Phones down! Eyes up! We’re at Disneyland, people!

[ Running a full week behind with these. ]

It’s a wanton celebration of mindless consumption.

It’s waiting an hour to get in on “a slow day”, then getting on the waitlist (“FastPass”) before getting into another hour long line.

For a 60 second ride.

Surrounded by a herd of seething consumers sold the idea they are each the center of the universe and deserving of instant gratification, passive-aggressively moshing around and through each other indiscriminately—in many cases still staring blankly into smartphones.

It’s being the introvert who wants to shout, “PHONES DOWN. EYES UP. WE’RE AT FUCKING DISNEYLAND, PEOPLE!”

It is the cure for agoraphobia.

It is Jungle Tour. It is Pirates of the Caribbean.

It’s grossly overpriced churros, Skellington’s Haunted Mansion, and not having to go potty until you’re literally next in line when the second train through the station since you got in line pulls away without you.

It’s seeing Goofy in person.

It’s riding a flying Dumbo for the first time.

Together.

It’s watching her confidently spin the teacup with her best friend.

It’s sneaking off to ride the Matterhorn for the first time with yours.

It’s $30 bubble wands playing that damn song from The Little Mermaid over and over again—but not hearing it until you get home.

It’s making friends with a random little boy there with his grandma, randomly seeing her describing him to park staff an hour later on the other side of the park, and not having to actively scan the crowd looking for little Alex five minutes before seeing two smiling park staffers holding his hands and walking back toward grandma.

It’s your little girl’s first time behind the wheel.

It’s thinking, “Hey, Mitsubishi needs to offer electric cars; little MiEV Evos like they run on Pike’s Peak. These things are running RICH and HEY! They’ve even got a spot to feature the MRJ on the course!”

It’s riding the monorail all the way around the park. It’s lucking out and stumbling into the just opened-after-repairs line for Indiana Jones with a 15 minute standby wait that ends up being an hour where you compare healthcare, politics, and football with a couple girls from BC who, the week before, somehow also enjoyed that dingy amusement park on I-17 back home.

It’s carrying your exhausted, shivering, little girl six-tenths of a mile back to the hotel at 11PM in a light drizzle you were completely unprepared for.

It’s all kinds of things.

It’s kinda everything.

I can’t wait to go back.

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