PIXIE BUST

Disney.

It's not a surname. It's a noun.

As in, "I have a great idea! Let's go to Disney to celebrate your birthday!"

Maria.

It's not a first name. It's an adjective.

I discovered that this past weekend when I phoned home to catch up with the kids I had - uncharacteristically - deserted for a weekend.

Daughter answers the phone, and my inquiry, "What's up?

"Your brother is having a Maria day," she informed me. 

"A Maria day?"  I am puzzled.

"First he got a ticket for talking on his cell. Then his tire blew a half hour later, and he was stranded on the side of the road."

Great.  My name is synonymous with rotten luck.

Which is why you are going to chuckle - or guffaw, quite possibly - when I tell you that this past weekend was a Maria weekend at Disney.  

Literally and figuratively.

Rewind to December 8th. My blog Pixie Dust began like this:

Just yesterday we were dancing at Mickey’s Philharmagic. Cruising Space Mountain. Shooting alien ships with Buzz. Little Sis was enthralled by Cinderella’s Castle, fireworks bursting over the lagoon, and a whole world of countries she could explore in a single afternoon. At the end of every ride, she’d stoop to the sparkling sidewalks of Main Street USA, trying to gather Tinkerbell’s magic pixie dust with her sticky, cotton-candied fingers.

That was when I still liked Disney.

Rewind to this past weekend. My Best Bud has agreed that The Magic Kingdom is the perfect place to celebrate her big birthday; the one place in the world where she will most feel like a kid again.

She plans an itinerary for three parks. Among her list of mandatory attractions: Space Mountain. Test Track. Big Thunder Mountain.  Small World.  Haunted Mansion. Ellen's Something-or-Other. Bug's Life.  Splash Mountain. Michael Jackson's Something-or-Other. Nemo and Friends. Safari.

Saturday at noon. We arrive at Zurg 12 parking lot, feeling like a couple of kids. Hop on a crowded train. Stand for 50 minutes, waiting for the stalled train in front of us to be removed from the track.  Eventually we enter The Magic Kingdom, and find that her hit- list is irrelevant. 

Ditto at Animal Kingdom and Epcot.

Desired rides/attractions that were closed on our two-day-tour: Space Mountain. Test Track. Big Thunder Mountain. Ellen's Something-or-Other. Bug's Life. Michael Jackson's Something-or-Other. Nemo and Friends.

Rides that broke down after we waited in line for an hour: Small World. Splash Mountain.

Ride that came to a halt while we were seated on it: Haunted Mansion.

Ride that we actually crossed off the list: Safari.  

In eighteen hours, we logged more time at Guest Services than we did in Fast Pass lines. Apparently Disney doesn't care if visitors are in their happy place.

Their parks are so creatively and meticulously planned, it's astonishing. Step off major rides, and step into shops overloaded with brilliantly packaged merchandise. Parades, fireworks, character visitations occur at the same hour each day.

And yet, a Disney consumer can plan meticulously (and pay handsomely) only to hear utterly uncreative  excuses: "The ride is shut down," "We're experiencing technical difficulties," "Don't know what happened," "We're all out of that," or "We're closing a little early."

A real-estate agent mentioned that 60 million visitors flocked to Orlando in April. This past weekend, as April slipped into May, Disney was tired.  Broken. The parks should have shut their doors for a weekend, and worked to renew themselves as carefully as they reinvent their characters and merchandise.

Still, all was not lost.

Shooting alien ships with Buzz was almost as much fun as sliding backwards down Everest.

Fairy gardens full of flowers, palm trees, and sunshine were the perfect spot to chat with a treasured friend.

And the photo possibilities (check them out below) were endless: giraffes, butterflies, fireworks, sunsets, toddlers.

Magic, after all.

QUING Hereby Decrees: The customer may not always be right. But he must always be valued.