There’s no experience you can have that won’t teach you something. You can learn from anything as long as you’re willing to listen. If you listen, there is a lesson just screaming to be noticed. It’s screaming louder than the person you want to be that’s trapped inside of you. It’s screaming louder than your heart as you watch him walk away. It’s screaming to be noticed, like we’re all screaming to be loved.
What have you learned recently? Or what have you been afraid to listen to? What is it that you are humming so loudly for? What is it you are so desperate to tune out? Is it the sound of the lesson that’s chasing you? Or is it the sound of your heartbeat, begging you to hear the name it’s calling. Is it the lesson that you’re running from? Or is it them?
Them. That person that you fought so hard against. The person who made you run to this new experience that you have to learn from now. What about them made you run away? Were you afraid of what they could do to you? Didn’t you trust yourself to stay strong?
If you listen to your lesson, what is it saying? Is it tapping its foot impatiently, checking its watch and thinking about all the time you’re wasting dragging your feet through the dirt? Or is it waiting quietly, sitting with its legs crossed, glancing around casually like it has nothing better to do than wait for you to listen? It all depends on how you approach it. But its answer will be the same, only the manner in which you hear it will change. Edgy or patient, the lesson will be there.
Any good theatre major would know how you’re supposed to measure your life- in seasons of love. Rent told us that this is the best way in which to truly cherish your life. And really, who are we to argue with the Tony board?
But what is a season? According to them, every minute is a season. But coming from New York, I always saw seasons as purely something to do with weather. Really when the climate changes so drastically, it becomes engrained that the meaning is purely meteorological.
But when you come to Florida, everything changes. Life slows down, the sun is always out, and you train yourself to clap in the Gator formation. Therefore, a change in the way that one sees season is almost a rite of passage.
I finally understand the seasons of life now. This program, though it spanned 3 seasons of New York weather, was only one in my life. It was something that I had to break up my college experience, make amazing new friends, and really let myself loosen up a little. But I know that in less than a month, my car will be packed up and I will be headed on for my next season. This program will be the only season that is emblazoned with Disney’s seal.
But what about those that I’m leaving behind? I take for granted that they were one of a kind to me. I see my friendships with these people as very unique. But then, one has to remember that my unique season, that I will constantly bring up when cocktail conversations lag, is just another season to those that are always here.
They see waves of us, coming every six months with stars in our eyes, thinking that there has never been a program before us, and there will never be one after us. Yet sometime, we must realize that we may not be as special as we think we are. That inwardly, some full timers are probably waiting for the next group to come, or longing for the one that just left.
How does someone really make friends like that?
It’s constant self doubt once you realize you’re not that special. And that your fantastic new friends have a whole new group coming in. Maybe the jokes you shared are one of a kind, or maybe they’re recycled from the last program. You can be whomever you want when your companions change every 6 months.
I hope to work here full time sometime in my life. At least for 2 years. I think there would be no greater test of yourself than seeing if you can stay consistent for that many waves of friends.
This is just my thought process. I could be totally off base. Perhaps my cynicism is hampering my ability to harbor long lasting relationships. Maybe a full-timer will read this and say that they have the best job in the world. Not because they have an unorthodox attachment to pink sauce, but because they make so many friends.Maybe there is no greater blessing in the world. Or maybe it gives them abandonment issues.
I’d be curious to know how we're viewed here.
I personally hope to keep up my friendships from those I’ve met here. I hope when our next season comes, whether the weather is a factor or not, we can all make a little time to prove the cynic in me wrong.
This week at the happiest place on earth marked the second week that we had Mickey’s not-so-scary Halloween party. It’s also September, and 90 degrees outside. Despite all of that, we’re still partying.
When I was a kid, I remember Halloween being something that we never planned so far in advance. My mother and I would always forget about it until a friend would invite me to go trick or treating with them 3 days before the holiday and then we’d have to get creative at the thrift store. We came up with some pretty unorthodox costumes though, my favorites being a Chimney Sweep and Static Cling.
