“Is there any chance of us getting a room with a view?” I asked using my best “I’m a really nice guy and we’re a really nice family so maybe you could hook us up with a really nice room?” voice.
“Well, view rooms are extra,” replied the nice young lady checking us in.
Hmmm. What madness was this? The power of my nice-guy charm is second only to the Jedi mind trick. Clearly, she wasn’t human. I suspected Disney was beta testing some extremely lifelike animatronic employees.
“Oh, OK,” I said … nicely. Charmingly, even. “We’ll just stick with what we booked.”
The extra fee for a view room wasn’t news to me. I knew that an upper-floor room with a view of Disneyland cost significantly more than the standard room I had booked for us … and while I was willing to splurge in order to stay “on property,” I couldn’t really justify shelling out an additional couple hundred bucks for a park-view room … especially since we’d be spending hardly any time in said room. (See, Dad? You didn’t sire a completely irresponsible lunatic after all!)
“I have a room for you on the third floor,” she continued, apparently still impervious to my charm. “Let me call up and make sure it’s ready.”
Turns out it wasn’t … which was fine with us, because we had arrived early, and we were planning to go get some lunch anyway.
“I’ll give each of you your key cards now, and when your room is ready, I’ll text you,” she said.
So, with our bags stowed at the Bell Desk, it was time for lunch in the Downtown Disney District … and, once again, my online reconnaissance paid off, because this place that I had scoped out weeks in advance?
Best pizza I’ve had outside of Boston, and certainly better than any I’ve tasted here in Pennsylvania. Also? Beer.
Unfortunately, we don’t let the kids drink beer in public, so they had to settle for balloon animals.
Wonder Woman and I—OK, mostly I—devoured the pizza, Jayna raved about her macaroni and cheese, and Zan sang the praises of his spaghetti and meatballs. Basically, it was the happiest, most delightful lunch ever … because, not only was it delicious, but we were having it at Disneyland, where I’m pretty sure they spike the food with Ecstasy, because no one should be this excited about lunch.
Of course, our excitement might have had more to do with our surroundings:
The weather was beautiful, the setting was eye-popping, the kids were out-of-their-minds excited … and, to tell you the truth, so was I.
And then came the text …
Your room is ready. Room 900.
Hmmm. Room 900? That doesn’t sound like it’s on the third floor. Perhaps my nice-guy charm hadn’t failed us after all.
We returned to the hotel, boarded the elevator and rode it up to the
third ninth floor.
We proceeded down the hallway, searching for 900, which we found at the very end of the hall. A corner room. Nice. Things were looking up.
We entered and threw open the curtains.
I’ll be honest with you: I got a little choked up … because giving my kids such a special experience felt pretty incredible. Everything was going just as I had hoped it would during all those many hours of planning and months of anticipation. Naturally, I feared I was dreaming.
After spending a few minutes exulting in our good fortune, we donned our bathing suits and headed to the rooftop pool, where they just so happened to be serving these:
Now that we’re all properly boozed up, howzabout we hit the waterslide?
After our aquatic fun, we cleaned up, had a quick dinner, and then retired to our room for the night, where we watched the sun set and the moon rise over Disneyland.
Thanks to the three-hour time change, we were sound asleep rather early … which was just as well, because wake-up time for the recently patented Daddy Scratches Totally Psychotic One-Day Assault On Disneyland™ was set for 5:30 a.m. … and there would be absolutely, positively no fucking around.