Joyeur

I went to Disney World in Orlando, Florida with my family this past week. It wasn’t really a vacation, honestly. That’s my daughter Elizabeth frightened by the aggressive attention of Minnie Mouse, the love-interest mouse of Mickey that wanders the various resort breakfasts bringing a little piece of the “Happiest Celebration on Earth” tableside. I was silently happy when my other daughter Margaret screamed in horror as Goofy tried to give her a hug. I say it wasn’t a vacation because, for the start-up guy or gal, a vacation is something like Corpse Pose with a bit of vodka mixed in. Now, for those of us with children, we know the opportunities for Corpse Pose with a bit of vodka are far and few, and that’s OK. More than OK, frankly, even though our spouses may disagree about the far and few (that is, how often we indulge). The wonderful thing about the chaos of a family, are the opportunities to learn.

You see, for all of Disney’s “Main Street USA”, a world of the perfect now (set in the perfect past) combined with the potentialities of “Fantasyland”, “Tomorrowland”, “Libertyland”, and “Frontierland” one gets the sense that rather than soaking in the August steam-rooms of mid-peninsula Florida, in fact one has wandered into a Wed 2.0 conference. But even as with any invitation-only conference, Disney World also has a lesson to teach. And the first chapter begins when one is in the middle of standing in a long-line for something called “Everest Expedition” that has announced, up front, the wait will be 90 minutes…for a 2 minute ride. The children are far too small to accompany one on the “Everest Expedition” and one has just about had enough of Disney’s utopian vision of the United Nations called “It’s a Small World” where, in the end, every culture is wrapped in white swaddling clothes belting out a menacing chorus that is more power-wish than reality. The children are far too small to go on “Everest Expedition” but, then, it is 100 degrees outside with a heat index of 110 degrees, so its hard to justify making them wait while one enjoys the ride. It’s so hot, later that evening I’ll read even Pat Robertson has come to believe there may be something called “Global Warming”. What’s one to do? Why am I here? Why did I come here? Isn’t one due some thrill in life/vacation? In the words of the rock band Queen: “Show must go on…I face it with a grin, I’ve never given in, on-with-THE-SHOW!…I have to find the WILL-TO-carry-on…”

Many of the more popular rides at Disney World have what is called a “Single Rider Volunteer” line. In this line, one can propel oneself up to actually getting onto something like “Everest Expedition” in 10 minutes or so rather than the advertised 90 minutes (and rising). The Single Rider is combined with odd-numbered groups of people at the point when the Disney ride handlers assign people slots to board the ride itself. For example, a group of three, who have stood through the 90 minute wait, might be combined, at the discretion of the Disney ride handler with a single person from the Single Rider Volunteer line to make up the four riders required for the compartment of the ride (though, to be exact, the “Everest Expedition” is a roller coaster comprised of two-person compartments). Note: while I may choose to take the Single Rider Volunteer line with a friend, Disney promises that we won’t be seated together. We will, in fact, without a doubt, be all Single Riders.

This is where the philosophical muse appears. How could it be otherwise as I stare up from a fake base station beneath a fake Everest towering above a fake savannah in a fake Asia in a welcome-to-the-happiest-celebration-on-earth Disney’s Animal Kingdom? The question occured to me: why would anyone want to wait through the entire line to board “Everest Expedition” when, using the single rider option, that person could, in theory ride the train many more times in the same period of time, or move on to other attractions? First, I think people are willing to wait the (so much) extra time so that they can have a shared experience. While this explanation may seem obvious, if we consider that most Single Rider volunteers tend to get onto the ride rather quickly and so “friends” would only delay the shared experience by a few minutes (if they weren’t seated in different compartments of the same turn of the ride), in fact waiting for all that time means the true shared experience is, well, waiting for all that time followed by a slice of cherry, sliced so-so thin called “Everest Expedition”.

The philosophical muse is a funny muse. She doesn’t seem to want to make conclusions from the evidentiary propositions. While I might be able to share the experience of the ride shifted only by a few minutes, as the muse pointed out, it was true that, in the end, I was destined to be a Single Rider Volunteer. And, building on this observation, while the crowds suffered the full 90 minutes for the shared experience, a truly shared experience, weren’t we all destined for Single Rider status in the end? You see, as tenuous as it may be, with my family baking under the Floridian sun, and however much I wanted them to be with me, I was destined, like the mass of humanity don’t you see?, to be a Single Rider. Ask not for whom the ride-handler calls, she calls for me. I am a Single Rider.

That’s why I have to ask: is the ride worth it? Damn(!) a tech-company blog post about death? Where is Ray Kurzweil when we need him?

And like that the muse left me. Surely she had other people to instruct. The ride was over: it was moderately exciting. My family was there at the exit expiring under the sun. We walked to the Anandpur refreshment stand and enjoyed Minute Maid™ frozen lemonades. 320 calories. Who needs a diaper?