Travels with Friends and Family

I've had a bit of an extravagant December/January. My original plan was to go to Orlando to spend Christmas with Father Dan and Marilyn. Then my sister and mom--who usually do a January trip with the kids--decided to invite me and my brother-in-law. Then someone got the notion to do a reunion for Disney's Dixie Landings Resort (now Port Orleans Riverside) because we were coming up on the 20th anniversary of the hotel opening February 2, 1992. So I've had a trip to Orlando every two weeks since late December. I could get used to this, but it does make me to move back there. Difficult to do when there aren't a lot of jobs for whatever my particularly odd skill set. Anyhow, this blog is just a rundown of my most recent journey, the Dixie reunion. Enjoy or not, as you see fit.


Dixie Landings Reunion Weekend
This was one reunion I didn't mind or dread attending (unlike, say, my high school reunion five years ago). I was happy in Orlando. Okay, I hated the front desk job, as I began to learn after several months of dealing with the public that I was less extroverted than I thought. But once I allowed myself to get to know my peers on the job, I found that I really liked them. We were all in our early to mid-20s, enjoying the benefits of being Disney Cast Members, and (oh yes) drinking and partying quite a bit. We hung out quite a bit after work, if only to vent about the guests--Cast Members are not robots, after all, and people on vacation can get a little demanding. 

I wasn't much better at socializing then than I am now. Maybe a little more fearless about introducing myself, but even back then I'd reach a magical limit, usually about two hours, and then I'd have enough socializing at a party or whatever and skedaddle. Anyhow, when someone decided that a Dixie Landings Front Desk (hereafter DLFD) reunion would be a good idea, I didn't hesitate to sign up, even though it meant a third Orlando trip within six weeks. (Orlando? In January? Ooo, twist my arm.) We did a happy hour Friday and a larger gathering on Saturday.

I think the reason we all grew so close was that we suffer--er, served together. You learn to get along pretty quickly in an environment where you could average 700 check-ins and 700 check-outs in a day for a 2,048-room Disney hotel (worst day I can recall: 1,200 checkouts, 800 check-ins). The alternative is to have some serious shouting matches, which happened occasionally as well. We learned to find our own ways to cope with a high-volume guest service environment where the expectations were high, and everyone had to be treated the "Disney way."

So what's it like to hang out with these people 20 years later? Again, contrasting it with a high school reunion, it was just much more comfortable. It wasn't formal, we gathered in a couple bars--for happy hour, at the Dixie lobby bar; for the reunion, at a saloon owned by a couple of former Dixie bellmen. Dress was casual, and so was the conversation. A lot of us noted that the gatherings weren't very different from any of the parties we had while working together. Conversation came easy, mostly catching up on what everyone had been doing. There wasn't all the posing or proving-something that I seemed to be doing at my high school reunion. Just a bunch of friends hanging out. Perfect.

We even had a few of the managers show up. Again, it was a team. As a friend who was not there (but who was getting regular picture updates as the weekend progressed), "we're all a little grayer, fuller, wrinklier." I certainly felt that way, but a couple peers said, that I "looked like a grownup," which I suppose is a good thing. I had a much more youthful face and much darker hair, as well as quite a bit less mass. But I didn't feel exceptionally self-conscious about it. I was there to find out how people were doing, not how they looked. Of course, that said, that doesn't mean I recognized everyone. If I didn't, it was mostly because I didn't work with the person that much.

The only challenge with large events like this is that you don't get a lot of one-on-one time asking detailed or personal questions than you might ask in a general gathering. I'll probably have more people to follow up with or visit next time I go down to O-town. And another "challenge" for me is that my introvert's aversion to crowds means that I come out of these gatherings very tired. I did get some side time with my closest friends--the ones I've stayed in contact with more regularly over the last 20 years, but I could only see so many people before I found the urge to take a drive or a walk somewhere quiet. 

For instance, the happy hour at the Dixie bar was fine for me until the nightly entertainer guy showed up, over-the-top loud and very into audience participation: anathema to the introvert. When I finally hit my limit, I went to the bar, ordered a drink, and took a walk. When the bartender pointed out that our table had a server, I said, "Look, I'm not trying to stiff the server, I just needed to get away from that d@mned noise." I'm fun/fine in a group setting, up to a point, but when it's time to go, it's time to go, and I won't be terribly apologetic about defending my desire for quiet. That's something I learned while working at Dixie: how to take care of myself socially, as an adult. I grew up a lot and learned a lot with this group of people, and it was a pleasure to see them again. I didn't mind them seeing who I'd become.