Our trips were almost always rounded off with a hasty trip to Wegmans to get candy because apparently my mother, the efficiency expert who micromanaged every other area of our lives, had forgotten about the hordes of children that were going to be knocking on our door soon, forcing human interact instead of her usual night time ritual. Personally, I think interrupting her would be something scarier than any haunted house I’ve ever been to, but I guess I’ve just interrupted her one too many times. It was never a holiday that was that big of a deal to us.
But here at Disney, holidays are a BIG deal. There are special parties (case and point with our Halloween party) where all the characters come out and play and there are no lines at Space Mountain that people pay top dollar for tickets to. I knew that taking this internship would mean that I would be working all the holidays. While that sucks for not being with my family, I had heard of and was excited to experience the legendary tales of the holidays, especially Christmas, at Disney.
We’re in the throes of Halloween right now, and although the party is rather capitalistic like much else at Disney, it’s a good time. Coming from a world where Halloween was only a precursor to the real holidays, I was excited to see what else was coming.Christmas is the holiday when the world is really allowed to go over the top, and in our haste to get there, we always jump the gun. It always drove me crazy that Christmas would start in October. Never mind that it vaguely robbed Halloween of its thunder, everyone always forgot about Thanksgiving.
(Just as a side note to how unimportant thanksgiving is, just as I was typing it I forgot to capitalize it, and autocorrect didn’t do it for me. Even Microsoft Word doesn’t care about Thanksgiving.)
Truly, I think that Thanksgiving has the nicest idea for a holiday. No matter the religious background that is basis for most of the remaining large holidays, all parents want their kids to be polite. My dad told me to say please and thank you way more often than he told me to recite the Nicene Creed. And the whole day is about saying thank you. What a nice idea- very Disney.
Therefore, I was ready, ready for the day that Thanksgiving would have its time to shine. Never mind that it would be the first time in 20 years that I wouldn’t be with my family playing Pirate Bingo. Forget that my Black Friday team was going to be in New York, and not at my side, ready to throw elbows if need be. And instead of celebrating my 21st birthday in Chicago with my friends and a built in designated driver in the CTA, I was going to be pouring beer for other people. It was all okay because I was finally going to see Thanksgiving being appreciated.
So imagine my disappointment when I learned that we go seamlessly from Halloween into Christmas. In fact, we set up for Christmas while the Halloween decorations are still up. For a Cast Member that is privy to seeing all of these secret overlapping things, I finally know how A Nightmare Before Christmas was made. Apparently the author saw this transition and got inspired instead of pissed. Maybe someday this will happen to me. But that day is not today.
I may have my soul owned by Disney, but I am going to take a stand! I will be saying Happy Thanksgiving the whole month of November, not just the day of. Really, it’s one of the few holidays that it’s politically correct to specifically wish people well on. Not happy Holidays, Happy Thanksgiving, damnit! I’m going to sing songs about Turkey and Pilgrims and if there are none, then I will make some!
It’s time that the world stopped treating Thanksgiving as the red-headed stepchild of the holiday world. It has feelings too and all it wants is to be noticed. We have a month to prepare people. I ask you all to join me. Think about how you would feel if you were Thanksgiving, and sing a damn turkey carol when you flip your calendar page to November. It’s ours to take back, if we are ready for the challenge.
If someone was to ask you what makes a home, what would you say? Most people don’t say themselves. It’s the biggest lie that we tell ourselves. How many times have we written off a relationship, saying we were better off alone? Do you think that people really believe that? That when people are truly alone, they are most at home? Do you believe it when you tell yourself that? I don’t believe that home is a solitary idea.
Some people work their asses off in college and then in the soul sucking corporate world to make themselves their dream home. When all of the money that they’ve worked so hard for finally comes into something tangible, is that all they really need? Does a home really come down to a pile of bricks artfully arranged?
Or is it something more? There’s a reason that love songs dominate the radio. There’s a reason that there’s never a dry eye when Mufasa dies in the Lion King. And there’s a reason that so much of what we learn in school is how to interact with each other. McFly says that home is where the heart is. And what you keep in your heart most likely isn’t the address of your perfect house, or how much you love yourself unilaterally. What you hold closest to you are the people in your life.
So what do you have when your people aren’t there? What do you call home? Right now, my people are home.They are in Chicago and New York, respectively. And yet somehow, I’ve found myself in Florida.
I’m not sure when I’ll learn that I am not enough. That the possibility of a professional advance isn’t worth feeling lonely for 5 months. That is not easy to find people, and to never let the ones go that you have found. I don’t think that other people should be the reason that you do things. But I have also learned that if you do things thinking that all you need is yourself, you’re going to be lonely a lot of the time.
Learn from your mistakes. With growing up comes choices, and sometimes you don’t make the right ones. This program is case and point. I know that for some people this program is the perfect fit. But like Abercrombie’s jeans, this will never fit me properly. I’m here to stay because I’ll be 21 in 2 months. It’s time that I started to live with my choices. I need to make the best of my time here, however that looks.
But I’m also old enough that I think it’s time to shelve my pride. I am not enough for me, and that’s okay to admit. I was lucky enough to find all of you, and I want you all to know that I know how important you are now. I can’t promise you that I won’t ever leave again. That’s not me. Realizing that my roots run deeper than I previously knew doesn’t mean that my sense of adventure and curiosity is squelched. But I can promise you this…
Disney is all about the ‘show’. We ‘cast members’ are scrutinized for every last detail about having a ‘good show’.No tattoos (my feet haven’t seen the light of day in a month), no piercings (my ears aren’t speaking to me, they feel abandoned) and no hair coloring (my hair literally makes me yawn now), but all of these things I can understand. We are a wholesome, timeless family company, and guests don’t love Mohawks as much as one might think. Fine. We are always overly respectful, and treat every guest like family. Even the lingo! Guests, not customers. Cast members, not employees. There are signs everywhere that remind us that once we come out from our secret tunnels or back areas, we are ‘onstage’. All of these things combined with a million more are what makes Disney so popular. We go above and beyond to make sure our guests feel at home, something I can honestly respect as a business practice. Alas though, there are some things that they do that don’t seem in keeping with this goal.
For a company that is so meticulous with most things, there are some things I wish they thought through more. They make sure we look as awful as possible by making sure our shirts are tucked in, convinced that an untucked shirt could be enough to do a guest in. Honestly, Disney, no one looks better with their shirts tucked in, except European boys with good butts. Make them tuck theirs in, give them a neon sign, and then cut your losses and let everyone else have some breathing room. They make sure that we are practiced in doing the Disney scoop and the Disney point, subliminal signs that guests probably don’t notice outright, but overall add to the comfort of their stay, allegedly. But the main thing that I don’t understand, something that was a major oversight of Disney’s, was their lack of sprinkles.
There’s nothing better than ice cream, except maybe an ice cream cone with sprinkles. Since I was a kid, that’s been my order. Twist in a cone with rainbow sprinkles. I’m twenty years old now, and that’s still one of my favorite things about summer. When asked what my ideal date would be, it always ends with ice cream, and you’d better believe there would be sprinkles on that cone. It could be a night with my prince charming himself, but in order for it to be that perfect night that girls always dream about, there would need to be some jimmies. Hands down the best part of my job is when I hand an ice cream cone to a kid and their eyes light up. The happiest place on earth was made a little better with a little help from the dairy group.
But when asked if I have sprinkles, I have to tell them no. And because it’s Disney, and customer satisfaction is our number one goal, we have to make up a story. I have immense respect for Walt Disney. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. And when I have to tell a guest that we don’t have sprinkles because Walt didn’t like them, I have to avert my eyes. I don’t believe this lie and I don’t want to have to tell guests that. I don’t want their image of Walt tarnished. Because believe me, if I heard that, that would effectively end our love affair. Disney, how many customers do you think you lose from people so outraged by your lack of sprinkles? And then you blame Walt? Low blow.
