That Time I Got Kicked Out of Disneyland

I should start by saying that, by and large, I'm a total rule-follower. Although I talk a good game about being a rebellious free-thinker, at heart I'm just a big old wuss. I hate getting caught being anything less than perfect.

Which is why what happened at Disneyland that night was totally uncharacteristic.

I was seventeen. My first serious boyfriend Kurt and his roommate Mark were about four years older than my best friend Kathy and I were. (Side note - you have no idea how many times I added and deleted commas and fretted over which pronouns to use in this sentence - that, people, is how much of a rule-follower I am.)

I don't remember exactly how it was that we went to Disneyland together that night, but I suspect it was with discount tickets my dad used to get through his aerospace company. I think the whole park was reserved for one night each year by a group of aerospace/defense industry companies. On one magical evening every October, when I was a kid, we'd all pile in the car and go to The Happiest Place On Earth. I remember being forced to take a nap during the day, which was completely impossible for a child who was plotting all the amazing attractions she wanted to visit, imagining all the yummy treats she would beg her parents to buy, and fantasizing about which souvenir she'd be allowed to bring home. So I'd toss and turn and stare at the ceiling until my mom relented and let me vault out of bed and prepare for the big night.

Memories of those annual nights at Disneyland are hazy. I remember us four kids in the back of our station wagon, vying to be first to see the Matterhorn from the freeway. I NEVER saw anything. Ever. My brother Bill used to get so frustrated. He'd be pointing wildly, even grabbing my face and aiming it at the tall mountain, but I could never manage to make it out. I still have this problem today, when people try to point out something for me to look at.

I remember that it was never crowded, and we could race from ride to ride with hardly any wait time. Unheard of nowadays. I remember wetting my pants on the Matterhorn when I was very young (but obviously tall enough to ride), when my poor mom was stuck sitting behind me on the same bench. I remember having an enormous and entirely inappropriate crush on the scraggly, black-haired pirate who taunts soldiers from the ship in the big battle scene (he's gone now, sadly - replaced by some less-scraggly pirate going on and on about Captain Jack Sparrow). I remember how much my mom hated fireworks, and how she'd stand there with her fingers in her ears wincing, while the rest of us oohed and ahhhed.

I remember when I was old enough to invite a friend and separate for a few glorious hours from my folks, how we'd all pick a time when we'd meet up at the bridge at Sleeping Beauty's castle. I remember being mortified when, as a teen, I insisted that we visit the Enchanted Tiki Room. I had loved it as a child, once I recovered from the initial panic that IT WAS RAINING AT DISNEYLAND ON THE NIGHT WE WERE THERE AND THIS WAS GOING TO RUIN THE ENTIRE EVENING. My mom finally convinced me that the rain would end before we left that room and we'd all be just fine. Anyway, when I went back as a tween, the friend I'd dragged in there was way too cool for it - or at least she acted like that. I felt sad to think that I'd outgrown it. I regained my senses and still love the Tiki Room today, by the way - haters gonna hate.

Anyway, by the time I was seventeen, I think my parents were pretty much finished with the whole parenting thing. They were out of town that weekend, either on a trip to a foreign country or on a coaching weekend (or both) for Sweet Adelines (this happened a lot - see my other blog called "Home Again"). So I got discount tickets for the four of us - Kurt, Mark, Kathy and me - and off we went, feeling all grown up and stuff.

We were having a great time at the park. It was fun having a guy to cuddle with on rides. This was, pardon the Disney reference, a whole new world for me. Lots of fun, until one of the boys suggested we head back to the car to drink some booze.

Now, up to that point, I think I had only ever tried beer - Miller High Life, "The Champagne of Beers" - again, because of Kurt (who is probably reading this blog now from beneath the bus under which I just tossed him - heh heh). I think it was a later weekend trip to Anza that introduced me to rum. I began and ended a relationship with rum in one weekend. I still don't care for it. We had run out of Coke and had mixed it with grape Kool-Aid by the end of that very unfortunate night. So, yeah.

