As we’ve discussed before, I used to work for the Supreme Mouse Emperor at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. While it may sound like a glamorous occupation, I spent the majority of my time sweating out last night’s booze in 300% humidity while I told fat southerners in motor scooters where to buy a turkey leg. That’s not an exaggeration. Beyond that, I sold popcorn, ice cream, soda, beer, hot chocolate, and my soul. During my time at Disney, I learned quite a few secrets. Some of these are well known, others are a little “spoilery” so proceed at your own risk. That being said, let’s get right down to the one about poop.
The Devil In The Details
Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World is well known for its various “lands.” There’s Tomorrowland, where you can enjoy a 1930s person’s view of 1998. There’s also Adventureland, Frontierland, Main Street, and Fantasyland. That’s the lands, right? Wrong. Everyone always forgets Liberty Square, the Billy Baldwin of the Disney lands. There isn’t much in Liberty Square beyond a big tree, the Haunted Mansion, and an artist who will draw you as a silhouette (because you haven’t wasted enough money). But you can get turkey legs there, if you’re an obese woman named Darla Jean who rides a motor scooter. What you may not notice is the attention to detail in this little land of Liberty Square. As we were informed during training, Disney imagineers wanted to add the most minuscule details to bring history to life, so a piece of the pavement is a meandering brown strip which most guests assume is a sidewalk. But that brown strip is colonial poop. During colonial times, the sewage in big cities like Philly and Boston wasn’t great, so apparently they had tiny poop rivers. As someone who grew up in Philadelphia, I can confirm that this is still more or less true. Luckily, some imagineer thought to intervene before the inevitable outrage from guests screaming, “If this is so authentic, than where is the river of poop?” You’re standing in it, Cletus.
The number one question that cast members get at Disney World is, “What time is the 3 o’clock parade?” It’s at three goddamn o’clock, you Rhodes scholar. Yes, seriously, all the time with that question. But besides that rage-inducing pile of stupid, the next biggest question is, “Are there alligators at Disney World?” The answer is: absolutely. There’s also armadillos, which are adorable, and wild demon turkeys the size of Fiats. Behind Splash Mountain there are a few gators that are practically part of the staff. And every once in a while they do get into the park itself, at which time every rube in a three mile radius goes, “Lookie there, honey, let’s throw shit at that alligator,” and guests make it rain turkey legs on the alligator’s face. If you see a crowd of tourists chucking ice cream bars and popcorn off the side of a bridge, there’s a good chance there’s an alligator under that bridge. The only time I saw alligators in the park itself were two separate incidents in Frontierland at the bridge to Splash Mountain, and of course Walt Disney World handled it with professionalism of the highest standards. Just kidding, some general managers tried to push it away with a really long stick. So next time you’re on Splash Mountain, just remember that the danger isn’t the drop – it’s the gigantic dinosaur monster waiting to eat your child at the bottom.
Follow The Sad Demise of Mr Toad
Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was the obvious brain child of a few Disney imagineers in the 60s getting together and dropping lots and lots of acid. It is still active, I believe, at Disneyland, but for those who have never experienced the Wild Ride, it can be summed up as a spinning car riding through black-lit rooms while terrifying music screams at you. Eventually the ride simulates getting killed by crashing your car into a train. It’s a delight for children of all ages. Sadly, today’s milk-toast baby Americans can’t handle such unbridled insanity in their children’s rides, so Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride became Winnie The Pooh’s Big Ol’ Bitch Adventure. But you can actually use the park itself to trace Mr. Toad’s sad downfall and eventual death. Yes, children, he is dead and the proof is right in front of you. First, while riding Winnie The Pooh’s Adventures in Pussyfooting, there is a framed photograph of Owl, from Winnie the Pooh, taking the deed to the ride from Mr. Toad. Most likely that shrewd Owl swindled Mr. Toad and foreclosed during the recession after Mr. Toad had spent all of his money on magic mushrooms and LSD to better enjoy his own ride. Once made homeless, Mr. Toad likely offed himself, because his grave is in the park. That’s right, they not only took away his ride, but they KILLED HIM and put the grave on display for guests. When you’re exiting the Haunted Mansion, look up on the hill to your left. There is a small cemetery with various animals – the pet cemetery. Inside, toward the back left, is the grave of Mr. Toad. Seriously. It’s a different color than the other graves, so you might need to squint to see it, but it’s there. The only step left for Disney is to put Mr. Toad’s head on a pike at the entrance to the park to warn other ride characters not to become irrelevant, unless they wish to suffer the same terrible fate. Looking at you, Country Bear Jamboree.