The Dark Side of Disney (4 page)

Check references. Anyone renting DVC points should have a list of people they’ve rented to before who are willing to vouch for them. Be sure to contact these references to verify that they were satisfied with their rental transaction. If the owner has never rented before, at the very least make sure they have a decent post count on the board you contacted them on. If they don’t, I’d be wary that they’re a fly-by-night scammer. Stay clear and find another owner.

As mentioned before, pay via PayPal using your credit card so you can do a chargeback if necessary.

Once you find a trustworthy owner, stick with them! If you have a good renting experience, you should always contact that owner about upcoming vacations to see if they have points or reservations available.

If you’re still feeling a bit queasy about renting points, there is an alternate way to do it. You can use a 3
^rd
party service, such as David’s Vacation Club Rentals, at
www.dvcrequest.com/
. David acts as the middleman between you and the owner, and thus you’re paying him, not the owner. It’s almost like an escrow account. David deals with all of the contracts, and has a bank of owners he works with who he knows are trustworthy. However, you definitely pay for this added layer of security: David charges $13/point, which is a premium of $3-$4 over what you’d normally pay. It’s still quite a bargain, but to be honest, if you take the precautions listed above, I just don’t think it’s necessary.

PARK TICKETS

Sneaking In:

It’s a warm August morning in 1995 at EPCOT. Three of us, all college age nerds, stand in front of the ticket kiosks, marveling at the ticket prices, which had been significantly cheaper just weeks before.

“Fuck this,” says Newmeyer, a longtime friend and fellow Disney addict. “I can’t afford this shit anymore!” He’s wearing a black trenchcoat, a black fedora, and a patchy beard; not exactly inconspicuous in the middle of the summer, even in these pre-Columbine days.

McGeorge, a wiry MacGyver look-alike, stares at Newmeyer. “What can you do?” he asks. “If we want in, we gotta buy a ticket!”

“I’m jumping the gate!” Newmeyer proclaims, loud enough for everyone in the near vicinity to hear. And he proceeds to stand at the gate on the far right side of the entrance (where the laundry carts used to come in and out) for a good half hour, getting up the nerve. McGeorge and I watch, knowing that this is more exciting than Spaceship Earth, at least for the moment.

Finally, Newmeyer calmly opens the gate and saunters into the park. He turns around and gives us the thumbs up. McGeorge and I look at each other with a “What the fuck? Why have we been paying for tickets?” look.

Ten seconds later two security officers wearing Hawaiian shirts walk up alongside Newmeyer and casually take his arms, leading him backstage. He looks back at us in panic before he disappears behind a façade of manicured plants. This being pre-cellphone days we simply wait outside the park entrance, passing the time by telling confused tourists that “the entire park is inside the big golf ball.”

Hours later, Newmeyer reappears, disheveled and wiping away tears. “I’m banned from the parks for life,” he sobs. “I can’t ever go back! They took my picture, they took my fucking fingerprints, they made a copy of my driver’s license, they took my social security number…. They’ll send me straight to jail if I come anywhere near here again!”

“Ah, that’s bullshit,” we say, patting him on the shoulder. “Out of all of the people who come here every day, how are they going to keep you out?”

Newmeyer is consoled, and we go back to our offsite hotel, get drunk, and try unsuccessfully to score chicks. The next day we buy tickets for Disney/MGM Studios and Newmeyer gets in with no problems. He promptly forgets about the whole “banned for life” thing.

Four years pass, and Newmeyer calls Disney Reservations to book his honeymoon, asking for a room at the Caribbean Beach Resort for him and his soon to be wife. “Hold for a minute”, the cast member says after he gives his address and credit card number.

Minutes pass. Newmeyer gets a weird nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Something’s going on here…” he thinks as he nervously chews the end of the pen he’s holding.

A different person comes on the line. “Sir, we’re trying to verify your credit card information. Did you used to live on xxxx,” asks this stern new voice, reciting Newmeyer’s address from four years ago.

“Yeah, sure,” says Newmeyer, slowly. He jolts as that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach suddenly turns into a full blown memory. “Oh, shit, you have got to be kidding me….” he whispers, feeling sick.

“Sir,” says the voice on the line, “I must inform you that you are not welcome on Walt Disney World property. If we find that you are on the property during these dates, you will be arrested for trespassing.” The connection drops abruptly, and Newmeyer is left to tell his fiancé how her dreams of a Disney honeymoon are shattered.

As my dumbass friend Newmeyer clearly illustrated, unless you want to risk being banned for life and arrested, you need a ticket if you want to get into the parks. Let it be known that this book does not endorse sneaking into the parks! However, if you still insist on sneaking in, here are some tips:

The aforementioned trio of Newmeyer, McGeorge and I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find “back entrances” to the WDW parks. We actually trod through a swamp at one point, thinking that it would lead to an unguarded area of one of the parks, when actuality we came right up against a razor wire topped fence. The only legitimate back entrances are there for employees, and those are heavily guarded by multiple security gates. So scour Google Maps all you want, but trust me when I say that the perimeters of the parks are secured.

Years ago you used to be able to stand outside the exit gates and ask paying guests for their ticket stubs as they left the parks (or you’d just dig in the trash for them). You could then go to the entry gates to gain “re-entry”, and when the attendant unsuccessfully checked your fluorescent handstamp under the blacklight you’d have to try to convince them that you must have washed it off. Now, with the new biometric finger scanning system, they don’t fall for this shit anymore. Finger doesn’t match, no handstamp, no fucking way you’re getting in. We actually went so far as to “borrow” a handstamp from behind an unmanned gate at one point, but again, it’s unlikely this trick is going to work now that the finger scanners provide a second layer of bullshit detection.

All of the parks now have security people checking bags at entrances. If you try to sneak past security you will be immediately arrested. Go through like everyone else, and try not to look suspicious (i.e., don’t wear a black trench coat and a fedora). Don’t try to carry in any weapons or alcohol.

Once you get past security, the gates at the parks stretch for quite a distance, usually with the entrances in the middle, and exit gates on the far left and right. Thus, for gate jumping you have two options: