Friday, September 22, 2000
by Kevin Yee
On the very first day of this column, I told you about my stupidity regarding the size of Disneyland. Remember? I told someone it was 42 square miles, when in fact it was more like 75 acres. But by no means was this the only time I've been dumb around Guests. So sit back, relax, and watch with glee as I proceed to make a fool of myself.
Silverware Folly
Ever walk around New Orleans Square, marvel that even the cobblestones are themed, and then notice one of those indented sewer covers in the ground? Thought not. Well, we know about them. Whenever we have to transport food or plates aboveground, we have to watch out for these potholes, they make everything fall.
Usually that only happens when our elevator breaks. And then everything has to go the back door of the Cafˇ — facing the Blue Bayou — and then over by the public restrooms is another service elevator. We can go out into the street, thus, and transport whatever goodies we have across the road, toward the bathrooms, and down the service elevator. We take the reverse route for bringing stuff up, such as for example clean plates, or food. Covered, of course. Food must be covered as it makes its way onstage.
Well, on one such day I was transporting an enormous stack of clean trays back up the Cafˇ. There is a ridiculously flimsy cart we use for this, mostly ridiculous because the stack of trays often reaches six feet tall. The trays are just stacked on a flat square with wheels, basically. Unwieldy and ungainly are two possible adjectives to describe the result; "dangerous" might be an even better one.
Oh, but I'm not done yet. On top of that we transport the clean silverware, in special dishmachine-ready racks. Typically these racks bounce around a lot, so the person doing the moving usually keeps one hand on the silverware, and one hand on the ridiculously flimsy cart of six precariously balanced feet of trays stacked up.
Got the image? You know what's coming next· not being able to see where I'm going, I run smack into one such drainage pothole. SMACK! the wheel runs into the hole. The trays immediately begin tipping away from me. Frantic that I'm facing a potentially dangerous disaster, I try to keep the stack of trays vertical and the silverware atop in an upright position. No such luck. Within a fraction of a second, the whole kit and caboodle craters over and slams forcibly into the ground.
WHAM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! Sounds (that would normally be loud) echo off the narrow alleyways of New Orleans and become deafening. The trays smack into the ground with enough force to injure. The silverware has a six-foot fall to gather speed via our friend Mr. Gravity, and the racks basically explode, sending clean cutlery flying throughout the area.
Fortunately, no one was in a direct line of my carnage, though a few came close. This was lucky indeed, for it was a crowded day, and in the afternoon. The tray stack had landed in such a way to launch themselves as they hit, so the stack on the ground stretched longer than its original six feet. This was one thing that almost hit passers-by.
A much smaller-scale crash of silver and trays, this one downstairs and away from prying eyes (but not my camera).
Oh, the people. As soon as the very loud sounds surprised them all (it really was as loud as a backfire, only longer), they all froze in their tracks.
Then they stared at me.
Later I realized they were all in shock from seeing something go so wrong at Disneyland, where things normally all go so right (well, except for the rides, where the whole point to the plot seems to be something not going according to plan, but I digress). This second stretched into two or three, and I felt my face go red. Embarrassment. So I improvised.
"Isn't anyone going to applaud me?" I asked audaciously to the crowd at large, and sure enough they rewarded me with clapping and cheers. Sure, in a way it was just some silver and trays, but it was nevertheless a bit of a show. Then they helped me clean it all up. (Stop looking at me like that. Of course I re-washed all the now-dirty stuff).
That Fritter Cart
New Orleans Fritters, those "deep — fried — egg — batter — rolled — in — sugar" delicacies (I dare you, ask me how often I've had to explain what they are), are fried up downstairs by the trayful. Anywhere from four to twelve such trays fill up a rather large enclosed metal cart. A very heavy cart. If the stocker is doing a big run for fritters, she or he will usually pick up a few enormous containers of piping hot clam chowder as well, and store those along the bottom of the cart.
And so I did. The Veranda elevator doesn't actually lead to the Veranda; it dumps you out somewhere on Royal Street and you have to push those horrible carts the rest of the way. Yup, you guessed it, I knocked over that cover by hitting a pothole.
Mind you, this cart easily weighs over a hundred pounds. My luck held out, though, and no one was there to be crushed by the falling cart. But the mess! Chowder exploded out of its containers and splattered all over 12 perfectly fine trays of fritters, ruining the whole batch. We were out of fritters that day for a few hours.
Lost and ... what?
There are two similarly-named facilities at Disneyland. This causes some Guest confusion, and in my case, in some Cast Member confusion as well!
