Slap Therapy

I have come to the sad realization that I must share the planet with other people. This can be difficult to take sometimes but I bare the burden courageously. That is, until such times as I find people that make me wish I carried an uzi.

Today we went to the Magic Kingdom, and I was all ready for well, a magical day. I felt that I worked hard and god damn it, I deserved a magical day. And it was magical, up until Casey Junior's, the hot dog joint in the Magic Kingdom.

But let me first rewind until the beginning of the day. We were supposed to go to the Animal Kingdom, but having just been there a day or two before, I was in the mood for the Magic Kingdom, a park close to our resort.

We had a pretty good time too.

I got to see the new Hall of the Presidents with the new Audioanimitronic Obama. I was interested to see and hear the audience reaction, which to my surprise was quite polite. I don't know what I was expecting. A lunatic fringe to break out into a brawl. I sat there, on pins and needles wondering what would happen.

Though, as they did the roll call of the presidents, it occurred to me, that if folks really knew anything, they would be booing quite loudly at other presidents, such as Franklin Pierce, who was a rather fine and handsome man, but did have a legacy of alcoholism and the Nebraska Kansas Act which lead to "Bloody Kansas." Or then there was Rutherford B. Hayes, and the rigging of the electorial college which got him his office, when it should have gone to Blaine. It further surprised me that no boos were elicited by Warren G. Harding. I would have thought the audience would have gone crazy at the very mention of his name, what with his involvement in Teapot Dome, and the illegitimate daughter, Elizabeth Ann he fathered with his mistress, Nan Briton.

But no, they were silent and well behaved. As they were with Obama.

The truth is most American don't know their own country's history, not really. They know some packaged version of it. Some flag waving Disneyfied version of it. But not what is really American history.

I once overheard two guys on the commuter train talking about their kids education. One was complaining that his was being tested on really obscure parts of the Civil War, such has flunking a test question about some "nobody" named, Fredrick Douglas. My head nearly spun, but I held my tongue. The man's comment revealed more about his ignorance of our history and the social climate surrounding the Civil War than it did about the state of his child's education.

At any rate, I digress. Back to the robotic Obama. I must say I was disappointed by it. I don't really think that it looked like Obama. About the best I can say is that it looked like a black man in a suit. If I were Obama, I would be offended. I think they made him look fat.

So, back to my lament about not carrying an uzi in the Magic Kingdom.

We had a fairly good time, and then it came time for lunch. A traumatic event as usual because Hisselfness is vegetarian. We hoofed between Columbia Harbor House and Pecos Billl, where there was nothing for him to eat. But let me stop right there, forget that there was nothing appetizing for him to eat, there was nothing appetizing for me to eat. Our little troop then decided to go to Downtown Disney to eat at the Earl of Sandwich. And so the trek to the exit began.

Hisselfness was a little overheated by this point, and was starting to fall over (quite literally). We were near Casey Junior the hot dog place on the corner of Main Street U.S.A. and the hub (sad that I know these things), so I ran in to get him (and myself) a cold drink.

This is the part where the uzi comes in.

First let me enlighten you as to the vast menu they have chez Casey's. There are three things on the menu:

• Hot Dogs
• Chili Dogs
• Chicken Nuggets

They also have a side dish, french fries and a dessert, brownies.

I jumped in a queue that I thought was short, 2 women, who were together. I thought it would be quick. After all, there were so few choices to be made. I couldn't have been more wrong. Apparently, these two broads thought that by some great good fortune they had stumbled into a five star restaurant, where one must ponder and deliberate every single choice on the menu, make a selection and then change one's mind because one might have ordered in too great haste.

The purchase of 3 hot dogs, 3 orders of fries, and 3 soft drinks was taking over 15 minutes.

When asked to pay, even then they could not bare to do so and move away quickly. They were compelled to give the cashier exact change. This search for exact change extended to the entire family who were not in line. I mean exact change down to finding the pennies.

I was getting more and more frustrated. They simply were enthralled by standing there at the counter of Casey Junior.

I don't know, maybe I'm being a tad too harsh. Perhaps I should have been happy for them. Perhaps this was nirvana. Perhaps Casey Junior was for them, as close as it gets to heaven and they could not tear themselves away from their beatific vision.

Maybe my getting angry was the wrong thing to do. Perhaps I should have been an enabler, a champion of them in achieving ultimate bliss. Perhaps I should have encouraged them to stay longer. Perhaps I should have encouraged them to start licking the counter to demonstrate the level of their joy.

Maybe blowing their heads off with an uzi might have not been the right thing to do? After all, who am I to judge them.

I suppose I must realize that for some, spiritual soaring comes when standing in Notre Dame, gazing up at the rising gothic arches that draw our eyes and hearts upwards to heaven, and for some, their souls soar upwards when looking up at the menu in Casey Junior's.