Note: I do NOT work for Disney.
This post is not endorsed nor is it sponsored by Walt Disney or any of its affiliates.
I do one day dream of getting a message that says “Hey Jenny! We see you’re a total Disney freak and want you to blog for us!”, but it’s not going to be because of this blog. No, it is not.
As a self-proclaimed Disney Freak, I’m all about sharing insider knowledge I have gleaned from years of visits to Walt Disney World with all of you, so that you may have the most MAGICAL experience of all times. I’m nice like that.
During my family’s most recent Disney trip (for my birthday! WOO!), I was all about making the best of our time. I wanted it to be special, and fun, and celebration-y. I wore my shiny “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” pin all week, booked my favorite Disney restaurants, and planned the funnest days I could. I even SAVED money! Who does that?!
Our flights got all SORTS of jacked up and we ended up having to leave our house at 3 in the frickin’ morning, but once we arrived at the Happiest Place on Earth, it was just that. And we were there EARLY! More time in Mouse World! Everything was sunshine and rainbows, y’all. For once, I wasn’t going to have a craptacular birthday. I was elated.
See. This is me. ELATED!
After one glorious day basking in the shadow of Cinderella’s castle, we took a boat to a restaurant we frequent while at Disney (because it is fun, and it delicious, and it shall remain nameless!). There was laughing, there was feasting, there was an entire restaurant singing happy birthday to me (even though it wasn’t technically my birthday yet), and there were birthday drinks to be had The Magic Kingdom is dry, y’all. You need a drink after a long day there. I’m serious. Once we were done, we hopped back on the boat and rode back to the Magic Kingdom with an older couple. Along the way, we chatted about the parks, the crowds (what the hell, January?), and our favorite restaurants. We even joked about how me and Holden got food poisoning years back at one of their favorite Disney dining spots. Hardy har har, so funny!
By the time we got back to the park, we’d already missed the fireworks, and people were swarming out of the front entrance toward the trams and buses, so we knew that in order to get back to our resort in a timely fashion, we’d need to make haste.
Now- for those who don’t know, let me explain the Disney transportation system. It is huge, and extensive, and slightly insane. There are boats that go between parks, between resorts, to Downtown Disney, you name it. There’s, of course, the famous monorail, and there are the buses. The buses and I have a love/hate relationship. I love them because it means I don’t have to drive. Ever. I don’t have to worry about trams or parking or not being able to drive because I’ve knocked back a couple drinks. I dislike them because they can sometimes get so crowded that you have to wait for ANOTHER bus, and that can,at times, take over 20 minutes. That doesn’t include the ride to wherever it is you want to be. It can really poop on reservations if you aren’t careful. This seemed like one of those nights where we’d be fighting to get on, or waiting a really long-ass time.
That day, though? It was special. Very special. That night, we were about to get treated to a PRIVATE bus ride back to our resort, and NOT because it was my very merry un-birthday.
As we made the trek from the boat port to our resort’s bus stop, which was literally the FARTHEST one away (lucky us!), we saw that our bus was already there, waiting. We had two choices: run and catch it, or wait 20 (more or less, who knows!) for the next. We decided to speed walk. Just as we finally make it there, and are about to file onto the bus, something went wrong. Very very wrong. On my insides.
In the blink of an eye, I went from feeling on top of the world, to feeling like my insides were literally dying.
“I can’t get on that bus.”
Thomas didn’t even have to ask, and I didn’t have time to explain. I did the turtle-head shuffle the entire way back to the bathroom. Luckily, there is one right outside the front gates, so I didn’t have to jump any hoops or swipe any magic bands or deal with anyone who might be wondering why I’m walking IN to a park that is closing.
To say that my stomach was ANGRY would be the understatement of the century. It was flat out pissed the f— off. Too many meats? Too many drinks and not enough water? I had no idea, but I figured it’d be a “one and done” situation. It wouldn’t be the first time. I have been known to have a sensitive stomach and it doesn’t agree with MOST foods, so this wasn’t exactly anything new or even completely unexpected.
Whatever had hit me seemed to leave as quickly as it came, so I made the dreaded walk of shame out of the bathroom, and yet again, we began walking toward our bus stop. We only got halfway this time. TURTLE HEAD TURTLE HEAD TURTLE HEAD! I found myself back in that frickin’ bathroom, only this time, it did NOT feel like a “one and done”. It felt bad. I felt sick. Very very sick. I repeated that walk of shame at least 5 more times. I lost count. The only thing I really knew was that I could NOT make it to the bus. I couldn’t. Every time I even got near that stop, my insides threatened to fall out.
Though I didn’t know how many restroom visits I made, what I DID know was that the sea of people flooding from the front gates had dwindled to a small leak. The park closed at 8pm, and somehow, the clock now read 9:30. The janitorial crew had now shown up and were occupying the bathroom I couldn’t seem to tear myself more than 30 feet away from.
I did not want to poop with a captive audience. I was GETTING ON THAT BUS IF IT WAS THE LAST THING I DID!
Somehow, I managed to make it all the way to the stop (albeit VERY slowly) before the urge to crap myself came on so strongly that I had to SPRINT back to the bathroom. AUDIENCE BE DAMNED!
