[TRAVELS] The Anti-Q [Part 2]
I dang near got into a fight at Disney Sea.
After a brief stop for some typically horrid and overpriced Oriental Land food, we made it back to Tower of Terror. A few minutes into the fastpass queue, I noticed a fastpass on the ground. I picked it up, perhaps with half a thought to using it myself or donating it to Kayo, provided that no claimants appeared.
Not long thereafter, though, a girl of about seven or eight started backtracking along the line, looking at the ground, followed a few paces back by her father. They had just started getting into one of your run-of-the-mill parent-child arguments, when I guessed what the root of the problem was and stepped forward with the dropped fastpass. The father took it from my hand without a word, compared it against his, and then, with his hand in a fist, rapped his daughter hard on the top of her head. Then they tried to recover a few spots in front of them in the line.
As they were moving along, I yelled at him, saying that there was no reason for him to hit his kid. He turned around and shouted, “We have our own way of educating our children.” I responded that what he was doing bordered on criminal, especially in everybody’s Happy Place, but he kept going and put some distance between us.
So I took off my sunglasses, which were the most expensive but fragile thing I had on me, and handed them off to my queuemate, and then chased old f**kface into the first of the Tower of Terror stalling areas. I caught up to him from behind, laid a very courteous slap on his right shoulder, and (making sure I said this loud enough so that the rest of the docile Tokyo Disneygoers and cast members could hear it) explained, “And you didn’t even thank us for recovering your ticket. Just what kind of education are you talking about?” Of course, there were a few more Japanese F-word equivalents mixed in.
I’d gone through a few candidate initial maneuvers in my head in the preceding few seconds, and because he was wearing a horrible blazer with an oversized lapel, I had been giving more passing thought to Osoto-gari than other approaches. But it was a waste, as he immediately and profusely apologized like a pansy. And unfortunately, the rest of the Tower of Terror experience proceeded without incident.
That was my adrenaline high point of the day, which kind of made everything else anticlimactic.
This goes without saying, but all this time, the only thing the rest of the losers in line could do was wear that “Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!” expression on their silent faces.
But with our second uneventful Tower of Terror ride squared away, it was finally time to enjoy the best of what Tokyo Disney Sea offers: beer.
After a brief stop for some typically horrid and overpriced Oriental Land food, we made it back to Tower of Terror. A few minutes into the fastpass queue, I noticed a fastpass on the ground. I picked it up, perhaps with half a thought to using it myself or donating it to Kayo, provided that no claimants appeared.
Not long thereafter, though, a girl of about seven or eight started backtracking along the line, looking at the ground, followed a few paces back by her father. They had just started getting into one of your run-of-the-mill parent-child arguments, when I guessed what the root of the problem was and stepped forward with the dropped fastpass. The father took it from my hand without a word, compared it against his, and then, with his hand in a fist, rapped his daughter hard on the top of her head. Then they tried to recover a few spots in front of them in the line.
As they were moving along, I yelled at him, saying that there was no reason for him to hit his kid. He turned around and shouted, “We have our own way of educating our children.” I responded that what he was doing bordered on criminal, especially in everybody’s Happy Place, but he kept going and put some distance between us.
So I took off my sunglasses, which were the most expensive but fragile thing I had on me, and handed them off to my queuemate, and then chased old f**kface into the first of the Tower of Terror stalling areas. I caught up to him from behind, laid a very courteous slap on his right shoulder, and (making sure I said this loud enough so that the rest of the docile Tokyo Disneygoers and cast members could hear it) explained, “And you didn’t even thank us for recovering your ticket. Just what kind of education are you talking about?” Of course, there were a few more Japanese F-word equivalents mixed in.
I’d gone through a few candidate initial maneuvers in my head in the preceding few seconds, and because he was wearing a horrible blazer with an oversized lapel, I had been giving more passing thought to Osoto-gari than other approaches. But it was a waste, as he immediately and profusely apologized like a pansy. And unfortunately, the rest of the Tower of Terror experience proceeded without incident.
That was my adrenaline high point of the day, which kind of made everything else anticlimactic.
This goes without saying, but all this time, the only thing the rest of the losers in line could do was wear that “Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!” expression on their silent faces.
But with our second uneventful Tower of Terror ride squared away, it was finally time to enjoy the best of what Tokyo Disney Sea offers: beer.
posted by hamu86 at 10:45 PM
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