Into the Rodent's Jaws

You think you understand something about life, and then you become a parent; suddenly everything you once knew is inoperative. For example, we used to drive cars. Then we had a child. At first, everything seemed normal enough, but then one day I woke up and there was a minivan in the garage. I’m still not sure what kind of cosmic waves were emanating from our home … must’ve been those gamma rays that were always creating mutants and raising havoc in those ‘50s movies.

In the same way, once the kids are out of diapers, at least, a sort of homing instinct begins to grow. The swallows always return to Capistrano; the buzzards come back annually to Hinckley, Ohio; and every family with small children is inexorably drawn to the vicinity of Orlando, Florida.

As a matter of fact, most of them were there last week when we visited the Magic Kingdom. I quickly deduced why they call it a Kingdom – it’s approximately the same size as Liechtenstein, at least when you include all the other associated Disney fiefdoms. It even has a moat, at least in a functional sense, in the miles of Mouse-ka-highways that surround the nerve center. I’m pretty sure that if any evildoers massed to attack, Central Command would have time to scramble squadrons of costumed characters to defend Cinderella’s Castle.

The main impression, as a result, that you tend to take away from the whole venture is the utter immensity of it all. There are something like 35,000 people living in my town… but there are approximately 55,000 Cast Members (not “employees”, “staff”, or “indentured servants”) at the Magic Kingdom. And I literally cannot even comprehend how many other sweaty, suddenly-much-poorer souls were in attendance along with us (and Disney ain't telling, either -- I asked them).

But there is clearly no enterprise on the planet more attuned to processing the great wads of humanity (and cash) that show up every day. After awhile I confess I stopped thinking of myself as “someone on vacation having a good time”, or even “a customer seeking to get my money’s worth”, and I became what industry sometimes describes as a “throughput”: a commodity designed to go through a certain process and come out the other end in some different state.

Here’s the truly odd thing – I say that not in resentment for being manipulated, but in sincere admiration for how they pull it off. Despite the fact that we were surrounded by more people than have ever watched UPN, we really never experienced an interminable wait. That’s fairly significant considering two of our party were under 7.

And you know what, we had a lovely family time, despite being trapped in the world’s largest convection oven. In fact, considering the unrelenting barrage of entertainment (and courtesy, and even cheerfulness), I even came away with an almost unsettling sense of having gotten my money’s worth – which anyone who has seen me with my hand over my wallet knows I do not say lightly. I think that in some sense I began to see the way we were being efficiently fed through an enormous machine as part of the show.

So I find myself against all odds recommending the experience and even considering repeating it. Someday. After my feet and my bank account and my internal thermostat recover. And here’s a little extra ammo for my family to save up and use against me: if I balk, remind me of the feeling of a family of four, ranging in age from 4 to 44 and in life attitude from totally trusting to … somewhat skeptical :-) … remind me of those four people all cackling gleefully as we blast the Bad Guys together on Buzz Lightyear’s Space Ranger Spin. The omnipresent MasterCard ads would describe those moments as "priceless", and although that's not the way it shows up on my Visa bill, it will certainly remain a slide in my mental Powerpoint of highlights for some time to come.