The Ride Delegate: Memoir of a Walt Disney World VIP Tour Guide (4 page)

Guests often asked how much commission I was making off the tour, and I’d look at them through sunglasses, completely confused. Guests just assumed my gratuity was included in the exorbitant hourly fee. If that had been the case, I would most definitely own my fair share of DVC property by now. However, it wasn’t. Tips weren’t allowed, so it wasn’t include in the bill.

Now stickers are completely cool for guests to gift to tour guides. Please thank your guide well. Considering how much Disney merchandise they buy each month, they could really use that extra money.

I had freedom to roam the Walt Disney World property with my guests, but there were limits to my magic. I couldn’t cut lines; I couldn’t cut anyone in front of us in a FastPass line. This bothered guests a lot, who wanted to know why they were paying
so much money
to stand in line with other guests. What I tried to explain again and again to guests was the fact that, yes, we were waiting with other guests, but as soon as we were done with Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster, we could immediately go ride Tower of Terror. All the other guests couldn’t. The other guests had to rely on the flawed FastPass system to ride rides, while we just had to rely on me. As long as I was with them we could
ride all the rides
!

At the end of the tour day I had to drive my company supplied vehicle back to the Office, drop it off, file away all my food receipts (my many,
many
food receipts), and do some simple paperwork. Then we were free to clock out, go home, sleep for maybe like three hours, and come back and do it all again tomorrow. The fabulous lifestyle of a VIP tour guide.

Any schmuck could be a tour guide; but it took a really good schmuck to be a good tour guide.

Family of three. Mom, Dad, Son, six hours, Magic Kingdom. That’s all the information I knew about my first tour. I stared at the tour sheet for a solid five minutes before I decided to print it out and take it with me. I was supposed to meet the family at 9am on the steps of City Hall. It was 8:15am.

The drive from the Office, located across from Downtown Disney in the cruise-like-looking building of Team Disney, to Magic Kingdom took about fifteen minutes. I parked my giant gold Suburban in what I hoped was a designated parking spot backstage at Magic Kingdom. I honestly couldn’t tell half of the time. Everyone seemed to have the right of way in this parking lot, and at least half the cars were parked illegally anyway.

I breezed through the gate next to Tony’s and made my way across Town Square to the steps of City Hall. The building was full of guests, as usual, and I took up a spot on the front steps to wait for mine. Instantly, I was swarmed with questions about dining reservations and birthday buttons.

“That’s inside!” I called happily to them, pointing to the open double doors that would lead to the City Hall counter. “Someone will help you out in there!”

“What are you doing?” asked a boy by the name of Matt, the current Cast Member assigned to work the front porch like a carnival barker.

“It’s my first tour,” I nervously told him, making sure that none of the guests around us heard. “I’m waiting for my family.”

“Oh,” Matt replied. He scribbled a name on a birthday button and handed it to the guest. “Are you meeting them here?”

“Yes, 9am, City Hall steps. So if you see them, tell them I’m here.” I took a few steps down the stairs and towards the tree located right outside of City Hall. I didn’t want to keep answering questions for guests, and I didn’t want to get roped into any guest situations. I stood close enough to the building that I was visible, but far enough away to make it clear I wasn’t actually working the area today.

9am came and went and no guests showed up to greet me. I pulled out my Blackberry and scrolled through my emails, thinking that maybe I had gotten the meeting location wrong, or they had canceled, or
something
. Nothing. The emails I had were all about park hours for the day, and that fireworks viewing for tonight was full, and that I needed to clean my gold Suburban when I was done with it.

9:15am, still no guests.

By 9:30 I was getting worried. The Office told me that the guests were only going to be paying for six hours, and the clock had already started. But, like, what happens if the guest is mad that we’re starting late but still ending right on time? Do I have to tack on another half hour to the tour and not charge them for it? Will I still get paid? Do I have to have someone approve this?

“Annie?” Someone called from in front of me. I turn to face my family of three, Mom, Dad, and Son age 9.

The Dad sticks out his hand. “Sorry we’re late. Traffic,” he says, pointing back towards the turnstiles. I nod, like I totally understand that traffic is the reason we’re late. I awkwardly stick my hand out and shake Mom’s hand, and then lean down and shake the boy’s, too. “This is Billy.” Dad says, as little Billy weakly takes my hand, not sure how to shake it.

