A Dismal Disney morning

Woken up by “Housekeeping” trying to enter my room at 8:55am. Apparently, I was already checked-out…even though check-out wasn’t for another two hours. There is no “going back to sleep” after that. I get a shower, get dressed and check the weather on my phone – no rain through about 3pm so I pack the rain gear back in my bag and head over to check-out (for real).

The grass and sidewalks were still wet from the rain overnight, but the Custom House (Check-In) was almost directly across from my building so it took less than five minutes to walk there and since there was no line to speak of (almost unheard of at Disney) it took nearly half that time to get my final printout.

The walk from the Custom House to Old Port Royale (food court) was still ten minutes, but the breakfast area is chaos – long lines at both the food stations and the cashier. I stare at the menu board until I figured out what I wanted and ended up behind a guest who ordered the exact same thing as I did the Breakfast Cuban sandwich and also argued with the woman on register when his family’s order came up saying they “shorted him” one sandwich.

Don’t worry, kitchen staff got back at him by making a charred, lukewarm and nearly inedible sandwich… and then she gave it to me instead.

I try to make a joke to the cashier to make myself feel better, and she looks at me like I’m completely nuts. She tries to get me to take my receipt for some reason and then casually puts it on my tray as if it is some kind of super magical gift from her to me.

She also makes a gesture with her hand like she’s glad to be rid of me, and when I ask her if there was a problem she kind of looks at me in a panic, raises her hand and snaps her fingers stammering “M-manager!”

I turn around a second later and large black man was standing less than a foot away from me blocking my only path. “What is the problem over here?” Naturally, she points over at me because I MUST be the bad guy because that’s the general rule around here.

Now I get to explain to him exactly why I’m holding up the line when I know full well he’s likely going to understand me about as well as she did.

“Is there a problem here,” he asked me.

“Honestly, I have idea what either of you are talking about. I’m just here for breakfast.”

“I was called over here for a reason,” he said eying my suspiciously.

I have no idea what happened, but suddenly I could see the gears shifting in his head. He didn’t say it (or anything else for a few seconds). He didn’t need to – it was all over his face.

“A-are you all right? You look like you need some HELP there.”

Sorry, I forgot I was Autistic for a second there, but I give him credit for at least trying to be subtle (a courtesy I’m not always extended), but he just sapped any appetite I had straight out of me.

“With what,” I asked him pointedly while trying not to be overtly rude. “I got my food, I paid for it so what do I ‘need help’ with?”

“Um with your, um, tray,” he said trying to justify his being there without upsetting the crazy person. “I mean we don’t want to spill your coffee.”

“I can handle it,” I said as I picked up my tray without spilling anything (because a lot of people burn themselves on ICED coffee). “But, thank you anyway. Can I go now?”

I wander around the packed seating area for several minutes before seeing a family exit a smaller room off to the side of the dining area. As I tried to enter the room (which was just as crowded as the one I was currently standing in), an old man in the same brownish uniform as the other workers stands in the doorway blocking my way.

“Oh, you want a TABLE,” he said essentially ‘pushing’ me back into the main dining room. “Well, did you try LOOKING for one?”

I love how STUPID people think I am. First I’m incapable of carrying my own tray, now I’m too oblivious to think to look for an open table in a crowded food court. Trust me, if all the chairs outside weren’t still wet from the rain overnight than I would have eaten out there (as the floor space inside was largely eaten up by gigantic strollers).

“Ah, there we go,” he said as a table miraculously opened up immediately around the corner from where we were standing.

He pulls a spray bottle and towel out of his apron and wipes down the tabletop before letting me put my bags down on the chair across from me (which was a godsend since my shoulders were killing me from carrying them around all this time).

I sat down, and as expected my sandwich was cold but more edible than it looked. More importantly (from my perspective anyway), my iced coffee still had a fair amount of ice in it which I’m choosing to count as a minor victory.

I leave the food court through the gift shop (because it’s Disney – everything has a “gift shop”) and ran my way across the small parking lot to the bus stop to a waiting Disney Springs bus. When I got to the stop, it was as packed as the food court I just left with a long line of people waiting to board (on a Friday morning?) while the driver secured a scooter inside her bus. I just liked the chance to drop at least one of my bags and catch my breath.

“Good morning,” the driver said cheerily as I entered the bus.

“A little late for that,” I sighed exasperatedly.

She looks at me, shakes her head and says “honey, it’s only 10 o’clock – still plenty of ‘morning’ left.”


God, it literally felt like it was 2pm. Fortunately, the trip from Old Port Royale to Disney Springs was less than fifteen minutes and if I thought about it sooner, I probably could have taken a boat from Marketplace across to Westside.

Yes, I know it’s “only” a mile or so from the Disney buses to the Lynx “Super Station,” but it FEELS like an eternity – particularly when carrying two large heavy bags. Whatever, as long as it isn’t raining (or for my readers in the Northeast snowing), it was all good…until I got to said station and saw the bright magenta colored bus pulling out of stop “11.”

The wait for the next bus probably seemed longer than it actually was, but the dark skies and chilly lake breeze made the desolate station seem colder then it was too. I counted out eight quarters in my pocket (all other coins were left on the dresser in the room) as I reminded myself that the bus was heated or at least warmer than it felt out in the station.

When it did arrive, I put my $2 into his machine and moved towards the back of the bus. However, as I made it to the end of the inward facing seats, the bus lurched forward essentially forcing me into the seat as he pulled around the circle to exit.

Normally, there’s an announcement about approaching the transfer stop at SeaWorld, but not this trip and apparently no-one else was getting on/off there so I ended up disembarking at the next stop. I started walking back to the apartment I thought “its 5-til noon, this morning can only get better from here.”

That’s when I felt the drops start to fall on my head – a perfect time to have my rain gear tucked away in my bag…

Categories: adventures, Autism, disney world, florida, Orlando, sensory processing disorder, weather | Leave a comment

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