Amber Earns Her Ears: My Secret Walt Disney World Cast Member Diary (7 page)

The thing is, trainees aren’t in the computer with regular Cast Members during their first four days. That means we don’t show up when coordinators or leaders are moving people around, assigning breaks, and the like. They rely on trainers to ensure that we are taken care of. In my case, that first day I was forgotten. Eventually, someone realized that it was my first day, and told a manager I was missing a trainer. It turns out her break was almost over, so they sent me out to another position until she came back; then I went on my break.

Not all of my training days went like that. Most of my trainers were great; they made learning the different positions a lot of fun, and even cleaning the fryers wasn’t as horrible as some people made it sound (everyone hated fryers).

Ovens was an adventure. I had an older man from Puerto Rico as a trainer, and he was also training another girl (a Columbian) at the same time. She and our trainer bonded over her modeling career and Spanish fluency. More often than not, the trainer would show us how to do something, and then I would do it while the other trainee showed him modeling pictures she had on her phone. Which was fine, I suppose; ovens is a solo job, and at least I was going to know how to do it when the time came. It definitely didn’t turn out to be one of my favorite positions; it involves a lot of lifting (boxes of frozen chicken nuggets, hamburger patties, and French fries; changing five-gallon soda boxes; taking all the leftover food down to the trash cans at the end of the night), and that’s not exactly my forté.

The afternoon did provide some amusement, however, when we took the grease from Nieco down to the grease pit (not an actual hole in the ground but a big metal container with a hole in the front) at the end of the night. Not only did the area smell of tomatoes ripe from their time spent in the Florida sun, but the grease itself was not exactly the most pleasant of aromas. Having worked at the animal clinic for seven years, I was accustomed to bad smells, but my fellow trainee didn’t possess quite so strong a stomach. While I ripped open the plastic, tomato-filled bags to pour them into the trash cans, or hefted the grease container (with my trainer’s help), she was making trips back and forth to the bathroom. Eventually, she stopped trying to join us, and waited at the mouth of the tunnel for us to finish.

My fourth (and last) day of training was across the street at Fountain View, the ice cream shop. Its atmosphere was drastically different from that of EU; not only did less people work there (five people on average), but it was more laid back. My Fountain View trainer was wonderful — I didn’t miss my break or anything! — and he taught me how to scoop ice cream, prepare sundaes and floats, and make waffle bowls (my favorite position). At the end of the night, he showed me how to clean the ice cream case — which I absolutely loathed, having to reach in and scrape ice cream from the far corners of the case — and then we headed over to EU to clock out.

I have always loved learning new things, and within the Electric Umbrella and Fountain View, there were myriad things to pick up on, from how to properly clean a trash can to how to make waffle bowls. In four days I hadn’t learned everything I would need to make it through the next six months, but it was a good start.

“EXCUSE ME, BUT THESE French fries fell over.”

“Oh, no! Ah, I’m sorry! Here, let me fix them!”

“Oh, it’s fine! Thank you!”

Thus began a beautiful friendship.

Before I left home for Disney World, I had a momentary night of panic. I worried that everyone else had enrolled in the CareerStart and College Programs for the wrong reasons. I imagined they were all going to party, escape from school for a while, use Disney as an excuse to live in Florida for six months, and consumer as much alcohol as their bodies would permit.

I saw potential friends in none of these groups. I’m the person who brings hefty books to a gathering, not the kind to get dressed up and go to a club.

My fears were initially allayed when I met my roommates, wonderful girls who were there searching for their dream jobs. Our “parties” were trips to the parks for nice meals, ending the day with a game of
Scene It!
or some other board game.

But just because three of the people I’d met so far didn’t fit into the less-than-devoted Cast Member category didn’t mean that everyone else wasn’t there for exactly the reasons I feared.

For about the first two months working at the Electric Umbrella, I was the quiet one. I didn’t talk to many people, I worked hard, and then I went home. I chatted with only two of my trainers from the first week, and would try (and usually fail) to initiate conversation wherever I was stationed.