Facing Off With My Peers--20 Years Later, Part Deux

So: the reunion. I suppose I held up rather well. I was a bit chunkier than some, had a little more hair than others. Where I stood out the most was, perhaps not surprisingly, for my job. I got a paper award for "Most Unusual Job." Ha! But really, when most of my peers become doctors, businesspeople, lawyers, or go into the trades, where does NASA fit on that dart board? It doesn't.

A lot of the things I worried about in the previous post just didn't happen. Why? Because most of the people who pestered me at that age didn't show up to the reunion. Huzzah! I thrive best in a predator-free environment.

One guy I did want to see was X (no, I'm not giving names, if I can help it). He was an on-again, off-again tormentor from way back. The surprised look on his face--from seeing me and from hearing what I was doing for a living--was worth it. We didn't really speak after that, but he did at least make a point of acknowledging me on the way out the door.

That didn't mean there wasn't any unpleasantness. One cheerleader out in the smokers' area singled me out for hostility because a) she was tanked and b) I appeared to be in much too good of a mood to suit her. She decided to come out with a straightforward slam, the kind I haven't heard, literally, in 20 years, basically the sort questioning my manhood. It was so blatantly false and stupid, I laughed at her. She continued her snappishness. "I like smart guys like you. Let's go right now." Then she took me by the arm to lead me toward the bar. I detached her claw from my elbow, said (in a voice offering advice, not singing a song), "Be happy," and then lost myself in the crowd. Someone out on the smokers' area upgraded to something stronger later; I can't help but wonder...

All but one person in the room I'd pretty much not seen or talked to in 20 years, so it was mostly a game of catch-up: finding out who'd gotten married, who had kids, and what sorts of jobs they were doing. Some of the jobs my peers have are truly inspiring, and I was quite surprised to see how many doctors there were among us: human, veterinary, or otherwise. And there were some ladies and gents who must have a painting in their closets that looks like the very Divil because they had not changed one d@mn bit, some of these ladies looked quite fit after several children. All I can say is, they've been blessed.

A couple of the ladies there, who had teased me quite a bit back in the day (mostly because I was gullible and ignorant), were quite pleased to see me. "You always were nice," one of them said, which I appreciated. Everyone, in fact, seemed quite happy to see me and what I'd done with myself and my career. One of the jocks had become an IT manager of sorts and had married one of our classmates. They were both nice people, so I was pleased to see them. And it was good to see some of the solidly good people, the ones who had made GEHS much less of a hell. There were folks I would have liked to see--my two "protectors" didn't show--but there were also people whom, as I stated, I was quited relieved were not.

Someone pointed out to me that because reunions are optional, the only ones who really want to be there, will be, so they're more likely to be pleasant. Of course there are always one or two...

A couple of folks were trying to push me to show up for the 25th reunion. I'm thinking there's no need to get carried away.

Facing Off With My Peers...20 Years Later

Sometime in the 19th or 20th centuries, someone came up with the idea for the "class reunion." No doubt this person (or people) were feeling nostalgic about the ol' alma mater, and the tradition quickly spread to other schools as well. Having hit a nice, round number since I last matriculated at Glenbard East High School, I decided to take the plunge and attend this event.

I've been of mixed feelings about this matter for years. Any more than two years ago, and I would've told you, "No way in HECK am I going to square off with these people again. I haven't seen them in [X] years--did it ever occur to you that there might be a good reason for that?" And yet.

My friend's mother heard me expressing the above sentiment and told me I needed to get over it. "That was a long time ago. People change." Well, maybe. However, I look at myself, and I realize how much they DON'T change, and I can't say that I'm sanguine about meeting up with people who knew-me-when. My own mother reminded me that, "You know there's a good chance they haven't changed, right?" My mother didn't have a good time in high school, either.

So why didn't I have a good time in H.S.? What was so bad that I graduated a semester early and went to go work at the local Osco Drug to save money for college rather than spend another season in the hallowed halls of GEHS? Well, isn't it obvious, given the content of this page? I was a nerd. Or, more to the point, a wimp. I got along with some folks well enough, even one or two at the higher echelons of the social scale, but on the whole, I probably should've earned an honorary letter in track, given the number of times I ran home out of fear (being chased by bullies) or depression. And, to be fair, I tend to lump my junior high experiences in with high school, since it was essentially the same cast of characters with some new extras for pain and amusement.