“Well, are you guys ready to get started?” I say, my voice cracking in a thousand different places. Thankfully, Magic Kingdom was about six decibels too loud, so they didn’t hear my nerves.

“Yeah, what did you have planned first?” Dad asks.

Oh. Yeah. That’s right. I’m in charge of this. This is my tour, I am the tour guide, and I’m the one who’s going to decide what we do. That’s me.

“Uh, well, have you guys, uh, been here before?” I asked as we began our walk down Main Street.

“Last time we were here Billy was 3. We want to hit all the rides for him. I was thinking we could go to Tom Sawyer’s Island later and let him blow off some steam.”

“There’s nothing to do on Tom Sawyer’s Island,” Mom said, joining the conversation. “It’s just an island.”

“We’ll see what we can do. What do you guys want to do first?” With Billy being 9, their last visit was probably five years ago. I bet I could lead them to literally anything in the park and proclaim, “THIS IS THE BEST THING IN THE PARK.”

“You lead the way!” Dad says, grinning.

Main Street is a lot shorter when you’re in panic mode.

“How long have you been doing this?” Dad asked me, as we turned at Casey’s Corner.

The correct answer would have been, “about forty minutes!” but instead I told Dad, “Three months.” It sounded like enough of a time frame where I wasn’t completely new, but still new enough to not know everything yet.

I led the family into Adventureland. It takes about five minutes for Billy to start complaining that it’s too hot in the park and that he wants something to drink. So we stop and get Billy a drink, and then we continue on, passing Magic Carpets of Aladdin and passing Jungle Cruise.

“What’s that?” Dad asks as we walk.

“Jungle Cruise, it’s a boat ride.” I tell him.

“Lets go do that. Lets ride that, Billy, that looks fun!” Dad was already walking down the slope towards Jungle before I have time to stop him.

Dad’s already at the FastPass entrance for Jungle, so I hurry down the slope to catch up to him. I pull out my orange premium DSA pass that said, I CAN RIDE THIS!! and we walk through the queue. We reach the boat. The Skipper asks me how many are riding, and I tell him, “Three!”

“You’re not riding?” Mom asks. Mom gives me a look that basically tells me I have to ride. Or else.

Eleven minutes later we’re off Jungle and heading towards Pirates. As we get closer I look up at the wait time posted above and it reads “10 minutes”.

“Come on, lets go ride Pirates!” I call to the family, as we queue up through the maze of ropes and chains. We walk about halfway through the line when we stop.

“Why are we waiting?” Dad asks.

“Oh, there’s only one line right now, so everyone’s in this line.”

“Why aren’t we walking to the front?”

“There are just a few people in front of us.”

“Can we cut them?”

“We’re almost there!”

We were not almost there. We were still ten minutes away from our boat. Dad was not happy. Mom once again gave me a look that told me I needed to get into the boat with her, and I obliged. We rode Pirates together. Billy hated it. Who knew that the kid hated drops?

Dad really wanted to go to Tom Sawyer’s Island. He wanted to let Billy run free for a little bit, hoping that he’d burn off steam and then sleep the entire car ride back to the hotel in Downtown Orlando. I explained to Dad again and again that there was nothing to do on Tom Sawyer’s Island except wander around.

Mom fought it, I tried and tried again to talk Dad out of it, but in the end he won. Mom, Dad, Billy, and I got on a raft to Tom Sawyer’s Island. Dad was paying through the nose for me and he really wanted to spend an hour watching Billy run around a fake island. This was real life. I gripped the edge of the wooden raft and prayed that no other tour guide would walk along the Rivers of America and see me, pale and frightened, traveling to Tom Sawyer’s Island. I wondered what would happen if the raft ran aground and I had to call the Office explaining that I had just saved a raft full of guests from the Liberty Bell.

We got off the raft on the island and immediately Billy took off. Dad found a nice rocking chair just off the dock and settled down in it. Mom followed. They both looked to me, and without any spoken words I knew what they wanted me to do. They were paying through the nose so I could babysit Billy on Tom Sawyer’s Island.

