Everything that's about to be written down by yours truly can be read in one of two ways:
A knee-slapping comedy that will have you gasping for air -- or a treacherous horror story that will have you just gasping.
I went to Disney World. (Cue the dramatic music.)
For those of you who are rolling your eyes at the moment, let me elaborate. I went to Disney in my traveling wheelchair, which is essentially a giant stroller. Based on my experience over the past 22 years, I have learned that airlines don't really give a fuck when it comes to motorized wheelchairs -- studies show that airlines damaged 1,975 wheelchairs in three months. Wheelchairs -- which have the monetary value of a new car, and the sentimental value of your legs. Due to this, my parents have found that the best way to travel is by using my purple, death-trap-of-a-stroller. Let the record show that I did test multiple strollers and this was the one that I felt the most adequately comfortable in.
The voyage started at six in the morning because our little personal Travelocity gnome (my Mother) booked a Disney tour that started at 7:30 am. As we rushed into our taxi I noticed two things: One, it was a taxi in fucking Orlando, and two, I was sitting in the back. Alone. Again, my mother thought this would add to the experience as my own personal roller coaster ride. Well, Mother, roller coasters usually have to go through some rules and regulations to be approved. Engineers are behind those monsters. Meanwhile, our taxi driver was on the phone for half the drive. Granted, he was trying to look up how fast passes work and affect disabled people, which was nice, but I just wanted to live.
When we got there I remembered the weatherman saying it was 95 degrees, but felt like 105. I wanted to kick myself for chuckling when I heard that because it did indeed feel like 105. We met up with the tour guide after fifteen minutes of looking for her in the burning sun. Turns out she was 12. Fine, 20. At that point, I had already had about seven awkward interactions between my parents pushing me into people, and me staring at little kids being yelled at (while trying to mind my own business even though they're right there in front of me.) For those who don't understand why this kept happening it is because my parents and my brother lack the experience of pushing a full-grown woman in a stroller. So, they left me staring at Mickey's ass for ten minutes while debating whether we should go left or right.
The Avatar exhibit, however, was amazing. It was the sole reason why we were there. It defied the laws of physics or at least that's what it seemed like. Logic is thrown out the window when you see these massive pieces of land just ... floating? The tour guide insisted on using fast passes to get on all of the rides. (Spoiler Alert: everyone uses fast passes defeating their purpose.) The FP line was equal if not longer than the regular line.) After walking through the long ass dessert-like exhibition, sun radiating upon my black leathered foam tray I had to sit, stand, wait, (whatever you wanna call it) in line because apparently being physically disabled in Disney doesn't mean shit. I decided to lighten up my mood by mentioning the gift shop and firmly stating to my parents that I deserved a trophy for this hell hole. (Yeah, I know, I'm a child. But, my leg was asleep so fuck it.)
This is when the tour guide decided to casually mention that the gift shop could put visitor's faces on Avatar dolls. "This is it," I thought. "This is the reason why the universe brought me to this shit place, in this shitty hot day, with this shitty painful chair." It was all gonna be worth it once I had my face in an Avatar doll. At least that's what I thought made sense during what felt like a heat stroke.
The plan became the following: my parents and my brother would get on the ride while little old me and the twelve-year-old tour guide ran down to the gift shop and began the heavenly process. In the gift shop, I asked the depressed store clerk how much it would be to make such a mystical doll. The little bastard said, "eighty dollars," which, at the time, made total sense -- they're putting my fucking face on the doll. I proceeded to pay the $80. The young pre-teen placed me into their futuristic Chambers of Doll-Making. It wasn't until an iPad was pulled out that I thought to myself, "Well, this could be a scam." This voice in my head was quickly followed by another voice, "You just paid $80...Eighty. Dollars." Which is why I smiled through the iPad photoshoot.
Long story short, after forty minutes of waiting for the doll, which made sense, because you have to 3D print that shit, (at least that's what I thought to myself), we were greeted by a perky-ass-woman. It wasn't the genuine kind, but the fake kind--the kind you have to take medication for. She leads us to this galactic vending machine, where yet another poor picture was taken of my face and placed over some sort of 3D model of a basic bitch that was supposed to be me. (No, I do not have Jessica Alba's lips. How dare them.) The machine then spat out a poorly packaged Avatar doll. The perky-ass woman kept insisting in a high pitched voice how much it looked like me before she had even laid her eyes on it. By this point, I was in denial, embarrassed, and in shock. I was just hoping that my dad wouldn't notice that he paid $80 for a doll that did not look like me.
So. I. Played. Along.
This is the part where I say something positive to the sixteen-year-old girl, AKA, Molly. But instead, I'm going to give some advice to Disney. First of all, can we go back to when I was twelve and you let me cut in line because I was in a wheelchair? I get it, you want to treat me like everyone else. But fuck! It felt like 105 outside, and that is not ethically correct! Between you and me, our magical little journey is CUTTING IN LINE! There are few perks that come with being in a wheelchair. That is one of them! I milk that shit every time! When some random classmate talked about Disney, I would just throw that in there, "We never have to wait in line!" I also want to rant about the Avatar doll, but still am too pissed about that and am going to say some hurtful things that I might regret about Walt's mother. Till then, I will be attending Universal next time and I will be buying a wand instead.