Here is my plea, Disney. Let me untuck my shirt, and GET SOME DAMN SPRINKLES!
Being in Disney is like living inside all of the good parts of the movies. Unless you’re going to see Fantasmic, you won’t see much of the villains. However, as a child who was brought up on Disney movies, they have ill prepared me for the lies that I have found to be true from working in this fairy tale. In all of the movies, the animals are painted as the helpers for all of the lead characters. Mulan would have been lost without her dragon, horse and cricket. Cinderella even made mice lovable. And Snow White would have been up shit creek without her woodland creatures. Needless to say, I had high expectations for the Disney animals. What I was not prepared for was certain death.
It all began when I was shunned from the kitchen, Epcot maps in hand, Disney smile plastered on my face and terror in my eyes, for this was my first time with direct guest interaction without the safety of the counter in front of me. If a guest wanted to gouge my eyes out because there weren’t enough pickles on their sandwich, then they had an obstacle in their way. But without that safety, I had only my smile and dazzling personality with which to bring the magic to them. However, it turned out that the guests with their impossibly high standards and squint-eyed scrutiny would be a furlough compared to what the Disney wildlife had in store for me.
The stand I work at serves a copious amount of fries with a rather large entrée, therefore almost guaranteeing a surplus of fries, which draws in the birds. Ducks and a particular kind of bird from the stork family to be specific. The ducks, despite being chased away by bratty kids several times a day, have no real fear of humans. This became remarkably apparent when I went out for the aforementioned guest interaction session.
I had directed a couple to the International Gateway, lied myself into oblivion raving about the cuisine in Italy that I’ve never actually had (although I figured pasta was a pretty safe bet . it’s pretty hard to mess up), and had tried my hand at pin trading with a kid. I was feeling pretty good about myself when I noticed this duck approaching me. Now, the maps I was holding were blue and nothing akin to any kind of food, so this wasn’t a mislead duck. No, this duck had an agenda.
He stared me down, and when I didn’t do anything, began moving in toward me, all the while keeping eye contact. He would stop at intervals, presumably to give me a chance to do something, but I was too shocked at the remarkably humanlike qualities this duck was exhibiting. After the duck crossed the one foot threshold, I finally moved, feeling that if I got taken down by a duck in front of all of the guests, I would get a reprimand for ‘bad show’. All the while, the duck watched me walk away. Scoff if you want, say I’m being paranoid, but I know what I had with that duck was personal. I’m just working on the why part. But this duck was nothing compared to the squirrel.
There is a friendly neighborhood squirrel that lives behind our restaurant. On our breaks, we can usually find him lounging on top of our pipes, or scurrying though our tree. Once he even came to visit us inside the restaurant. Unfortunately he couldn’t stay too long, due to him being potentially disease ridden and all. All in all, he seemed remotely harmless and slightly amusing.
Until today, that is. I was eating fries and reading my book, completely minding my own business when I look up, and a foot away from me, on the picnic table, our squirrel was staring me down. Or in particular, the fry I had poised in my hand, halfway to my mouth with pink sauce on it. I suppose I can’t really blame him, pink sauce is delicious, but no kind of culinary delight is worth storming the holder like it was Troy. This squirrel began darting at me, ignoring my waving hands trying to scare him away. He had no fear, only a mission. I was convinced by this point that perhaps this squirrel wanted more than just my food and I began to have an eerie feeling that he wanted my blood. As he approached the 3 inch mark, I freaked out, catapulted my fry at the squirrel while jumping up from the table, leaving a smear of pink sauce across the table and onto the squirrel’s face. He grabbed the fry and retreated, but I’m convinced he gave me a warning look as he left. My heart thumping, I vowed to never eat carbs at that picnic table again. Perhaps the squirrel was God’s way of getting me to consider Atkins or something, but it seemed a bit dramatic to me. I think a Celiac Disease diagnosis would have been less extreme.
