The Disneyland Story
Disclaimer: Foul language within. But rest assured it's used when quoting another, or when taking up the persona of said person. Oh, just read this to see what I mean...


When I told my computer-and-Internet-hating sister that I was going to write what we in the family call The Disneyland Story for my website, she said, "What is that, like 20 years old?" She's so supportive of my efforts. Anyway, it's not 20 years old, it's....

21 years old.  I was 14 at the time. Sigh. I hate being made to feel old.

Really, this is MY ultimate Disneyland story, since only one of my sisters was involved. I have 3, you see, and I'm the youngest of us 4. The sister just above me, who still lived at home, as I did, announced that she'd take me to Disneyland for my 14th birthday. No argument from me. Of course at the time I was used to taking the bus to Anaheim, so out of habit, I asked if we were taking the bus, and if so, were we getting there at opening time? As a lifetime veteran of visiting the park, I believe that opening time is the best.

Anyway, her reply to my query was "Fuck that shit!" She liked to use that phrase a lot, and probably still does to this day. She could fucking drive now, remember? So she announced that we would be going in the afternoon, after most of the fucking parents and their kids had left, and stay there until closing. Hum, well, a new experience for me. I was still agreeable to her terms.

Her next rule was that I couldn't invite any of my friends to join us, since she didn't like any of them. Her boyfriend would be joining us, though, as was an extremely punked-out (this was the 80's) couple. You know the look - all leather clothes, chains, dangerously sharp hair spikes, body piercings unseen by man at the time, and so on. I had trouble making eye contact, they were so repulsive to me.

Off we went in the middle of the day. Because Disneyland does not serve alcohol, the car was loaded up with beer for these minors to imbibe. Most of it was consumed along the way. At one point Sis' boyfriend, unable to find a place to dump his beer, stuck his cup out the window, then turned it to let the beer fly free. It splattered all over the windshield of a large pickup truck behind us, causing the driver to weave, honk insanely, then eventually change lanes and pass us so he could keep honking and shaking his fist at us. I learned that it's possible to partially implode one's own body when trying to shrink from danger.

We stopped at a Denny's-like restaurant just prior to reaching the park, because Disneyland charges too much for its fucking food. We ate heartily and stopped into the toilets to do our business. Where was the punker dude, though? Waiting by the car, we reckoned. And he was. But first he'd decided to create his own restroom: the driver's seat of a convertible. For reasons beyond our comprehension, he was pissing into an open convertible. Harsh words were exchanged, and we piled into the car, which had trouble starting. Two burly men were seen coming our way through the lot. And when I say burly, I mean Hans and Franz burly. Schwarzenegger. The Rock. Triple H. The Incredible Hulk and his bigger cousin. We were nervous. If I had not visited the toilet first, the convertible would not have been the only car soiled that night. The two muscles with heads walked by and waved. Not their car. NOT.. THEIR... CAR!!

We weren't there yet, folks! Disneyland had to wait, since next we had to drive through the lot, then park behind a utility shed. Out came the rest of the beer. I'd forgotten that it needed to be finished first. Punker dude took this opportunity to mark his territory on the shed.

I'm pretty sure we reached Disneyland at some point. Yes, we did, because there were some rides involved. Now the fun can really begin. I was instructed to wait elsewhere while Sis bought the tickets. When she brought mine to me, I understood why. "You're a Junior," she said, shoving my ticket into my hand and avoiding eye contact. Then she raced off with her own ticket and went through the turnstile.

There was a problem here. First, the cutoff age for "Junior" tickets was 12 or 13. Second, I was one of those young teens who was rapidly blossoming into the beautious world of the young-- Oh, hell, I had boobs. Big ones. Gazongas. Well, gazongas compared to other 14-year-olds. So without this sister who'd had infinite more experience at blatant lying than I, it was up to me to convince the ticket-taker that I was UNDERage. I failed as miserably as I knew I would. Meanwhile, Sis was on the other side, glaring at me, shrugly broadly at me, giving her very best What-the-fuck's-the-problem? looks. I glared back and gestured angrily for her to come to ME, then shoved the ticket back into her hand and announced that no way in hell would anyone believe her ruse. I don't think I used the word "hell" at the time, though. It was still my fault the ruse didn't work.

Now inside the park legitimately, I was forbidden from riding the Submarine Road or Autopia, two ancient rides that I really, really liked at the time. There were other rides forbidden to me, too, but I don't recall them anymore. We made a beeline for the Matterhorn. The two boys excused themselves for reasons unknown to me at the time. I thought they were going to the bathroom. We waited and waited and waited for them, always continuing through the line, of course, with the idea that they'd rejoin us up further. They did, but by the time they got back, we were well within the permanent stalls. They had to climb over rather than duck under partitions. Other guests grumbled at us. I imploded my body a little but more. Now that I'm older and wiser and stuff like that, it's clear to me that burning and inhaling the fumes of certain dried herbs was their goal at the time. I couldn't say if anything harder than that was used, though.

