It's 2:44 p.m. on Friday, August 7th. I'm in gym clothes. I did not go to the gym.
Work looms - the 4:30-1:00 shift (which, I just realized, is nothing I should complain about to relatives, given we all know the ugly, late-night backside of a front desk counter) - and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. On one hand, I do enjoy walking lost and found goods to the drop box at Main Street's Fire Department after closing; on the other... well, there really is no other. I fucking work at Disneyland!
I don't know what else. Yesterday a simple ride stop for a lap-sitter escalated when a girl split her head open during the evacuation, a buxom woman dropped her Juicy Couture sunglasses into the flume, and Yours Truly discovered a Brer Rabbit animatronic hydraulic fluid leak, which necessitated the help of maintenance. We were down for two hours, all because some crazy dad wouldn't keep his kid by his side.
And I also attended a two-hour Imagineer lecture on the current California Adventure expansion and makeover, up to year 2014. I'm contractually obligated not to say anything about it, except that it was [insert appropriate adjective here] (which is exactly what the confidentiality papers I signed instructed me to write, not an attempt at humor... I don't think bracketed statements are funny).
I'll post again before I leave. For now, though, this is what you get. Like you're all so disappointed.
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