Amber Earns Her Ears: My Secret Walt Disney World Cast Member Diary (13 page)

As sad as it was that our group had lost many of its original members, new CPs arrived. Kate, an ICP from Wales, joined us: she was definitely a character, and had such a habit of burning herself on every hot surface in the kitchen that eventually she was banned from working inside. Maud, a nice, soft-spoken girl from France, also joined us, as did Ian, from Canada, with whom I ended up discussing politics in the dish room on more than one occasion.

And then there was Mikael, one of the most fun, flamboyant people I ever trained at Electric Umbrella. His first day training on Beverage Island, he and I had an absolute blast; I don’t remember getting along with anyone quite so well, so quickly. That night, as we finished shoving plastic utensils into the holders and refilling all the condiment pumps, I told him we were done and could head downstairs to fill out his paperwork for that day of training. Just then, one of our coordinators, Kerrie, came out, and told Mikael and I that we’d have to dump out all the knives and make sure they were put back facing in the same direction, a random requirement for closing I hadn’t ever heard of. Kerrie’s name can’t be mentioned between us now without a knowing glance and the occasional stifled giggle.

Work wasn’t the only place new people began appearing. After Leah had left, our apartment was again down to three people. Then one day, as I was sitting around the living room — eating, no doubt — I heard a shuffling at the door. When I opened it, I found myself face to face with our new roommate, Danica.

Canadian Danica was on a short program to serve as a lifeguard at the Disney water parks. She was extremely laid-back, and just here to have fun (not in the go-out-and-get-obscenely-drunk way, but in the intelligent, I-know-how-to-act-like-an-adult way). She and May got along very well; she and Paige not really so much. I don’t think I ever fully understood the tension between them; it never caused much drama, but it was a change for 22301 — normally everyone in the apartment had gotten along effortlessly. This was the first time in our program two people just didn’t get along.

I didn’t really hang out with Danica outside of the apartment as much as I would have liked. Usually, by the time I came home, I was exhausted and not in the mood to go out. Danica and I did go to EPCOT, though, and had an impromptu dinner night. We decided to try the Coral Reef, where neither of us had been before. We managed to walk in and wait maybe ten minutes, and then we were seated at a table right next to the tank. It was quite an enjoyable night, and makes me wish that I had just gotten over being tired on a few more nights and gone out.

The end of the first group of CPs also brought on a slew of Housing programs. I had attended one of the Welcome Week parties, taking pictures with Goofy and Mickey in colorful Mardi Gras costumes and consuming a massive plate of southern food, watching men on stilts dance around the tent where the DJ was set up.

Toward the end of the regular-length College Program, Housing put on several other events.

The first such event our EU family attended was the spring formal, which had international travel as its theme. All the Electric Umbrella CPs scrambled to get the day — or at least the latter half of the day — off, and most of us did. The evening of the formal, I headed over to Betty’s to meet up with all the others who lived in Vista Way. We lounged around Betty’s bedroom as everyone got ready, fixing hair and adjusting dresses.

When it was time to leave, we piled into Ann’s truck and headed to the convention center at Coronado Springs Resort. Walking in, we found ourselves greeted by a large group of CPs, widely dispersed over the enormous room. There were small tables set up with confetti on them, a dance floor and DJ, buffets, and little facades depicting several famous cities from around the world in front of which you could take pictures. We made our way to the food and fixed ourselves small plates. The Electric Umbrella CPs all managed to find one another: Vivian, Jennifer, Gemma, Don, Victoria, Peerada, Ann, Betty, MoMo, and I stood together, venturing briefly out onto the dance floor before deciding that we felt ridiculous. Soon, we dispersed, some of us sitting at a table, chatting and taking pictures with others who dropped by.

After a while, we got up, and Ann, Don, Betty, and I wandered around, Betty taking pictures at each of the city facades. And then we left, glad we had come, but feeling a little underwhelmed.

Every participant who makes it all the way through their program (or at least the vast majority of the way through it) is awarded Mickey ears, with a tassel stapled between the ears, and a certificate of completion. These, among other small keepsakes (everyone gets a large poster with the Castle and a number of sayings to remind you of your time in the program; I also got a purple plastic photo album) are passed out at graduation.