We got to the little toboggans and climbed in. Two couples, consisting of men about the size of the walking muscles in the Denny's lot, and their wives and/or girlfriends, whose arms were perpetually locked in the crook of their men's elbows, were shouting at us. I had no idea why. And boy howdy, were they shouting at us. Screeching, finger pointing, fist-waving. The ride operator pulled a lever, and suddenly the platform under out toboggans raised up, then moved over, allowing another track, minus us on it, to slide into place. More toboggans arrived, which the two couples filled, and they rode away, hurling threats and epithets until they merely echoed in the misty tunnels of the Matterhorn. Then the operator pulled his lever again to move our platform back and into place. Wow.

We were greeted at the exit by the two couples, who'd managed to grab a security guy (such as they are at Disneyland), and were shouting at him. "THERE THEY ARE!!" shrieked one of the Saran Wrap women at our approach. The conversation at the time was just as garbled to me then as it is now in my faded memory. They thought we'd done something bad and wanted justice. The security guy, while not convincing them to calm down, per se, did convince them not to kill us and to just go on other rides and enjoy themselves and forget we existed. Crisis solved.

Nope. We all parted ways. Sis' boyfriend now let into her about whatever had happened. What I've managed to piece together is that a) the couples didn't approve of the boys' late arrival in line, and b) Sis had flipped one or all of them off. Given the finger. Flipped the bird. She denied this most strenuously. Her boyfriend put his arm around her, which she shrugged off, then disappeared into the wall-to-wall crowds of Disneyland so quickly and completely, she might as well have been sucked into an alien spacecraft and warped away. Most special of all, no one in our little group chased her down. In my case, sheer numbing terror was a big factor in my inaction. Or call it growing, paralyzing trauma. Whatever works for you.

We made a beeline for Space Mountain, another ride that wasn't fucking stupid. Hurrah. Oh, um... Would I see my sister ever again? Was anyone going to help me look? No? Okay, just wondering. On we continued. Fortunately we ran into some new acquaintances in line. The two couples were here! Now everything would be just fine. I have proof that time CAN be stopped. My proof is that it did stop out of deference to our two parties meeting again. Then time started again as one of the men gestured for my sister's boyfriend to approach. For unknown reasons, he did. Then the man clamped his hand firmly around his throat. He dragged him within breathing distance and growled various threats and questions. "You're a punk, you know that??" "Yes, sir." "You punk kids think you're all hot shit, huh??" "Yes, sir." "You gonna apologize to our ladies, right??" "Yes, sir." Blah blah bliddy blah. Teach us punk scumbag some manners. Boyfriend was let go, roughly, and if you know anything about how Disneyland's lines are set up, you should know that we were forced to pass the couples over and over as the lines slinked back and forth. And each time, they made sure to glare at us and gesture firmly with their index fingers so we'd know we were being watched.

I realize that I've used the phrase "for reasons unknown" a lot so far, but I've no other way to describe the events of that evening. In retrospect I could explain their behavior away as just pure stupidity, but that's not really a *reason,* per se. I guess I'm too logical, but then, that's been my problem for a long time. For instance, for reasons unknown to me, after being threatened with physical harm (the Boyfriend, anyway, not me), another fellow struck up a conversation with us, saying that people like that are too angry to reason with, just leave them alone, back away, etc. Sage enough advice. But why did he tell us he was a cop? I understand that cops are allowed to go off-duty, but isn't there some loophole that lets them go ON-duty when a crime is being committed before their eyes? If I remember correctly, physical assault falls into that category. But I'm not in law enforcement, so who am I to question the guy, eh? Heavy sigh. End rant. I like cops otherwise.

To wrap up, we went on other rides, possibly the Pirates and Haunted Mansion, and at closing time, were reunited with my sister. Legend has it that she stormed off to the park's dancing stage, only to be almost hauled off by the security guys for slam-dancing. But that tale is unconfirmed. We shambled in silence to the car at 1 or 2 a.m. - I forget the summer closing hours. At that age I had not reached my now-legendary ability to stay up late, so I was sleepy. Stunned into silence and almost permanently traumatized, but still sleepy. In the car, the only words I remember being spoken came from my sister, who turned around and said "I'm sorry you didn't have a very good time." "Oh," I squeaked, having almost disappeared into thin air by now (back to that imploding thing, you know), "That's okay. I had a good time." Damn her. She'd taught me to lie.