So I watched with a little jealousy as others who had been there longer communicated easily with one another, jesting and goofing off all day. But as much as I wanted to join the fun, I was too reserved. I don’t go out of my way to initiate conversation; I’m bad at making small talk.

One day, working as a filler, I saw that a tray full of French fries had tipped over. As a filler (the person who puts the tray of food on the counter for the guest to pick up), you aren’t allowed to touch the food. You have to get the attention of the person stationed at the window between the counter and the kitchen area, and they have to fix it for you.

For Cast Members still earning their ears, asking for help from someone at the window can be intimidating. Fillers would often grouse that the person “on window” (in charge of passing food from the kitchen area to the fillers) was being hateful or ignoring them. On several occasions, I remember standing uneasily — or impatiently, if I knew for certain I was being ignored — trying to get the attention of someone inside, to no avail. This illusion of hostility continues until you actually work on the line yourself. Not everyone inside is grouchy; they might not be able to hear you, or they might have a big order to fill. And occasionally, it’s the filler at fault.

But that day, I still hadn’t done much work inside (a privilege reserved for Cast Members who have been there a while), and it was lovely to hear someone cheerful on the other side of the window.

Beatriz, or “Betty” to her many friends, was the first real friend I made at the Electric Umbrella. With her energetic personality, her habit of switching from English to Spanish spoken so rapidly it was hard for most of us to understand, and her enthusiastic concern for the well-being of her friends, she was exactly the kind of person I needed to help me enter the social world of the Electric Umbrella.

Now, anytime I use the phrase “it’s fine”, she perks up and instantly begins to recount one of her favorite stories about the nice, quiet filler who she persuaded to go out one night with some of her other friends from work. When invited to do something with a group of people, my first instinct is to decline. Why, I don’t know: maybe because I’m just not used to being asked to do things with others and say no out of habit, maybe I’m afraid I’ll be a killjoy. Whatever it is, I try to talk my way out of the offer. But when Betty asked if I would like to go out with a group of friends after work, I stopped myself before politely bowing out. Wasn’t my goal to socialize, after all? And didn’t that involve, oh, I don’t know, actually making contact with human beings? So instead of backing out, I agreed to accompany Betty to the Ale House down the road from Vista. When I got there, I hopped up on one of the stools and took in the looks of slight disbelief. Betty’s group had been together since January. They were surprised to see me there, and even more surprised that Betty had been able to convince the silent newbie to join them for dinner.

Chatting with people whom I hadn’t known since the age of twelve was completely out of my comfort zone, but I did enjoy myself. Which came as a surprise even to me.

At one point during the night, one of my new friends happened to look down at my purse.

“Amber? Is that a book in your bag?”

I saw that my copy of
The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, Vol. 1
was sticking out of the top of my purse. I probably made some quip about using it in self-defense, or in case the conversation got boring. Books act as a kind of safety blanket for me. I took
Great Expectations
to a sleep-over when I was eleven or twelve, threatened to bring the pocket edition of
Dracula
to the eighth-grade formal if my parents made me go, and brought
The Silmarillion
to my first year of band camp. To reach a level where I didn’t need to grab a book on my way out the door would be a sort of miracle.

Leaving the Ale House that night, I felt odd satisfaction that I had managed to interact with others on a fairly normal level. I hadn’t felt that I was intruding, or that I was unwanted company. And when I returned to work, I found that I was able to joke around with my co-workers instead of reprising my role as mute onlooker.

As I was the youngest person at the Electric Umbrella, Betty assumed a protective role. She looked out for me in almost every aspect: was I having fun? was I eating enough? was I working too hard? did I need another shift? Betty was on top of it all, and her mothering extended to nearly everyone in our EU family. On a day when I had forgotten to bring my lunch, I stopped by the break room downstairs to shed my ball cap and red shirt (it’s against the rules to make any kind of purchase in your costume), and went out front to buy some food. Betty was working register, so naturally I headed to her register so we could chat while I paid for my food. As soon as she saw me, her face changed.

