Now That's Classy

My last blog was about how idiots say "My bad" instead of "I'm sorry". The day after publishing it, I was walking from one class to another, my vision slightly impaired by tinted $5 glasses and the rays of the sun pouring through them. I was very much into my processed breakfast burrito. Suddenly, a clear bottle was flying at my legs. I saw it from the corner of my eye. I casually hopped over it as it skipped along the asphalt like a skipping stone on water.

I heard laughter from three freshmen, huddled up at my 10 o' clock. One more, traveling East via skateboard, laughing with them exclaimed "My bad, dawg." He was in arms range.

In the next split second, I contemplated grabbing him by the hood, causing him to fall on his back as his skateboard left him behind. I thought about towering over him and asking why "my bad" seemed like an appropriate response, if you toss a bottle into the street and disrupt someone.

Then I thought about how young he must have been. He's probably 18, 19 if he's had the mental constitution to withstand all of the first semester of college. I've insulted people on accident before. Was I beaten up for it? No, not for that.

Plus, I valued my pre-prepared burrito too much. The split second was over, and I was too content to ruin both of our days. Neither of us would gain anything from this confrontation. He wouldn't even understand my point. He'd just try to fight me, arms flailing, and we'd both make new enemies. I prefer to save my aggression for someone truly malevolent.

*    *    *

I find it funny how easily someone can become a pleasant part of your day or conversely, a problem.

When I worked at Walt Disney World, the thousands of people I've had to deal with were either just that-- people I had to deal with-- or people I was glad to have met. The main difference was their attitude. God help you if you encountered an antsy Disney park guest.

One day, I met a couple from New York who wanted to see the show I worked on. Let me tell you, they were so classy, I would play golf with them any day (and I haven't golfed since 2004). The woman was elegant. She stood with sort of a rich person's slump-- her hips forward, chin up, occasionally sipping her mojito as she turned her head slowly to the left. The guy was cool, easygoing. He seemed like the kind of chap you can talk to about anything.

I was at the front that day, making sure the theater space wouldn't become overcrowded.

Now, one of the policies at this attraction-- the policy that employed half of us-- was that baby strollers are prohibited from entering the theater (with the exception of strollers used as wheelchairs for medical reasons).

The couple approached me and asked if they can bring their baby in her stroller, not wanting to wake her.

"She'll wake up when the show starts, I can assure you" I assured them.

"So it's loud in there?", replied the husband, "we just want her to sleep for the next half an hour."

I told them about the stroller parking area, and how it's literally a one minute walk away.

Just then, my manager popped up out of nowhere, like a prairie dog out of the ground.

"What's going on here?" she asked.

The couple explained their situation.

"Come with me", she told them coolly.

A co-worker covered the entrance as I accompanied my manager and the New Yorkers to the exit. She was giving them special treatment that I wished I could give everyone. Do this once as a regular employee and you'll be lucky if you're still working there the next day.

Before we let them in, everyone on headset communicated to find out whether or not the eight wheelchair spots were filled. There can't be any more than eight per show since it's performed in an arena and more wheelchairs would intrude the performer's space.

So we're standing outside, and this guy and I have a nice conversation for something like five to ten minutes. We talked about life in New York, their vacation, my job, etc. They made it clear by their posture that they were important, but not in a standoffish way.

I couldn't believe it. I've dealt with such belligerent, unreasonable people on a daily basis. And they were just the opposite. They easily became my favorite park guests due simply to their levelheadedness and the fact that they were so personable.

A co-worker came out to lead them in through the exit (the secret entrance), we shook hands, and this guy tried giving me a tip. I have no clue how much money he was offering me, but I recall seeing a thick wad of 20s.

Two of my co-workers beside me immediately terrified him by screaming "No, no, no! We can't accept tips!" The poor rich guy stepped back, confused. I assume he's used to tipping minimum wage workers, valet, and so on.

Would I have accepted this tip? I think so. I heard Disney parks have some sort of policy against that, but I was living off Pop-Tarts at the time, so it definitely would have helped.

But I didn't expect him to tip. And I didn't expect my co-workers to respond so vehemently. All I know is that the majority of guests I've dealt with were not nearly as calm and collect as them.

All was well,

-Philip