It was bad, y’all. Horror movie level bad. I was shaking, and crying, and sweating, and my colon decided that, even though there was pretty much NOTHING left, it absolutely had to vacate any TRACE of dinner. Any trace of ANYTHING. I don’t know what the cleaning crew heard, but they probably thought I was firing a machine gun into the toilet. Food poisoning? Anal exorcism? Chemistry lab explosion? I had no idea. All I could do was unleash the fury and pray to the porcelain God that it was the last time. I tried to minimize the mortification by safety-flushing multiple times. NO ONE NEEDED TO SMELL THAT, PEOPLE. NO ONE!
When I finally felt like the eruption had momentarily ceased and stood up, nothing happened. That might sound great- but it’s BAD. BAD BAD BAD. The toilets there are automatic. There’s a button to press if it doesn’t auto-flush, but it’s supposed to the moment you stand. Apparently, the toilet was angry at me for putting it through such a horrific experience and safety flushing so many times and it refused to work again. Me, shaking, sweating, crying, clutching my poor stomach, and now staring into a bowl of you don’t even want to know what, desperately pushing that button over and over and over again to no avail. There was nothing I could do!!!
The bathroom had grown quiet, so I thought, maybe I’ve caught a break! Maybe the cleaning crew moved on and I can run out of this bathroom and hop on the bus and get the hell out of here before they see what I’ve left behind that WAS NOT MY FAULT!! Maybe this night can still be salvaged. Maybe humiliation can be avoided!
I tried a few more times to get the toilet to flush and had to just give up. I swung open the door, ready to bolt, when I came face to face with a young female janitor. FACE TO FACE. WHY WAS SHE STANDING OUTSIDE MY STALL?! Did she think I was actually dying and in need of assistance? Was she attracted to the smell of rotting insides? Had I been in that bathroom for SO long that mine was the ONLY stall left to clean and she just wanted to get the hell out so she was waiting for me to leave? My insides had already died, but at that moment, my pride went along with it.
“I’m so sorry. Please… I couldn’t get it to flush! It wouldn’t flush!! I’m so sorry!”
I’ve convinced myself the look on her face was sympathetic, but I’m pretty sure she was silently wishing she could beat me with her cleaning supplies.
Seconds after hurrying away, the fucking toilet flushed. FUCK YOU, TOILET!! YOU SUCK, AND NOT IN THE WAY THAT YOU SHOULD, YOU NON-SUCKING SHIT SUCKER!!
Teary and humiliated, I shuffle back to my husband, and basically tell him that I’m pretty sure they are going to have to bury me in the parking lot of the Magic Kingdom, because I could not leave. By this point, there was literally NO ONE LEFT but us, the guards, the cleaning crews, and the transportation employees- and they were all waiting on my sick ass to GTFO so they could go home. We were approached by a female employee, and although it was the LAST thing I ever wanted to have to do, I described the situation to her.
“Do you need a medic?”
NO! I NEED A BUS WITH A TOILET! GAHHHHHH!
I’ve convinced myself that she, too, was sympathetic. I don’t think she was. I think she was just annoyed that my shitty ass was keeping her at work late. Using her walkie, she calls for a bus driver and asks where they are. They were pulling up, and much closer than our very-far-away-I’ll-shit-myself-before-I-get-there stop. It was RIGHT there. I could SEE it. I could almost…. nope. I had to poop again. AGAIN!!!
I ran away. I heard some male guards asking what the issue was. “She’s nauseous”
Yeah you wish I was nauseous, mister. You’re lucky you’re not that poor janitor girl. The horror she witnessed cannot be unseen!!!
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, feeling very tired, sad, and defeated, my family was gone. The female guard was there, and so was one lonely bus in the closest possible spot.
“We called you a bus. You HAVE to get on this bus.” there was a sense of urgency in her voice, like she just absolutely had to get my shitty-ass the hell away from their Magical Kingdom before my poo brought the whole place down.
“Okay. I’m sorry. I think it’s food poisoning. Thank you.” and with that, I boarded. The bus was completely empty other than my family, who looked concerned. “They forced us to get on the bus! They said we couldn’t stay any longer!”
“Let’s just not talk… I need to focus”- yeah, focus on not soiling myself like a frickin’ toddler.
FINALLY, two hours and fifteen minutes after Disney World shut down, it could finally shut down, because I was gone. Taken away on my own private bus.
It was a short ride, but a somber one. I spent all of it breathing slowly and basically just trying not to crap my pants. When we finally pulled into the resort, I had to do yet another walk of shame past the driver, who I’m sure was filled in on my bathroom debacle.
“Careful of that one, Larry. She might shit on your bus!”
Meekly, I thanked the man driving. “You’re welcome” he said very kindly, “What a way to end your birthday.”
I’d forgotten I was wearing my birthday pin, and I thought, well, at least it wasn’t ACTUALLY my birthday. How shitty would that have been??
And THAT, my friends, is how I scored my own private bus at Disney World. I don’t recommend trying it yourself. They probably thought I had explosives lodged up my ass.
You wouldn't sniff a stranger's butt to see who pooped their pants.... so you probably shouldn't do these other parental things to strangers, either. holdinholden.com/2017/12/weir…
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