Our graduation ceremony took place at Mickey’s Retreat, directly across from Chatham. I went with Betty and Emily. We walked over and picked up our Mickey ears, posters, and certificates first. By then, we were starving. Wending our way through a small building, we grabbed hoagies, apples, and sodas, then sat at the picnic tables and watched people queuing up to take pictures with the characters or dancing in the road — the Cupid shuffle was played at every housing event. Multiple times.

After finishing our lunch, we Cupid shuffled over to join the long line for pictures with Mickey and Minnie in their graduation robes, and then posed with Pluto and Goofy. Out of the lines, we found Donald and Chip and Dale wandering among the milling CPs — Donald was a must-have photo. At some point during the day, Don joined us. As this was after the drunken incident, I did my best to ignore his presence, and the four of us walked around with just a hint of awkwardness. We took pictures next to College Program graduation banners and played carnival games. Soon, though, Betty, Emily, and Don decided they were going to go to Cast Connections, a Cast Member discount store at Magic Kingdom, and I went to find Paige somewhere in the throng.

When I eventually found her, we spent a bit of time doing the Cupid shuffle with Donald and taking pictures next to the CareerStart banner, priding ourselves on being some of the few original program participants left. Pete was DJ’ing in Magic Kingdom that night, so we decided to drive over to the Transportation and Ticket Center and catch the ferry to the park. While on the ferry, wearing our graduation Mickey ears, and myself already starting to turn painfully red, the captain invited us into the cabin to take pictures. Once off the ferry, we walked over to Tomorrowland, where we quickly joined the back of the crowd in silly group dances, sometimes just standing aside to watch the smaller kids dance.

When the dance party took a break (Paige and I had been there for a couple of hours already; we were cool), Pete ran over and escorted us to the Astro Orbitor, giving instructions to the ride operator to let us view the fireworks from the top platform. Thrilled, Paige and I rode the elevator up and took pictures, sharing our view with just a few other guests — I would assume it was one of the least crowded spots from which to view Wishes that night.

When we had danced ourselves out, and were probably suffering from heat exposure and dehydration, we left Magic Kingdom and made our way home. Probably to play some
Lego Harry Potter
.

“MIKAEL. IF YOU HUG Amber one more time, I swear I’m going to shove you into the cardboard compressor and push the button.”

The end of my CareerStart Program came too soon — and yet in some ways, I had been ready to leave for at least a month.

After six months in Florida, it was finally the beginning of August, and I was preparing to make the immediate transition from living independently in Florida and working at Walt Disney World to transferring my green plastic bins to my dorm room at the University of Tennessee. The Travel Channel (my favorite) had been blocked by Disney’s cable provider, and I was itching to start moving forward again.

Just because I was ready to regain some momentum in my life, however, did not make the idea of leaving Florida any easier.

When I got to Orlando, I had been terrified that I wouldn’t be able to get along with anyone at Disney World — and now I couldn’t imagine leaving the co-workers, roommates, and other Cast Members who had wormed their way into a place where not even the people with whom I had attended high school for three and a half years had managed to reach.

For the first time, I was faced with the concept of leaving people behind that I might never see again. I was upset about it. Australia, Canada, California, Texas…my new friends were all about to depart to their respective homes around the world.

Rather than spend my last month packing up my things and getting ready to go, I spent every moment working or out with friends — late night runs to IHOP and Steak ‘n Shake were common. Time was flying by, and as much fun as I was having, I watched plans that I had made with friends pass unfulfilled.

Paige and I, for example, had planned to return to Wizarding World, but never quite found the time to pick up our house banners to hang over our beds or have another butterbeer together.

We never made it to see La Nouba, and despite our best efforts, we never went up in Characters in Flight, the hot air balloon ride at Downtown Disney (we had tried on numerous occasions, even on Paige’s birthday, but the weather conditions had never been right). I still had not gotten into a pool. I began to regret the days off I spent lounging inside the apartment, or nights when I was too tired to eke out the effort to leave.

