There are several un-written laws of Florida: Never tickle an alligator on its snout. Only on its tail. When sunning yourself, always rotate mid-way through cooking and make sure to baste. Always wear your formal flip-flops to important dress-up events, especially black tie.
But maybe most importantly, and the only “law” that should never be bent, broken or even slightly tinkered with is one every Floridian knows from birth: Don’t go to a theme park the week after Christmas.
It’s not just a violation, but also great way to risk life and limb. Not to mention your wallet.
Which is why I found it astonishing – even mind-blowing – to be sitting in a line of cars backed-up for almost a mile as we waited to get into the parking lot of Orlando’s Sea World … three days after Christmas.
“AAARRRGGHHHH!!!!” I growled. “I should have known better. I was raised smarter than this!”
You know you’re in for a rough time when you sit in traffic for an hour just to get up to the parking lot pay booths and the attendants don’t even bother charging you the $30 parking fee. They just frantically wave you through to alleviate some of the backup.
When a theme park passes up the easiest money it will make all day, you’re know you’re in for a doozy.
The real giveaway should have been when I looked up the crowd calendar web sites that track Orlando theme parks. For the holiday week between Christmas and New Year’s, it was flashing this warning: “Don’t be a moron! Get a root canal instead.”
At some parks, they have to close the gates for late-coming guests when they reach capacity. The lines stretch across state borders. If they get really long, you might even need your passport.
But my wife and 16-year-old daughter had been wanting to see the holiday shows and lights that Sea World puts on, and we hadn’t been able to go during the much quieter run-up in December. This had always been a holiday tradition for us when my daughter was younger, but we missed it last year and they were determined to not let another year slip.
Add to that, we made this a gift for my 8-year-old nephew, Striker, who has taken my daughter on countless hikes and adventures into the Florida wilds with his family.
I knew better, but I reasoned this was going to be one of the quietest days of the week, and that Sea World was bound to be one of the quietest parks. Everyone else would be rushing Disney and Universal. Sea World is always more tranquil and soothing compared to Central Florida’s heavyweights, and at least we could escape the bustle of rides by checking out sea life or the rescued manatees, almost all of it outdoors.
Still, nothing had prepared me for the mass of humanity. The surge of tourists, who were easy to spot because they wore shirts that said “Florida” that no Floridian would ever wear, or had the familiar pinkish-red glow of a mid-morning sunburn that would later require a full-body aloe dip.
Standing in a line with my daughter and nephew for the park’s river rapids ride – which stretched an incredible 120 minutes – I started chatting with a father in front of me. He painfully admitted he was also from Florida.
“We should know better than this,” I told him. “We’re Floridians, damn it! This is what people from Kansas do, and they don’t mind it because it’s still better than shoveling snow.”
“I know,” he said with a frown and a sad shake of his head. “I know.”
Everywhere we waited. We waited in line for lunch. Then abandoned it for another eatery, only to find the next one just as long and agonizing. Finally nearing the front, we abandoned it for a hot dog at a concession stand … only to find out it didn’t have any hot dogs.
We settled on a lunch made up of a bag of popcorn, a Coke and some Dippin’ Dots.
If you want to see an 8-year-old’s face light up, all you have to ask is: “Would it be all right if your lunch is Dippin’ Dots?”
One of his eyeballs literally popped out of his head.
“Are you kidding?!?” he screamed. “This is what I’ve always dreamed about!”
“OK, don’t tell your parents,” I said.
Add to the delirium that we’re living in a world of Omicron spikes, along with staffing and supply shortages. You find yourself balancing safety with traipsing all over the park in search of a shop that sells cotton candy.
But we’re Floridians, dangit’. We find a way to make the best of any experience. Like the joy of two cousins being drenched on the river rapids ride, and then getting to spend $5 on the walk-in dryers afterward.
Or watching your daughter and nephew run through falling “snow,” which is just really tiny soap bubbles, but for a couple of Florida kids, about as close to the real thing as they’ve ever seen.
Or finishing off the night watching an outdoor ice skating show with its winter wonderland scenes that haven’t been experienced this far south since … maybe the Ice Age! Even then it was probably too warm.
You know it was all worth it when your nephew turns to you and proclaims: “I LOVED TODAY! Can we come back?”
Um … yes. I guess so. But as good Floridians, maybe we should get back to living the laws of the Sunshine State, and skip the week after Christmas. I would rather tickle an alligator on the snout than break that one again.