The Screaming Game * January 24, 2008

Good Day,

    “The screaming was the best part,” I commented in a smug we-are-native-Floridians-who-aren’t-bothered-by-rain kind of way.

    “Yes, the very best part,” Phillip said.  Phillip is from Bountiful, Utah.   

    Another microburst of caterwauling rain slashed at the Saturday evening crowd abandoning the Magic Kingdom—screams and shrieks tore the air.  We chuckled, smugly.

    “Isn’t it nice that we have season passes when the weather goes bad?”  I remarked with a conceited smugness to my family as we stood under cover of roof near Tomorrow Land at The Magic Kingdom.  We shared the space with about one-thousand trillion other storm refuges.

    The wind whipped a wrapper from a Mickey Mouse ice cream head onto my face.   I peeled it off.  Zoe (the four-year old) danced around with my emergency umbrella.  Conner (the two-year old) tried to sneak away to stand under a downspout.  Emma (the three-year old) soaked to her bones, shivered in the stroller.  Various people in our party pointed out that the restaurant where we had taken shelter was closed up tighter than a tick.  Several family members mentioned headaches—probably brought on by an acute lack of their favorite chemicals—Diet Coke, Pepsi—frozen bananas.

    The wind carried an icy blast of winter in its teeth.  I retreated to the ladies room.  It was full to overflowing with ladies.

    Returning to my family I mentioned that unless they were prepared for a Super Dome/Katrina experience they should all use the restrooms now and often, because the potential for things getting dicey in the three stall ladies’ restroom was high.

    Heather, very fashionably dressed as usual, commented that her Ug boot rip-offs were soaked to her knees.  She sloshed.  Sarah (the daughter-in-law and fashionably dressed as usual) was wearing a pair of bell bottoms so saturated with rain water they were threatening to fall down around her ankles.  A family meeting was held.  The rain continued to smash down.

    The vote to abandon ship was split, with the young fashionably dressed  mother’s casting the deciding votes.  The rain settled in to stay, and so we joined the milling, storm drenched herd of cranky tourists as our family attempted to get the heck out of the happiest place on earth to somewhere less exposed to death by exposure.  It was like being rounded up by Nazis and marched to transport trains for a quick trip to Auschwitz.

    May I suggest a few rules for future family deportations?

                        1.  STAY WITH YOUR PARTY.  It is never a good idea to (in the middle of a stampeding evacuation) to mumble something about “getting jackets” and then wander off with one or more of the grandchildren (number unconfirmed) with little or no explanation as to your A) location B) estimated time of separation C) number and condition of grandchildren that may or may not have made it across the jam packed street “to go be with Poppy.”

                        2.  MONITOR YOUR CELL PHONE FOR INCOMING HYSTERICAL CALLS TRYING TO CHECK UP ON THE REASON FOR YOUR IDIOT DISAPPEARANCE AND TO LET YOU KNOW THAT ABSOLUTELY NO ONE IS WAITING FOR YOU OUTSIDE THE MICKEY MOUSE CANDY EMPORIUM AND GIFT SHOP BECAUSE TO KEEP CONNER FROM STANDING IN THE GUTTER UP TO HIS ANKLES IN RAGING RAIN WATER WE HAD TO LET HIM STAND UNDER THE DOWNSPOUT UNTIL WATER DRIPPED FROM HIS FINGERTIPS—AND WE ARE OUT OF HERE.

                        3.  WE HAVE LEFT YOU.

                        4.  BRING EMERGENCY CLOTHES, SNACKS, DRINKS, SHOES, UNDERWEAR, MONEY, CELL PHONES, AND FUEL.  Depending on the size of the crowd it could take you twenty to thirty million minutes to shuffle far enough so that you can stand in line for the ferry boat—which has just departed for The Mickey Mouse Wonderland Ticket Center and Gift Shop.

                        5.  NEVER CLOSE YOUR EYES.  Closing your eyes while jammed hip to chin on The Mickey Mouse Ferry Boat and Gift Emporium will only reinforce the feeling that you have become part of a horrible movie where a bomb stuffed full of nuclear pox has forced the emptying out of your entire township.  With your eyes closed, the sounds of crying children, fighting families, and whimpering adults is absolutely icky. Mostly, because one of the adults whimpering will be you, as you make the twenty-seventh  unanswered phone call to the chuckle-head who is now lost—possibly with Zoe. The sounds you hear when your eyes are closed will make you contemplate jumping over the railing of the ferry boat to a watery death—if you only had enough room to maneuver to actually be able to draw your knee up so that you could heft your body over the railing.  You will consider flipping over the railing head first, but you will reject this. 

                        6.  NEVER QUESTION THE NAZIS DIRECTING THE DEPORTATION.    Questioning the folks directing the deportation is only going to get you some lame brain memorized answer like, “This area must remain roped off because of the 7 o’clock Fantasmic Parade and Gift Shop,”  a parade which will be cancelled due to possible ice tornadoes in the area.  What the young Nazi is really trying to say is, “Shut up you annoying tourist, you.”

                        7.  DON’T EVER TRY TO KEEP UP WITH SARAH.  Sarah Zern is like a flaming meteorite of hardened determination when her pants are wet, and she’s pushing a baby stroller. 

                        8.  DO NOT COMMITT ACTS OF VIOLENCE AGAINST MISSING MEMBERS OF YOUR OWN PARTY.  Especially when they show up on the very same deportation boat that you are on, standing right behind you, holding Zoe, and wearing those dippy plastic rain ponchos ($5.98 a piece) and saying, “What?  I told you I was going to get rain ponchos for everybody.  Why didn’t you wait?”

                        9.  NEVER LET THEM SEE YOU SCREAM!!

    Actually, it was a good trial run for that bomb stuffed with nuclear pox evacuation drill.  I feel fairly confident that we’ll make it as far as the county line.  Besides, we have all those dippy rain ponchos made of Saran Wrap—that  should stop the nuclear fallout in its tracks.

    Linda (Rally ‘Round the Poncho) Zern      

                

   

   
 

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