But I was doing my best to make up for all of that.

During my last week at work, I was kind of a mess. Before moving to Florida, I was the person who never cried in public (Pixar movies don’t count), whose possession of any emotions at all was debated by those outside my family. But my experience on the CareerStart Program had changed me, as corny as it sounds. I had grown attached to these people, much more than I would ever have believed possible. As goodbyes were being said during the final few days of work, I was constantly close to tears. The two married couples I worked with — Oscar and Digna, and Ben and Eva — caught me as I was going to the bathroom, and as they pulled their things out of their lockers, hugged me before they left.

“We just wanted to say that you are a good girl. We are very proud of you. One day, you will run this company; you will be CEO.”

My eyes welled up a bit at their praise. As Eva patted my cheek, they disappeared through the door, and I made my way back into the restaurant.

When TJ gave Betty and me our evaluations on one of our last nights, I read his praise with stinging eyes. His entire goal throughout my program had been to make me cry (part of our sarcastic, playfully hateful friendship), and I only managed to make it through the office doors before Betty and I were both in tears.

The people leaving with me were equally emotional. Pictures were sneaked during lulls, heads were clustered in the lineup, and I developed a bad habit of wandering away from the back of Nieco to chat with Betty and Emily as they reminisced about our past six months together.

I said my goodbyes to the full- and part-timers who rotated through my last shifts. I hugged Tenisha goodbye, I acknowledged my impending departure to Sharon and Mrs. V, hugged Savitri (the most adorable woman) goodbye in Fountain View, and said a mockingly flippant farewell to Lanisha, the girl with the most attitude I’ve ever met; she started our acquaintance squirting me with a hose (which she denies, but I distinctly remember) and ended it confusing the entire kitchen by calling me Rose (as in Amber Rose, though I’m still not sure how she drew that correlation).

With a few days left, Eddie called me back from the register late at night to say goodbye, and while I managed not to cry while hugging him, Mikael swooped in with a hug — he had discovered that this simple act would totally reduce me to a blubbering state in no time.

“I hope you don’t mind that, while I’m hugging you because you’re sad, I’m also enjoying making you cry,” he whispered gleefully.

I sniffled, laughing into his shoulder, and was promptly sent back out to the register. While we weren’t exactly busy at that point, I did have to explain to a guest or two why I looked like a wreck.

On our last day at work, Emily and I managed not to shed a tear. We were closing together (I was scrubbing Nieco — my favorite! — and she had dish room), and though we were separated from Betty up in the hoods, we were glad that at least the three of us would share our last night at the Electric Umbrella.

As it turned out, the dish room was not the best place for Emily and me. It is perhaps the highest traffic area during closing, and people were constantly wandering in and out as we said our goodbyes. We joked around, me wearing my typical backwards hat and scraping blackened hamburger grease off the great metal pieces of the grill, and Emily spraying ketchup and tomatoes off the trays. We oscillated between shock that this was our last night and doing our best to ignore that depressing fact.

And then Micro came in.

Micro was a cheerful, middle-aged man who had come to work at the Electric Umbrella a few months after I got there, and I referred to him as my adopted uncle. He was never without a smile, and he had a habit of referring to me as the Energizer Bunny, a reference to how excited I got as I worked the anchor position. I hadn’t seen much of him that day, but as he walked out of the dish room after our short conversation, he had mumbled, “It’s just not gonna be any fun around here without you girls.”

And that was it. I was done. My face quavered, and Emily and I just looked at each other, sharing that overwhelming feeling of sadness that this was our last night as part of the Electric Umbrella family.

That set the tone for our last few hours. Any time Micro came in — which was frequently — we would make eye contact, and I would start crying all over again. Several times I would just set down my sprayer and crouch above the chunks of hamburger on the wet floor, strangled laughter coming out distorted amidst the tears, acutely aware of how pathetic Emily and I — mostly me — must look. One of our coordinators, Jaz, came in, and Emily was reduced to the same state. It seemed as if our previous lack of ridiculous sadness was catching up with us all at once.