Here is a chapter from the Disney Trip Report I wrote involving pools, poop and weirdos:
So we pack ourselves into our bathing suits and head towards the Bowling Pin pool. I love Disney. No matter what weirdness you are rocking, you can find more people just like you, or worse! No matter what kind of cheese your thighs resemble, your twin is out there rocking her matching cheese.
Looking for a bloated, florescent chick?…..Check! There are bunches!
Luxurious Jigglers? ……..Check! Three just like you!
Are you an old, hairy dude wearing your Speedo thong backwards?....Dear God…..Check! Another you!
You know the part I hate? When you walk up to the pool you are all normal, wearing your cute sarong, Fake Dior glasses, even the twins, your boobs, have risen to the occasion, God Bless them.
Then there is the moment.
You try and prevent it from coming.
But removing Flip Flops only takes so long.
Then you have to let them have it.
Remove the sarong.
And try not to run into the pool.
Cause running sets your evil in motion.
You try and be nonchalant about it. Gee Whiz, we all do. We're all pretending we're not almost naked. It's so bizarre that we wrap ourselves in a small amount of spandex and then try and act normal. It’s almost like we should speak another language when we engage in this bizarre ritual.
It’s almost nakey time!!!
Blorf Naorfg Kkofjirj!!!
So we are in the pool. Talking pool speak, when I notice an alarming amount of already wet people headed for our pool. Our slightly crowded pool. The wet people are arriving at a steady rate. Like somewhere, someone was handing out money for people to junk up our pool with their bodies. Nuts. Now there are three of those old, hairy dudes.
As they start to wade in, we catch snippets of conversation.
“Don’t know when they will open”
So we piece it together. The Hippy Dippy pool is closed because someone took a dookie in it.
We are experts at the dookie in the pool.
Not for that reason.
For Pete’s sake people have some trust.
We faced the “Cleaning The Pool” on our last long Disney trip. We learned that it is quite common. We hoped it was mostly babies. Butt, you never do know for sure unless you're the unlucky skimmer guy.
Poop Skimmer guy has got no game with the ladies.
You always know the answer when you ask him, “How was your day at work?”
We see the Bowling Pin lifeguards looking in the pool next to my husband's foot.
Then they look at my husband.
Then they look at his foot.
Finally, my husband looks at his foot.
Very close to it there's a leaf. A sunken leaf. I can tell this. Hubby can tell it’s a leaf. Butt the lifeguards have no idea what it is. Well, they think it's a dookie. Man dookie. Not baby dookie.
They send up the smoke signal for the poop skimmer guy.
Husband decides to put the lifeguards out of their misery. He does not want to become a wet refugee to the Computer Pool. He reaches for the leaf with his foot.
Now, I don't know what the public has been doing to these lifeguards, butt from the look on their faces, you'd think my husband was about to pull the pin on a grenade with his toes. He grabs the leaf and shows it to the mortified lifeguards. They nod and look at him suspiciously.
I don’t know what kind of poop-throwing gorillas people have been smuggling into the Bowling Pin pool at Disney, butt it needs to stop. These boys were traumatized.
We exit the pool, and head towards the Classic Hall for Linner or Dunch. Or whatever that poorly timed meal should be called. I was still hoping to return to the Magic Kingdom. So, we figured we would eat Dreakfast or Binner there.
And the Hippy Dippy is closed for cleaning. My kids' idea of heaven is the Hippy Dippy pool. They love all pools, but that one, for them is the end all. I've flashes of a closed Hippy Dippy for the length of our stay. What if they can’t reopen and it's really some sort of large scale CLEANING, not related to poop?
This is the first time I'm actually hoping that is was poop in the pool.
We all bust out our Dinning Plan Cards. The freedom of having those cards was almost too much to bear. Drinks, meals, don’t forget dessert! We all had to keep track of each other’s trays to make sure we got was coming to us. I was forced to get a little personal chocolate cake. With a curl on the top. It was coming to me. God, I love when food comes to me. Especially chocolate.
