The only person for whom the house was in any way special was Arthur Dent, and that was only because it happened to be the one he lived in. He had lived in it for about three years, ever since he had moved out of London because it made him nervous and irritable. He was about thirty as well, dark haired and never quite at ease with himself. The thing that used to worry him most was the fact that people always used to ask him what he was looking so worried about. He worked in local radio which he always used to tell his friends was a lot more interesting than they probably thought. It was, too--most of his friends worked in advertising.
It hadn't properly registered with Arthur that the council wanted to knock down his house and build a bypass instead.
At eight o'clock on Thursday morning Arthur didn't feel very good. He woke up blearily, got up, wandered blearily round his room, opened a window, saw a bulldozer, found his slippers, and stomped off to the bathroom to wash.
Toothpaste on the brush--so. Scrub.
Shaving mirror--pointed at the ceiling. He adjusted it. For a moment it reflected a second bulldozer through the bathroom window. Properly adjusted, it reflected Arthur Dent's bristles. He shaved them off, washed, dried, and stomped off to the kitchen to find something pleasant to put in his mouth.
Kettle, plug, fridge, milk, coffee. Yawn.
An ordinary-sounding morning for Arthur Dent, save for the bulldozers. Obviously, something momentous is about to happen that will change his life forever. But, for Arthur, it's all about the morning rituals--toilet, shaving, brushing his teeth, breakfast, coffee.
Welcome to my adventures in Orlando. Yes, this blog post is coming to you from the happiest place on Earth, as I have been reminded hundreds of times by various employees in the last 24 hours. And I AM happy. The flights down to Florida were fairly non-exceptional, except for a mad dash through the Minneapolis airport and some air turbulence.
Now, I begin my first morning in this magical place. And I begin it, as I always do: toilet, brushing my teeth, shaving, showering. Pretty soon, I will be seeking about some overpriced breakfast food somewhere. (Everything is overpriced here, because it can be.)
Last night, we went to the Magic Kingdom, which was crowded to the point of insanity. Trying to push through the crowds was like trying to get home by cutting through Times Square on New Year's Eve. But my son, who has never been to Walt Disney World, was over-the-Milky-Way excited. There was Cinderella's Castle, still decked out for the holidays with lights. There were Christmas trees and wreaths and happily exhausted people with mouse ears walking around. Music everywhere you went.
We only went on a couple rides last night--Big Thunder Mountain and Space Mountain. Both roller coasters. My son loved the first, wasn't too fond of the second. My daughter, who has been here before, loved hearing me, sitting behind her, screaming my head off. I love roller coasters, but they scare the crap out of me.
And then, to cap off the night, the fireworks over the castle. That's where things went a little off the rails. My son, who had been up since 4 a.m., was a little overstimulated. He started having a meltdown. There were so many people. We literally couldn't move more than five feet in any direction. So we just stood in the middle of Main Street and watched the show, which, because my son is only ten and not very tall, my son couldn't really see all that well. AND he was thirsty. AND he was hungry.
Needless to say, after the fireworks were over, we found a bus and got back to our hotel to find something to eat and drink.
And now, this morning, it is 75 degrees outside. The palm trees are swaying in the breeze. It's the start of our first morning in the most magical place on Earth (as I'm sure I'll be reminded dozens of times throughout the day). There is not a bulldozer in sight.
Saint Marty is thankful for magic this morning.
