My dad and I are visiting a certain movie industry theme park, and we decide to go on a holographic ride based on a certain film series about fast cars. 

Ahead of the ride proper, our group files into a little presentation room where a lady on a pedestal sets the theme of the ride for us. A recording of one of the characters from the film series comes up on the screen behind her, and she does a little rehearsed back-and-forth for a few minutes.

After she’s done, the doors open, and we start making our way to the ride proper. As we’re filing out, though, she waves at the crowd and says:

Employee: “Have fun, everyone! I’ll be here responding to this same call again for the next four hours.”

I don’t know if anyone else in the group hears her; if they do, they don’t say anything. My dad and I hear her, though, and as we are following the hall to the ride, I turn to him.

Me: “Do you think that’s what purgatory is like?”

He chuckles and shrugs.

Dad: “If it’s not, I can’t imagine it’d be much different.”

If you’re out there, employee, I hope you got to take a long break that day.

I was working at Disneyland Paris, in one of the stores outside of the parks. An old lady, visibly a little confused, was wandering around. With a colleague, I asked if she needed help. She wanted to buy toys for her grandkids, and it was pretty clear she had a somewhat mild yet concerning case of Alzheimer’s.

The store was fairly quiet, so my colleague and I took almost half an hour to decipher how many grandkids she had and what they liked. She was extremely pleasant and nice all the way through, just confused and slow. She bought a few hundred euros in toys and thanked us profusely.

It was awesome by itself, but a day or so afterward, my colleague and I both got called into the manager’s office to get congratulated. The lady was the mother of one of the highest corporate employees, and she couldn’t stop talking about the nice girls who helped her. That felt extra awesome!

My family, my wife’s parents, her brother’s family, and I were treated to a trip to Disney World by my wife’s parents.

Unbeknownst to anyone in my family or on my wife’s side of the family, I’m spot-on for mimicking Mickey Mouse’s voice and I can do a pretty solid Donald Duck. I decided to take it upon myself to spread some joy and sorrow amongst people, young and old alike, while we were wandering the parks.

The costumed characters at the Disney parks are not allowed to talk. There are a few costumes with built-in speakers and phrases or words can be spoken by button presses — the Storm Troopers, for example. But most people have seen a cartoon or two and know what Mickey and Donald sound like.

As we got in lines for meeting characters — specifically Mickey and Donald — I would patiently wait until I saw that no one was looking in my direction and I would say a quick one-liner in the voice of Mickey or Donald.

People would swing their heads around looking to see where the voice came from, and little kids would scream with joy, “It’s MICKEY!” or, “It’s DONALD!” and they’d spin around looking for them. After a few moments of no one being able to locate the sound of the voice, everyone would go back to what they were doing. Even my kids, who were six and eleven, were excitedly looking for Mickey or Donald.

Watching the joy in people’s eyes as they heard the voices of these iconic characters was magical. You could see the joy on their faces and then watch it fade away.

My wife caught on to me doing the voices after I did it a few times, and she scolded me for my actions, but my kids thought it was funny when they found I could do these voices. They kept egging me on to do the voices to trick people. My daughter would nudge me as we walked behind families and tell me to talk like Mickey, so I’d oblige. The little kids in the family would strain their necks trying to look behind them to get a glimpse of Mickey, only to see some random guy with his family walking behind them. They’d look so confused and sad at the same time. It was awesome.

I’m not sure if that’s evil of me or not, but sometimes it’s the little things in life that make your day, and I didn’t lose any sleep over it.

My best friend is from, and lives in, Canada. I live in Oregon. We met online and wrote stories back and forth, and we have been best friends ever since. I have gone to Canada to visit her and she has come to Oregon to visit me.

One year, we decided to go on vacation together at Disneyland. We were on day two of seven, in line for a ride, when her cell phone rang. It was her workplace. Since we had a half-hour wait in line, she decided to answer it. I could hear the whole conversation and was holding in my laughter.

Friend: “Hello?”

Work: “Hey, [Friend], we need you to come in and work a couple of shifts. We’re down a few people.”

Friend: “Um… I can’t. I’m on vacation.”

Work: “We know. But we need you to come to cover these shifts.”

Friend: “I’m on vacation… in Disneyland… which is in another country. I told you all about it before I left! Repeatedly!”

Work: “But we need—”

Friend: “I am not paying for another plane ticket to fly me up there — on a four-hour flight — to work a shift for you. I am on vacation. I will come in when my vacation is over.”

Work: “Fine. I guess we’ll try someone else.”

Friend: “You do that.”

She hung up and just stared at me in shock. I burst into laughter. She quit shortly after that because the company refused to give her a pay raise and promotion even though they had her doing stuff someone higher should have been doing.

Two years later, they called her, begging her to come back. She got that promotion and an even bigger pay raise than she had asked for. She is that awesome!

My family is from Canada, and we’re on vacation at a magical place where all your dreams come true. My fiancée and two of her brothers — ages seven and ten — were invited to come with, so they agreed and flew down with us. Her youngest brother is deaf and primarily speaks using ASL (American Sign Language). He likes to hang around with me but looks nothing like me. I am Native American, while my fiancée and her brothers are Metis. It should also be known that I have my trained PTSD service dog in full vest with me.

I have just returned from getting myself something to eat and have sat down on a bench with the seven-year-old. He starts signing to me excitedly that he has just met one of his favourite characters while I was getting food, but he stops as he sees a little girl, around three, come close and pet my dog. He starts pointing to get my attention and I turn to look at the younger girl.

Me: “Oh, no, no, sweetie. We don’t touch this dog; she’s a working dog.”

Girl: “But I wanna!”

She goes to pet my dog with determination in her eyes like I have never seen before.

Me: “I know you do, but do you see the clothes she’s wearing? When you see this patch on a doggie—”

I point to the large patch on the side of the vest: a red hand with “STOP! DO NOT TOUCH: SERVICE DOG” on it.

Me: “—it means we don’t touch, because that dog is working.”

Girl: *Dejectedly* “Oh…”

She runs off to find her parents. I think this is the end of it, and I go back to signing with [Seven-Year-Old]. A few minutes later, however, I hear crying, and I look up to see a swearing man stomping up to me.

Man: “Who the f*** do you think you are, you [Latino slur]?! How dare you tell my daughter what she can and cannot do?!”

Me: “Your daughter was distracting my dog from doing her job, which puts my safety at risk.”

Man: “I don’t give a f***! All you [slur]s are the same, thinking they can do whatever they want! Why don’t you go back to Mexico where you belong?!”

Me: “First, I’m Native American, not Latino. I don’t even remotely look like I’m Latino in any way, shape, or form. Secondly, I’m from Canada, and I do expect to return in two weeks when my vacation is over. Third, there are children around you and you’re throwing a temper tantrum because I wouldn’t let your daughter touch my working service dog. What a great father you are, showing her that if you get loud and throw a tantrum, you can be a racist s***bag!”

By now, I can feel my dog nudging me to tell me that I am in a situation that I should leave or I risk having a meltdown of my own. I go to stand, but the man looks at [Seven-Year-Old], who has been playing with the light-up ears I bought him.

Man: “You and your [very racist slur for Native Americans] dad should go back to your reserve; you don’t belong in the white world.”

I lose it. I stand to my full 6’4” height, towering over the man before I lean over to look him square in the eye. By now, we’ve drawn a slight crowd.

Me: “Say that again, but to my face this time.”

The man began to stammer before a cast member arrived with security.

In the end, they took statements from everyone and kicked the man and his family out of the park.