I took off sprinting after Billy, in my little blue skirt and black flats, and that boy was fast. I barely caught up to him and chased him all the way to the fort on the island. Once at the fort, he wanted to run up and down the stairs, and I had nothing to do but follow him. I had to follow him. I couldn’t very well return to Mom and Dad and explain that Billy had been lost to the island. Wherever Billy went, I went. There are secret passages in the fort that go to other places on the island, and Billy insisted that we go through them. He went into the dark scary crevices first, and I followed. I couldn’t see, and my black flats kept slipping on the damp rocks.

Billy then needed to run across the barrel bridge, not once, not even twice, but five times. You know exactly what bridge I’m talking about. The barrel bridge is directly next to the queue for Haunted Mansion. Every time Billy ran across the barrel bridge, I followed him across the barrel bridge. Five times. Five times I went back and forth as the freelance entertainment for the Haunted Mansion queue. At one point some guest in the line clapped for me, and I thought about taking a bow. I hadn’t let Billy fall into the Rivers of America, so yes, I should be rewarded Tour Guide of the Week.

An hour later we left the island. As soon as I reached the dock in Frontierland, I swore off Tom Sawyer’s Island on a tour, because that was ridiculous. On my first tour, I had already realized that I don’t get paid enough to run across a barrel bridge with a nine year old.

The rest of the six hours passed quickly. Billy was tired and didn’t want to do anything else, and I was exhausted myself. I led Mom, Dad and Billy back to the same spot where I picked them up. Dad then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He thumbed through some bills, and I could see he had multiple $20s and at least two $100s. He counted out a few bills, pulled them out, and handed them to me. “Thanks for the tour,” he said. Dad shook my hand and disappeared towards the turnstiles.

Time stopped around me. I stood in front of City Hall holding the money, and I slowly looked around to see who had witnessed the transaction. I looked to the steps of City Hall, where I saw Matt, still standing there as if he hadn’t been allowed a break since the last time I saw him. He wasn’t staring at me; he was staring at the money in my hand. He then made eye contact with me. Time resumed.

“Uh, money from lunch!” I yelled to him, as I shoved the bills into my vest pocket and took off across Town Square without looking back.

I got back to my gold Suburban and climbed into the driver’s seat. Once inside, I pulled the money out of my pocket to count it. I have no idea how Dad calculated that tip, but I didn’t even care. I didn’t know what to do. I was completely paralyzed with the cash in my hand. The little voice inside of my head told me that I needed to turn it all over to the Office, but the other voice inside of my head reminded me that I needed groceries this week. I drove back to the Office, still not sure what I was going to do. Before I got inside I pulled one bill and tucked it into my purse. Gas money, I told myself. The rest of it went to the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, where my best friend in high school was working as a lab assistant. I hope Dana Farber knows what bridges I had to cross to get them that money.

I once made the allusion that being sold for a VIP tour was like the wench being sold by the auctioneer in Pirates, and I was promptly told to never refer to the VIP booking process like that again. Just like the one time I spent an entire day referring to the Magic Kingdom Utilidor (The “underground tunnel”, but not really an underground tunnel) as the catacombs. I was once again promptly told to never call it that again.

But honestly, what sounds better?

“Who wants to go into the Magic Kingdom Utilidor?”

Or: “Who wants to go into the Magic Kingdom Catacombs?”

• My personal cellphone.
  
• A charger for my personal cellphone.
  
• Wallet with only a credit card in it. Only for emergencies.
  
• Hairbrush.
  
• Powder foundation.
  
• Toothbrush and toothpaste.
  
• Hand lotion and hand sanitizer.
  
• Body spray.
  
• Tiny deodorant (only applicable during summertime).
  
• Bottle of ibuprofen.
  
• Vehicle keys.
  
• 8 fl oz. bottle of water.
  
• At least two granola bars.
  
• Tootsie Rolls, Starburst, and LaffyTaffy (but no chocolate; you know what happens when chocolate gets hot).
  
• Crayons.
  
• Small notebook for notes, which was really used for autographs that I always forgot to give back to kids.
  
• Nail file.
  
• At least two half-eaten granola bars that I forgot were in my bag.
  
• Keychain flashlight.
  
• Park maps. Just in case.
  
• Umbrella. Which never fit. Which I carried. So I’d leave it in the car and then it would rain.
  
• Extra pair of tights.
  
• Sunglasses and regular glasses.
  
• VIP business cards.