I was told by a friend after this encounter, that he was going to buy me a slingshot. While Disney stresses non-violent conflict resolution, I’m thinking I might take my friend up on his offer. Just in case. Who knows what this conspiracy from the Disney animals could turn into? Soon my parents might get an awkward phone call from Disney saying the remains of their child was found pecked to death with feathers surrounding her head and a blood splattered message that says “David won this round”. Maybe the slingshot isn’t direct enough….
I’ll leave you with this. If you’re coming to Disney, remember this- try the pasta and STAY AWAY FROM THE ANIMALS!
This is a real video of the spoken of Squirrel. He attacked me again the day after his blog was posted. But this time, I came prepared.
There have been many impressive accomplishments in the world thus far. The pyramids, the fall of the Berlin wall, and cheese in a can to name a few. Things that people never thought would be possible, but through hard work and perseverance, they triumphed. But to hell with all of those. I, Kylee Reynolds, have successfully passed my Fast Food Assessment. It should be recorded that this year I also kicked ass in a Shakespeare class; however, I think it’s clear which accomplishment is more impressive.
Yes, folks. I can now pour beer and properly portion ice cream without supervision. The road to this triumph was anything but easy though. It included a lot of patience and marveling that Indiana still successfully functions as a state, a few key phrases in Portuguese and realization that sometimes bliss can be found in something as simple as watching a guest’s eyes light up when you hand them ice cream.
My team consisted of a beautiful Brazilian whose hand on my shoulder was all that kept me from tearing the head off the third member of our team, an Indiana boy who sincerely needed a 72 hour hold. The three of us endured 2 weeks of seemingly obvious training. Our trainers were under no illusions that we were training for anything that required a lot of brain activity, and in that, we had a lot of time to get to know each other really well.
This was great for most of the people. I talked about the beauty of chaos with a cast member with 7 kids, told a GT that he had dreamy eyes at least 10 times during one shift, lusted over Johnny Depp with several girls and learned key Portuguese and Spanish phrases from the International students. However, I listen to my mama. And something she always told me was that I was going to meet people that just needed to shut the fuck up. And I’d know who they were within 5 minutes of meeting them. The Indiana boy was one of those people.
I’ve never met a person that actually made me want to be a bad person. But after 10 minutes with him, all I wanted was for him to experience something unfortunate. He actually made me wish bad things for him because he just pushed my buttons every second of the day. There are certain people who think they are God’s gift to the world, and that no one had ever had any intelligence that could match theirs. These are generally the type of people that I trounce in Jeopardy and then enjoy watching them cry.
This was the Indiana boy, who spent the better part of a break one day trying to convince me that Christianity was a branch of Catholicism. My argument that he was backwards in his thinking fell on deaf ears. Needless to say, my immature move of locking him outside for 20 minutes was gladly received by everyone in the restaurant. Even my token burn from the fryers wasn’t as painful as a shift with him. My Brazilian’s constant presence, patience and appropriately timed eye rolls were all that kept me from being fired on account of my impending jail time from killing the Indiana boy.
But today, when I was told that I had successfully earned my ears and was now capable of making magic with no trainer breathing down my neck was worth 2 weeks of enduring annoying co-workers and the ever present smell of grease. Well, almost. I am now optimistic that it someday will. This is more than I was last night.
So, to wrap up, 2 weeks have gone by and I am now a little worse for the wear but possess the ability to, you know, fry and stuff, which I’m sure will be the thing that my life has been missing. I’m convinced that these new skills are going to change everything. Having conquered this, I feel that anything else in my life that I try will be cake. Perhaps I will pursue a career as a neurosurgeon and moonlight as a corporate lawyer. Really, anything that I do, I can now do with the ease of the young boy on the flying trapeze.
Basically, watch out. I have a license to fry, and I’m not afraid to use it. Watch out Contessa, Kylee is flying solo.