“You cannot buy anything today, flakita!” [“Flakita” means skinny.]

“But, Betty, I forgot my lunch! I need to eat something!”

“Ah,” she replied, eyebrows raised, “but your mami knew you would forget. Go and look in my cooler; I made lunches for you and Em (another co-worker). Yours is the one with meat on it. Put it in the microwave for forty seconds, until the cheese melts.”

Several other occasions called for Betty’s intervention as well.

Once I had started hanging out with people from work, we went regularly to the usual Cast Member haunts: Steak 'n Shake, IHOP on International Waffle Day (I don’t think anyone ordered the waffles, though), and especially Buffalo Wild Wings on Wednesday nights for karaoke. For me, with so little social experience, Buffalo Wild Wings was the closest thing to a club I’d ever seen. Too many bodies pressed in a little space, both inside the restaurant and out, with music pulsing so loudly you had to shout in someone’s ear to be heard. But karaoke night was always a treat, since it drew such a diverse crowd: people there on dares, people who’d had too much alcohol, groups of girls who giggled more than sang, and lots of others. My particular favorite was a couple of cowboys — boots, hats, plaid, and all — who started out the night rapping but got progressively more country with each passing hour. Betty insisted on taking photos with them once the lights came on.

Many nights we stayed until closing time. Then our group would usually cross the street to McDonalds for a snack before we were ready to drive home. On one such night, as we milled about outside the club, waiting for everyone to find one another, I was talking with Emily (a co-worker at Electric Umbrella) when a guy came up and asked me a few questions. Not wanting to appear rude, I answered his questions and then did my best to ignore him. But he didn’t go away. He and his friend lingered, occasionally commenting on my conversation with Emily. Naïve as I can be, I ended up chatting with him, until he made a comment in Spanish to his friend. Almost immediately, Betty’s arm wrapped around mine and she pulled me away, explaining: “Mi amiga del alma, those eyes! Those eyes will get you in trouble!” I’m still not sure what kind of trouble, exactly, my eyes were going to get me into on that occasion, but it wasn’t the last time Betty came around to rescue me from a dubious situation.

I’m sad that it took me so long to become comfortable with my co-workers, because they really were an amazing group. Sarah Mae, one of the girls from Australia, was singing a Kate Nash song in the kitchen one day. I commented on it, quite liking Kate Nash, and the next day she gave me a piece of paper covered — front and back — with the names of her favorite bands and two songs from each band that she thought I’d like. Rides were traded, days were spent in the park, and I became known as the girl who brought a book with her everywhere — including all social outings.

Being a Cast Member made it easier for me to initiate conversations with complete strangers. I had to do that all the time on the clock — chatting for thirty minutes with a guest who happened to be an English teacher; giving advice to a single mom who wanted to make the most of her days in Disney; or walking around with crayons and coloring pages, asking little kids if they would be interested in coming to the front and coloring with me when they finished their food — so the habit slowly leaked over to life off the clock. I would often go to the parks by myself, for example, to EPCOT for a cone of lemon gelato, or to Magic Kingdom to see PhilharMagic (my absolute favorite in that park), and would find myself in conversation with a fellow Cast Member who was in the park on their day off, or with a guest who had brought her children to Disney World for the first time.

For shy people (like me), the Disney College Program can do wonders. I’m not saying it will make you a crazy extrovert, bounding up to strangers and introducing yourself, but it will take away some of the anxiety that social situations can bring. Plus, it never hurts to make new friends.

FROM THE MOMENT PAIGE came running up to me at check-in, we had gotten along well. Our senses of humor were similar, we were both slightly addicted to any and all things Disney, we both read, and we were huge, huge Harry Potter nerds. We also both listened to WDW Radio, an unofficial Disney podcast hosted by Lou Mongello. As any of Lou’s followers on Facebook know, he occasionally holds meet-n-greets in the parks. Paige and I just so happened to have one of those mornings off, and so we hopped in Dinosaur (because the K bus to Animal Kingdom is a really long ride) and made our way to Animal Kingdom to find Lou.