If you live in Utah or have any proximity to Utah culture, you will probably, at some point in your life, visit Disneyland. You may claim you won’t. You may turn your nose up and say that much money (an obscene amount of money) could be better spent on a more cultured vacation. You may sneer at the car in front of you at the stoplight because they have a Mickey Mouse sticker on the back windshield. And that’s all fine. But you should know that none of it will stave off the eventuality of you stepping inside Walt’s Magic Kingdom.
If you happen to make the pilgrimage during a Utah school break, you should plan on seeing at least one person with whom you attended high school, one person you vaguely knew in college, and seemingly more BYU hats and T-shirts than you’d encounter outside LaVell Edwards Stadium.
Our all-too-frequent mass migration to Anaheim might be explained by the ability to drive there in one (miserable) sitting. Or it might be explained by the fact we have young kids and the family-friendly culture of the parks appeal to many Latter-day Saint patrons. Or maybe the fluoride in the water has altered our brain chemistry and we travel to Disneyland under some sort of “Manchurian Candidate” hypnosis.
Who’s to say?
The point is, you’re going to Disneyland and probably donating plasma on the side to afford it. But there are some things you should know before you arrive.
Time is different behind Disneyland gates
Here in the normal realm of existence, we mark time with seconds, minutes and hours. In Disneyland those measures are meaningless. There are only wait times. The day starts at rope drop, when the park officially opens, and is segmented by time spent waiting for and riding rides.
“Let’s do lunch at one,” is something you might say in your normal life, but a meaningless phrase in the Magic Kingdom. Chances are you’ll be in a line at noon. You are never not at the mercy of the lines. “Let’s do lunch after Splash Mountain” is far more appropriate and realistic.
How time is spent is also vastly different. In the real world, it would be absurd to spend 120 minutes waiting to board a miniature boat that will pass some singing animatronics before shooting you down a waterfall. But that’s how the day is spent at Disney. Consequently, completing a ride creates an illusion of productivity.
Fitting Jungle Cruise, Indiana Jones, Pirates of the Caribbean and Dumbo in before noon is seen as a genuine accomplishment. It is for this reason that many of us fork over more money(!) to purchase quicker access to rides via lightning lanes scheduled on the Disneyland app, mastery of which requires an advanced degree in computer science (I’m honestly surprised Disneyland does not award honorary degrees to some of its most frequent patrons).
Nutrition becomes irrelevant
A churro for breakfast, a corndog for lunch, a smoked turkey leg for dinner and myriad snacks in between — this is the sustenance one should expect. To seek vitamins or minerals or fiber in any of the restaurants or kiosks is an exercise in futility. Pack a daily vitamin and some Metamucil if you must, but know that true peace is found when you accept that the Disneyland culinary experience is one that will likely cause digestive distress for weeks to come. So embrace Walt’s food guide pyramid, say “When in Anaheim,” and buy your third $8 ice cream bar of the day.
Money has a different value
Namely, lesser value. A bottle of water is $4. A Lightning McQueen souvenir sipper is $19. A balloon is more than a nice dinner out. This alternate monetary system, much like the alternate dietary guidelines, can’t really be fought.
But I will offer a word of caution — every hour spent in the parks incrementally normalizes the prices. If you are not vigilant, by the end of Day 3 you will come to think that the Thor’s hammer cupholder is actually worth $30. You may start to believe your child when they claim they simply cannot go on living without the Mickey bubble wand that costs more than your shoes. That the $35 bridal veil ears would make a lovely wedding shower gift for someone someday. This is when one must hearken back to reality outside the Disney property, calculate what percentage of your salary you are about to spend on a custom lightsaber, determine if you have space for it in your home and whether or not you actually want to hang it over your fireplace mantel or if you’ve just had one too many blue milks and your concept of mickflation is blurred.
You’ll miss it when you’re gone
Disneyland is exhausting and expensive and extremely crowded and you’ll walk through about 9,000 sneezes per day.
But it’s also addicting.
Once gone, you’ll miss the rush of beating the system and finding a short line for the hot new ride. You’ll think about your toddler’s eyes lighting up when they spot Minnie across Main Street. You’ll crave the Mickey raspberry macaroons and you’ll hum “Small World” to yourself. You’ll check the school calendar and plan your next visit.
And I’ll probably see you there. Along with everyone else in the state.