Dreams and Disappointing Carpets

Dear Millicent,

It actually rained in my city last night.  This must be why I slept the sleep of a thousand well-fed babes.  Last night, I went to a slightly ridiculous secret restaurant in Disneyland.  We had to find a specific door in the New Orleans/Pirates of the Caribbean section, ring the buzzer, and then wait until our entrance was allowed.  It was very Disney, meaning that it would bring to you as much fantasy as you brought to it, but couldn’t quite pull it off without your enthusiastic delight.  Was there joy in slipping into a quiet restaurant, escaping the throngs of strollers and jumpsuits? Yes.  Did I care that there was a glass elevator from a movie called “The Happy Millionaire?” Not so much.

There was fun: china and fresh flowers galore, making me think of places Emily Gilmore might frequent, or the ruling business class of the sixties and today.  The toilets were also made to look like dainty lady thrones.  The disconcerting part of this was that the toilet lids were caned seat bottoms, so for a minute the thought actually occurred in my head “I am supposed to sit and pee through that?”  No worries.  I refrained and used the throne in the usual way.  The food was also good.  Not rockstar soulmelt good, but nothing to sneeze at.  And when my coffee was poured, the waiter had a very showy technique with the coffeepot, pouring from about four feet up from the cup.  In short, it was my childhood dream of a fancy restaurant.

The blah and blecky: The staff wore ugly orthopedic shoes.  The carpets leading upstairs were hotel gross, and pretty dirty. How does one dress for a fancypants dinner when coming in fresh from an afternoon at a theme park?  This perturbed me the entire afternoon (I had even brought another pair of shoes in my purse to glam up a bit), until I got there.  I probably should have been more surprised that the fashion set wasn’t attending the secret Disney lair on their Friday night.  Everybody in the dining room looked pretty cas.

The gauche: First off, I love love love the word gauche.  My grandmother uses it perfectly, and I hope to inherit her light, scathing use of the word someday, hopefully when I am in my seventies and working to charm my grandkids by criticizing stranger’s holiday sweaters and bathing suit choices.  Club 33 only serves bottled water (ooh la la).  But wait. Chic, it ain’t.  The serve SmartWater, and go around filling each glass with a clumsy, sporty looking plastic SmartWater bottle.  It breaks with the fantasy the flowers and the china have been building, and you start wondering if Disney owns SmartWater, and just how many plastic bottles they are going to go through because you are a thirsty, thirsty lady.   I wanted to ask for eau sans electrolytes, but then felt that might be gauche on my part.  The other tackeeeeeeee thing they did was (and take in mind members pay something ridiculous, like $7,000 a year for the privilege to eat there) a $69 minimum on food purchases for each guest.  If you know your clientele is rich, and hopefully slightly gourmand, why in the world force them into a minimum?  This isn’t a catered wedding or a comedy night.  It made me hate them, their ugly shoes, and their fake elite special times.  This is a part of life that I haven’t gotten used to: when you are apparently seeing something at its best, and you expected so much more.

But, I got to see the nation’s youth dressed up in their Halloween costumes this early in October, and climbing Tarzan’s tree house is always pretty fun in  my book.  There was also a parade, and the Lion King float had trapeze ladies dressed as birds (always a good idea).  The Beauty and the Beast float had a very asexual dancing feather duster.  I was hoping she’d be more slutty.  Also, note to self, I need to refrain more from using the words “slut” and “slutty.”

It is also “The Year of a Million Dreams” at Disneyland this year.  There must be a lot of sleeping going on, and thousands of dream journals being filled.  I wish them luck on that crazy quest.




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