And it wasn't just a matter of my peers. I wasn't exactly a treat, either. My junior-year picture is truly something to behold: greasy hair, bad complexion, army shirt, unhappy expression, bad attitude. Today they'd probably peg me as someone who others would watch for "danger signs." However, I never picked up a gun--never even contemplated it, except maybe to turn it on myself--and simply looked upon the whole junior high/high school thing as something to be endured until something better came along. The secret thoughts in my head ended up as shaded science fiction--enemies were punished, the intelligent made supreme, problems were solved--or as a running monologue in my head: One day I'm going to get out of here and get to a place where I won't need to put up with irrational human beings! It turns out I was half right. I did get out and got a better job or two (more on that later). However, the errors, misapprehensions, and social errors I encountered with humanity I learned there first, so the memories are the most outstanding and the most painful. And some of those lessons didn't sink in deeply enough, because I'm still learning them.

There was the mistake I made back in fourth or fifth grade baseball, crying at a baseball game (gimme a break, I was 10 and I got hit by a fastball smack on the left elbow). Why was that a mistake? Because the kids at the game, most of whom did not go to my school, had long memories, and were eager to seek me out as a "target" when I got to the bigger schools. And the hard lesson here was, if you screw up, people have long memories.

There was the time I blew off a shy, quiet girl to go to a dance with an older and more interesting coworker. That was bad enough. Being an idjit, I then lied to her about not going and got caught in the lie because the hard lesson was, people have friends and will tell them what you're doing.

There was the time a kid who had beat me up the previous week told me he was going to leave me alone because another, tougher kid whom I happened to know told him to back off. And the good lesson here was, it's good to have powerful friends. However, there always comes a day when said powerful friend is not around; and then, of course, the lesson is, you can't always rely on your powerful friends to get you out of things. At any rate, I owe my previous powerful friends a drink, at least.

So given all this past anger, angst, aggravation (pick your "A" word), why am I going? Because it really wasn't all bad. Okay, it wasn't that great, but I did have my moments. I was a theater person--box office and backstage techie, mostly. I didn't quite have the flair for acting or the voice for singing. I worked with some good people, and even managed to have a good working relationship with the Theater Director, which wasn't surprising, given my interest in adult intellectual pursuits. I still use one of his favorite lines. When someone says, "I hate X!" and it could be a person, the weather, televangelists, what have you--Mr. H's response would be, "But they've said nothing but nice things about you." Funny guy.

There was also Ms. S, the biology/environmental science teacher, who I was pleased to see is still there, wearing her Hawaiian shirts, and no doubt showing up with a silly hat and a bad accent to be a "guest speaker" for her own classes.

There were athletes and cheerleaders who were surprisingly compassionate (on occasion). "Brains" who could respect me as a fellow intellect, even if I was lazy as a scholar. I had a great time fraternizing with my fellow nerds, writing Star Wars stories or contemplating how to run the best airline or build the best airliner ever. No, those are probably not the normal activities of a high school student, but they beat taking weapons training and plotting how to blow up the school, didn't they? I wrote some passionate fiction in those years, some of which even passes my quality filter today and which I can enjoy as simple stories. I picked up my musical tastes in those days, and it still shows up in my CD collection: Star Wars and Star Trek soundtracks, classic rock, '80s Top 40 pop.

Okay, so there's all that. I've had some positive memories of GEHS, but not enough to go back for a reunion until now. Why now? Because after 20 years, I've finally become who I wanted to be all those years ago. I've done most of the things I wanted to do: moved to Florida, worked for Disney, worked for the military (albeit as a contractor), worked as a writer supporting the space program, even finished an unpublishable Star Wars novel. If there is still trepidation, there is at least pride and not as much shame. Is there some braggin' to be done? Perhaps, but another of those "hard lessons" I learned was not to be an @$$hole about bragging. Or get in people's face about their defects. Or talk down to them. With luck, I can just show up happy. No need to be a jerk about it, just a simple, "See? I made it." And then I can close the book on that part of my life.

Of course there's always a chance that some of those people I irritated, angered, hurt, or insulted are in the mood for payback, just as much as I might feel toward other people, but I'm looking on this as a lesson in humility and human relations. And maybe it's a checkpoint in my personal development. Put me back into a room with a bunch of my former peers, where I learned most of my bad habits, and how will I act? With luck, I'll do fine; but there's always the possibility that, like everyone else, parts of me will never have grown up past high school.