“Here’s you some clothes.” He says tossing me a bag. I catch it with my free hand and go into the bathroom to change.

As I examine myself in the mirror I conclude that this is the most unflattering piece of clothing I have ever worn. Tan shorts, with a gray, thick, t-shirt with “Epcot” written on the front. “Are you serious?” I mutter to myself. When I emerge from the bathroom Dastan is sitting on the bed reading some kind of guide book. “I can’t even wear my own clothes?” I ask.

“Godmother’s orders.” He shrugs. I moan and hunch my shoulders over. He bites his lip. “Well, off to the parks!” He leads me down out of the castle and out to his car in the parking lot.

 Yellow Corvette.

 Not bad.

“So I’m just guessing here, but are we going to the big golf ball today?” I ask as we drive away.

“No.” He says keeping his eyes keenly on the road. “We’re going to Epcot .” He clarifies. I look at him as if he’s got to be kidding me. 

“Whatever.” I say rolling my eyes. “Are we going to it?”

 “Yes.” He says, as if talking to me is the most annoying thing he’s ever done. “We’re going to Epcot.”

 “Yay me.” I mutter under my breath. It’s not that I hate Epcot, because I don’t. It’s actually one of the parks that focuses on more than just Mickey and his friends, and I really appreciate that; but I can just imagine that going anywhere with Mr. Social over there is just going to be a real treat.

“What is it?” Dastan asks.

Darn, I think. He heard me.

“Nothing.” I assure him. “So,” I say to get off subject, “how long have you been working for Disney?” I ask.

He looks at me and narrows his eyebrows. “How long have you hated Disney?”

Ouch.

I wasn’t expecting that

“Since I was eleven.” I  answer confidently.

“Huh, that must be tiring.” He says.

 I huff.

“It’s really not.” I assure him. “Probably easier than what you do, which is to guide me around all day.”

He laughs. “I don’t doubt that for a second.” Dastan says. “I’ve known you for only thirty minutes and I can already tell that you’re going to drive me crazy before the week ends.”

I gasp. “Well you’re not exactly what I’d call my trip to sanity either, but I wouldn’t have said that about you.”-out loud I think. “What do you mean by the end of the week?” I ask. “Do you mean that I only have to do this ‘Trapped in Disney World’ thing for 6 more days?” I ask excitingly.

“No, I meant that by the end of the week you might have a new guide because if you keep up with these exhausting conversations, I’m going to be admitted into a mental hospital.” He says with equal drag and satisfaction.

Me?! I think.

 He’s seriously talking about me? I thought a Disney Cast Member like him would be used to interesting conversations by now. After all, I hear Rapunzel and Flynn, from Tangled, talking about frying pans all the time, and that has to at least qualify as exhausting. The people here, The Fairy and Dastan, make me seem like the most immature sixteen year old they’ve ever met, and I don’t exactly appreciate that. To my satisfaction I am almost seventeen, and as a matter of fact, I am very mature when I’m not in places like DISNEY WORLD. So they can just think what they want here, but if they ever question me as a person, outside of all the Disney crap, they better be in for my own talk of frying pans.

“Well The Fairy-” I begin to defend myself.  

“Fairy Godmother.” He interrupts.

I narrow my eyes at him and clear my throat . “Well, Fairy Godmother, said that this  experiment-”

“It’s not an experiment,” He interrupts again.

“Well then what. Is. It?”I ask impatiently.

He pauses, and says seriously, “It’s a life-saving process.”

I laugh, and I seriously try to stop myself, but I find it humanly impossible.

At the next red light he stares at me seriously. “And it’s my life you’re trying to save, correct?” I choke out.

 He smirks. “You don’t get it.” He says happily. I stop laughing and take a deep breath.

“What don’t I get?”  I wonder. I get that I am the most unhappy girl on the planet right now. I get that I have one of the most serious Disney guides in the park. I get that I disappoint everyone in my life. “You tell me what I don’t get.” I say harshly.

He shakes his head. “That’s your job to figure out,” He says mysteriously. “I’m just here to guide you.”

“Well then guide me.” I say as we pass through Epcot’s gates.