Propane.

The rest of Spring Break I was stuck at propane, the most God awful invention in the history of man. They're these gas ovens out at certain parts of the parks that sell hot dogs and soda. That's all. And let me tell you, when it gets hot in Florida, it gets hot. The propane wagon is made out of reflective metal, and when they station you out on Streets of America, where there is no shade and the sun is blazing down on top of you, it's like you're boiling along with the hot dogs in their little tin hot tubs. It's not dry heat, either, which I can deal with-- no, it's humid heat, and it's against policy to lean on anything. Even if you WERE to lean on something, you'd burn your skin right off. The wagon has to be at least above 160 degrees. So if the picture isn't clear enough, let me clarify: hot sun, reflective wagon, no shade.

It was like a tanning salon without the comfort of being able to escape when it gets to hot.

So I was at propane for a good long while during Spring Break. I mostly worked on Streets of America, where New York is, but I was also moved to the propane out in the Icon area-- which is nice because we DO have shade there as well as the High School Musical show to help us keep time, ha ha. Closing is ridiculously tedious though.

Strangely enough, after the first week of Spring Break rush, things started to die down. I heard it was because British Airlines went on strike, so a lot of our guests didn't make it to Orlando. Bizarre much? I'll have to ask Sam about that one.

Sometimes it got so boring at propane that we had to make fun for ourselves. My friend Brittany and I ended up actually bagging 'air' and trying to sell it to the guests. Some were amused, others just wanted their dogs and beer. Oh well. Guess that's how the cookie crumbles!

Or the bun, if you look at it that way.

Backlog on Spring Break

It's hard to keep up with this blog. I have so many unedited, unposted, but saved entries on it.

Work is work, as I always say. I always come home beat, my feet aching and tired.


Spring Break
I just narrowly survived the harrowing first week of Spring Break at work. It was... tough. Real tough. I don't know about the people in the stands, but I was stuck Backstage in the pretzel kitchen... the hellacious pretzel kitchen. They relocated it to Pizza Planet, where we have three different rooms: the prep room, the oven room, and then the freezer way back in Narnia. You'd think that the managers would have taken into consideration that the man usually positioned in pretzel kitchen has a bum leg, but do they? No. They're managers. Anyway, other than being enormous rooms, more to clean, and totally inconvenient, it went... went...

Well, I'm alive. That's saying something. I had two 13 hour day shifts in a row, and just about broke down on the second day from exhaustion after they extended me. I wanted to punch my managers. It seems that Spring Break is the only time they do any work, but also the time where they screw up schedules the most. I mean, who changes a schedule that goes into effect the next day when it's one of the busiest times of the year? How is that convenient-- or smart, for that matter? It's not. At all. Ugh. So basically, I had to come in an hour earlier my third day and stay two hours later when I had worked for 13 hours straight the day before. Thanks, guys. You all suck.

After my day off, which I spent napping and moving very little (as everything from my hips down was sore, sore, sore!), I went back to work in the Sunset zone (we have three zones, Sunset- the front of the park, Backlands- the... essential 'back' of the park [I like to think of it as the masculine area], and Icon- around the hat). I'm usually on Sunset, occasionally Icon, never Backlands. So anyway, I worked at Peevy's the entire day, a boring stand right next to Echo Lake with standing water that smells like a gerbil cage and cheetos fused. Sooo gross. I started missing the pretzel kitchen, which is borderline absurd. I was so happy when Densy came to close me. Oh, Densy, you crazy man, you. The first thing he did when he got to my stand wasn't to be an efficient closer, no. He came up behind me and undid my apron strings. Needless to say, I got him back by hurling a scoopful of ice at him when we got backstage. Closing Peevy's was fun-- not working there.

I did get to talk to a little boy that morning, though, who was waiting in line for Jedi Training Academy (my favorite show on the park; little kids get to fight Darth Vader). He asked me how old you had to be to be on 'this ride' and I knelt down and was like 'Well, how old are ya, buddy?' and he told me four, so I was like 'Perfect! You're old enough to learn how to use a lightsaber and fight Darth Vader-- you know he's been causing ALL sorts of trouble around here in Hollywood. We need a hero!' and he told me how he has two lightsabers at home and fights with his dad and how one was broken... so I told him he was a Jedi already and fighting Vader would be a piece of cake! It's so much fun talking to the little kids... when I left, I got to say 'May the force be with you!'

Dorky moments are the sweetest to me.