So, I had never even really tried any hard liquor before. Remember that first sentence? The part about being a rule-follower? But, the guys insisted, this was special. It was scotch. Really, really aged scotch. Super expensive, blah blah blah.  A funny thing about this is that I messaged Kurt to verify what it actually was, and he wrote: "I doubt either one of us would have known good booze if you hit us over the head with it back then."

He also mentioned feeling very bad for getting us kicked out that night. It's okay, Kurt, no one will ever know... haha!  And for what it's worth, he's a very decent fellow these days... finally. Heh heh...

Anyway, so we headed out to the parking lot, armed with cups of Sprite. Yes, Sprite. Because apparently, that's what you use as a mix for really old, really expensive scotch.

Now, if you know anything at all about Disneyland, it's that they are kind of tight about security. Like, OCD tight. Like, position-snipers-with-binoculars-on-towers-to-watch-over-the-parking-lot tight. So it took about five minutes for a golf cart of security guards to show up at our car with flashlights. I had taken, I believe, exactly one sip of this "good" liquor, pronounced it equivalent to jet fuel, and then boom. We were busted.

There is a Disney Jail. For real. And it's not all cartoony like the one in ToonTown. It's more like, well, a security office. We sat under the bright flourescent lights, ashamed and worried sick about what would happen next. The officer made a call to Kathy's parents, who gave their approval for the guys to drive us directly home to her house. It was a grim, quiet ride home. I think I might have loudly exclaimed a time or two that I hadn't even DRUNK the darn stuff. Kathy probably moaned about what terrible trouble she'd be in when we got home.

We arrived at Kathy's house, and the lights were all on. Kathy's mom and dad were waiting at the door as we slunk up the stairs to the porch, our tails between our legs. We were ushered upstairs to the family room. After briefly but thoroughly ripping into the boys, I remember Kathy's mom, in a very clipped tone, telling them to go home. NOW. They turned tail and fled.

Kathy and I sat on the couch, while Kathy's mom stood there and told us how disappointed they both were. I don't remember many details. I'm sure it was the stock "you've ruined our trust in you and it will be forever before we ever, ever let you forget this or do anything fun" type of speech that comes in the parenting handbook. I don't remember. But what I DO remember is waiting until Kathy's mom had used up all the disappointment and scorn she had in her, and then I timidly and tearfully asked, "Are you going to tell my parents about this?"

Her answer was the most absolutely glorious thing I'd ever heard anyone say to me in my seventeen years of life. She took a deep breath and said, slowly and meaningfully, "I think it's up to YOU to tell them, young lady."

What? Glory be! They would never have to find out!?? WOO HOO!!!! I hope I hid my relief. I think I went home then, joyously skipping down the street to my own home, five doors away, thanking my lucky stars for this gift of secrecy.

Kathy told me later that after I left, her dad broke into a huge grin, clapped her on the shoulder and shouted, "It's about TIME you went out and had some fun, for crying out loud!!!" Kathy was even more of a rule-follower than I, you see...  Her fun-loving father felt like her whole life was passing her by, so he was actually delighted to learn that she'd gone out and done something reckless for a change. She, however, scourged herself about it for years. And was super mad that I never got into trouble for it.

I never did tell my folks. And neither, thankfully, did Kathy's mom. But a funny thing happened, probably 15 years later. I sang in my mom's Sweet Adelines chorus, and we were doing some kind of all-day team-building sort of seminar. One of the day's activities was that each of us had to tell "Two Truths And A Lie" about ourselves, and the others had to guess which thing was the lie. I said:

"I played clarinet in the Trojan Marching Band."
"I once got kicked out of Disneyland."
"I went skydiving once and loved it."

Most people guessed the Disneyland thing. I laughed and said, "No, I've actually never gone skydiving."

My mom paused a minute, then said, "Wait. What? You got kicked out of Disneyland???"

"Oh," I replied casually, "you mean I never told you about that...?"

It led to an interesting conversation and a lot of hilarity among the women who got to listen in...