“You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” It’s a question The Joker asks Batman right before he shoots him. A great movie line, and one I thought about while braving the unrelenting crowds that swarmed through the streets and rides of Disney World this Memorial Day weekend.
There are much wiser ways to take your life into your own hands. You can smear a meat-flavored cupcake on a sleeping lion. You can run out into traffic. You can charge into a biker bar and yell, “Ya’ll ride a bunch of girl’s bikes and look like leather pansies.”
All would definitely get you killed. But if you’re gonna’ go, you want the quick and painless route. Not to die a slow agonizing death in scorching heat while herds of tourists trample your poor, broken body. Crumpled on the ground as they roll over you with strollers and $6 beverages, you cry, “Why didn’t I check the calendar before I booked the room?”
You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight? Yes, yes I have.
OK, it wasn’t that bad. As Memorial Day weekends go, I’d rate it as tame. Remember: I’m a third generation Floridian. Buried in our DNA coding are the tactics and survival skills that our forefathers used thousands of years ago to brave holiday crowds at primitive theme parks. They honed these skills while taking their children on rides like “It’s a Pterodactyl World” and “The Real Pirates of the Caribbean.”
There are certain things you must know if you’re going to make it out alive. Like, if you’re pushing a stroller, always stay on the offensive. If the wheels stop turning, you die.
My child — now four and a half — rides in a standard-issue, gray umbrella stroller that is light, agile and designed for speed. It can be maneuvered quickly, and used as a weapon if need be. “On guard. Face the wrath of my umbrella stroller,” is also encoded into us Floridians’ genes. (You find yourself involuntarily saying this over and over again as you navigate the park.)
I don’t push a stroller through the park. I CHARGE a stroller through the park. Like I’m Teddy Roosevelt taking San Juan Hill. My wife — not being a Floridian — doesn’t naturally understand this. She often falls behind, swallowed up by the hordes until I leap into action and drag her out while swinging the stroller, sometimes with the kid still strapped in.
“Unhand her you scurvy dogs!” I shout.
Then I explain to her how to survive. Your feet must never stop moving. If they do, you die. (Or at least you get suckered in to buying a $12 Mickey balloon or some kind of cartoon themed ice cream. Same difference.) You never smile — a mob will always see this as a sign of weakness. Or insanity. Either way, they’ll eat you alive and you die. Never follow a straight line. A straight line will get you pinned against a wall, blocked from your route by a 12-member family from Kansas discussing whether “The Haunted Mansion” is too scary for little Jimmy. Or, worst of all, stuck behind someone in a motorized scooter. Then you might as well make a cell phone call to the Coast Guard to come get you out.
No, you survive (and actually get somewhere) by bobbing and weaving. Keeping your options open. By always moving at full speed. By thinking four and five moves ahead — “There! See it? A kid about to drop his ice cream. Traffic about to stop. Take evasive action! Pull hard to starboard and accelerate over that woman’s toes.”
Disaster averted.
Always know where you’re going. If not, look like you know where you’re going. Confidence — even dumb, blind confidence — will win the day. Point a lot and say things like, “It’s just up there,” even if it’s not. It keeps morale high. Never doubt yourself. Never flinch or yield the right of way. Never falter or cry in the face of the enemy. Never sweat more than your body weight (that’s bad.) Drink lots of water, even if from a rain puddle littered with leaves and ice cream wrappers. Scream things like, “Clear a path, you mongrels!” And never — Never! — stop to ask directions.
A theme park is not about fun or enjoyment — quite simply, it’s about survival. It’s that one chance to prove your mettle — to run with the bulls. To go on safari. To take on the Roman empire or the Viking hordes. It is how the modern man tests himself. Proves that he is still a warrior. That he can provide for his family and keep them safe.
And most of all: that with fancy footwork, and a good umbrella stroller, he might get them to the Peter Pan ride before the Fastpass expires. All on a Memorial Day weekend, in the pale moonlight.