I also began a very monogamous love affair with the POP century Crusted in Something wonderful Chicken breast, with a salad and a personal loaf of bread. I could not stop ordering this chicken every time I had the chance.
We sat down to eat in the super large booth. I cut into Something Wonderful Chicken, put the piping bite almost to my lips when, as usual,
Daughter ~ “I have to use the bathroom.”
Always. Like clockwork.
I sigh, and whisper to my chicken, “Just a moment, my love”
My girl grabs my hand. Don’t you just love when they do that? Such a natural movement. Her hand slips in mine. I always squeeze it just a little, like a hand hug. I try not to take hand holding for granted.
We get to the bathroom. We all know how I feel about this place.
And I have something to say about it. Surprise, Surprise.
Us ladies have to take a seat, we all know this. Butt, I've noticed that we have a ritual when choosing said "seat". When looking at a line up of stalls, almost always the doors hang halfway open. Not open enough to see the seat, but you can tell it's not occupied.
We all do the same thing. Like a dog sniffing a tree. We head close to the stall, but we never bust in and lay down the law on just any open toilet.
I don't care how many times you filled your refillable mug, you'll always peek. You take the smallest tip of your finger and push, ever so gently, on the stall door. So gentle, there could be a sleeping baby on the other side. But we're not looking for babies.
We're looking to see what awful atrocities have occurred to the possible seat before we arrived on the scene.
And you know ladies, sometimes you peek and hit the lotto. You get a clean seat. Brand new clean. The seat's still up clean. You have to knock it down with your foot clean. And that's nice. Man, that's a sight to see. Sometimes, you can forgo the jiggler protector because you're the first one there.
You can claim that throne.
And you know ladies, sometimes you peak in and there is no lotto winning.
There's only horror. How it got there we do not know. Some woman must be just like the gorilla in the pool. You peek with your gentle hand, just the tip, to reveal what looks like some kind of murder scene.
And we all think the same thing, “What the hell was that woman up to in there?”
"Did she somehow suspend herself from a trapeze before she handled her business?"
What do we do? We shake it off. We move on to the next stall. Or maybe two down if it is really bad. There must be a compartment in our brain that tucks those sights from our memories.
Now a suggestion, if I may, try and dry yourself off before plunking yourself down on a jiggler protector. Because when you are wet from the pool, they become a tattoo. And you have to make sure you get every sticking piece off before prancing around in your bathing suit again. The wet protector protects nothing when the germs get stuck to you like a second skin.
Just a suggestion. It's not like this has ever happened to me.
Another suggestion. If you happen to be in an extremely quiet bathroom and you're not alone, hit the hand dryer button on your way in. For some background noise. Give a courtesy hit on your way out for the poor soul on the can, too. Random act of kindness and all that jazz. Because we all hate when it's quiet. It's awkward. And gets competitive.
And please. Please.
Don’t talk to me if I don’t know you.
Why do people open up to me in the toilet? I'll tell you why!
You have heard of the Horse Whisperer? How about the Dog Whisperer?
Well, I'm the Weirdo Whisperer.
If you are weird, you'll find me anywhere and feel vocal diarrhea coming on. Hard.
And you might feel it is okay to hug me.
Just yesterday, I was shopping in the Wal-Mart, looking for Cd Mailers. I walk past the books and an old lady stops me. I look at her pleasantly “Can I help you?”
She tells me she's looking for a book. She can’t find it and is frustrated. I can’t find her book either, so I asked her what type of book she likes. Turns out she likes The Bourne Identity series. So I figure she likes action, and I spot Angels and Demons by Dan Brown. I loved the book and it was action packed, so I tell her about it.
Doesn’t this sound lovely? Normal? Sweet even!
Well, in her gratitude, she winds up spanking me in the jiggler with Angels and Demons by Dan Brown.
Now mind you, I was not bending over like a naughty child.
She kept finding the jiggler and smacking it.
Walking away from that encounter, wishing the woman well, I couldn’t help butt wonder why it's okay for people to spank me? I must be comforting to them in some way. Like Dr. Phil with hair.