I was bussing away happily one day when a frantic mother comes up to me, reporting that her child was lost. Keeping a cool head, I knew instantly what to do. I recalled my training, you see! Feeling confident, I reassured her (step one). Then we talked out where she had last seen her little boy (step two). Then, I went over and called Lost and Found (step three). Er, oops, well, upon talking to Lost and Found I discovered that they were the place you go to for lost items. Lost Children is the one you call for lost children. Hence the name.
The lady (can I just call her "Lost Mother?") witnessed my faux pas and no doubt refused to be comforted by my little sayings now, and I could hardly blame her, having just demonstrated my ignorance.
We went on to the next step anyway, which is to walk the area. In her case, this was all of the New Orleans waterside area. And it was Fantasmic time, a very bad time to lose a child (unfortunately, it also seems to happen quite a lot during this time).
She got more worried and more frantic as time went on. She started to recall stories of children kidnapped from Disney parks, drugged, and secreted away with new haircuts and hair color out the Main Gate. She wanted me to have them close down the exit to Disneyland (which, of course, I had no authority to do. I doubt anyone would ever do that).
Finally, after 10 minutes of this, the Show ended and a few minutes later the boy himself showed up, accompanied by a Security Guard doing the right thing: walking the area and looking for us! The woman was very relieved and forgot all about me right away. I didn't mind of course. At least this way she'd forget my stupidity as well.
Please call the Disneyland Operator
If you're a frequent visitor to the Park, you know the announcement over the loudspeakers:
"Al Lutz, please call the Disneyland operator. Al Lutz, please call the Disneyland operator."
One day, while sitting quite bored in the Order-Taking booth to the Cafˇ Orleans, I vaguely heard such a message. A few minutes later a woman approaches and says she thinks it was her name being called. Could I please tell her how to call the Disneyland operator?
Well, I had a phone right there, but I realized all of a sudden I had no idea what numbers to dial to get the operator. So I called my Lead in the back and asked him.
After a few moments of (presumably stunned) silence, he replied that I should dial zero.
I stuttered something about not realizing that zero would give me a DL operator versus a city-of-Anaheim operator. After a few moments, I realized I was making an even bigger fool of myself and just hung up.
Turns out the lady had heard wrong; it wasn't her being paged. All that embarrassment for nothing!
Next up: Some Enchanted Evening
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Are you a CM or a former CM? I would love to hear and share your stories! E-mail me! Stories and comments you submit become property of and may be published on this site; we normally don't publish last names of current CMs, but if you wish to remain anonymous altogether or do not want me to share your stories, please let me know when you e-mail me. — Shoshana NOTE: The views and opinions expressed in reader-contributed stories do not reflect those of Cast Place or MousePlanet. CM – Cast member; company lingo for “employee.” Empowerment Evolution – The 1995 attempt by newer park management to introduce modern accountability and market forces into the stodgy Disneyland methodology and power hierarchies. The name was meant to “empower” rank and file employees by removing layers of their management, though now there are more managers than ever. TPO – Theme Park Operations; the division of the Disneyland hierarchy that actually works in the theme park itself. TDA – Team Disney Anaheim; the name of the on-site administration building. Area manager – used to be responsible for an entire land, with all business divisions in the area reporting to him. Area supervisor – the immediate boss for location supervisors who divide up a department of intelligently grouped locations. The area supervisors in turn reported to the area manager. Nowadays all supervisors and area supervisors have been replaced by managers and assistant managers — the same idea, but smaller “business units" than a department; usually just one location in fact. RFT – “A” status; a full-time hourly employee. RPT – “B” status; an hourly employee five days a week but just not quite 40 hours usually. CR – “C” status; an hourly employee who works weekends year-round and five days a week during all school holiday periods (including summer and Christmas break). CT – a part-time hourly employee who works five days a week during all school holiday periods (including summer and Christmas break). No seniority, so shifts worked are usually quite short. Locate the employment center to fill out an application, and they will call you for an interview (dress nicely, just shy of an actual suit). Once there, follow these rules, in this order of importance: 1. Smile and be very friendly. They want outgoing people.
2. Do not let the group interview throw you off balance. They want outgoing people who can “perform” a little bit.
3. Do not worry about job (in)experience. They don't care. They want friendly people, not experienced and/or hardened people.
4. Do your best to convince them you already have a Disney attitude: you want to work with people, you're a team player, and you would consider this a dream job (however, don't overdo it on the crazy-Disney-fan side either). Strike a nice balance.
5. Did I mention the importance of a smile? 
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