January/February Trip Report Day Ten: There’s no food left at WDW; I ate it all

Number of Pins Traded for: 21
Number of Miles Walked: 6.68

As we were getting dressed and primped and adjusting tiaras in order to head out for the day, our door opened. It was our Mousekeeping CM.

Immediate questions:
1. Why didn’t you knock???
2. Since when is 7:45 AM an appropriate time for Mousekeeping to come around?
3. Seriously… knocking? Are you familiar with it?

Our first question was answered for us when we realized that our Mousekeeper was deaf.

Follow-up question:
1. So… if you did knock, clearly you’re not going to hear a response. Is there a work-around for this? Maybe you leave a note prior to the guests’ arrival saying, “Hi, I’m your deaf Mousekeeper. I plan on busting into your room every morning before 8:00 AM, so unless you want to be caught naked, I suggest you put up your Do Not Disturb sign. After all, I’m deaf, not blind. Sincerely, Minnie.”

My Mother managed to communicate that we were almost out of the room and that she could come back in 15 minutes. Smiles and nodding all around. Well done. And Mom even left a follow-up note for our Mousekeeper, thanking her for all her hard work. My Mother’s a pretty swell lady.

Meanwhile, not all was perfect in paradise. I was starting to feel a little under the weather. I simply chalked it up to exhaustion and too much goddamned Courvoisier and kept on trucking. Stop number one: Club Lounge for breakfast — The World’s Best Oatmeal and lots of it. Stop number two: bus to Epcot.

But so delicious. Also, free Mickey straws on Club Level.

It was on this lovely bus ride that “under the weather” started to turn closer toward “PULL THIS SHIT OVER.”

Was it germs from some filthy child who insists on licking the handrails of WDW buses? Was it my lactose intolerance finally discovering the secret ingredient of the World’s Best Oatmeal (HEAVY CREAM)? Or was I starting to show symptoms of the nanovirus that my aunt was victimized by earlier in the week? I’m not sure, but all I knew was that I was not a happy camper. And if I didn’t get off the bus soon, people around me wouldn’t be so happy either.

Luckily we made it to Epcot without my ruining the vacations of dozens of families. After revisiting my breakfast in the privacy of a bathroom stall, we endeavoured to find something to help me. WDW Traveler Protip: most every gift shop sells medicines and first aid type stuff — it’s just hidden and you have to ask for it. $27 later, we had a small roll of Tums and two Pepto tablets.

Okay, fine, it wasn’t really $27 — but it wasn’t cheap. Damn you, Disney, and your taking advantage of the dairy-challenged!

Once things were under control, gag reflex style, it was time to have some fun!

Now, maybe you’re thinking, “Spaceship Earth is slow and soothing — you should head there!” Or “how about Living with the Land to gently ease you back into touring?”

To those suggestions, I say, “FUCK THAT, PUSSIES.”

We went on Sum of All Thrills, max level upsidedown in your face style. Because I am a goddamned rock star who’s not going to let a little thing like puking in an Epcot restroom (oooh — another First!) stop me from rocking. Rock on. Always.

After that, it was time to use our FP+ for Test Track where we vowed to make the most powerful and environmentally raping vehicle ever. Because rock stars.

Die, Earth, die!

You know who’s most assuredly not a rock star? The doe-eyed halfwit that we witnessed get called from the single rider line to join the twosome behind us. She then stood there, let them board the ride vehicle, and refused to climb in after them because they were strangers. She waited for the next ride vehicle to come along and got in that, attempting to sit in the middle seat in order to have the row to herself until a CM finally caught on that she was fucking up the very balance of world order here at Test Track, and she was finally forced to mingle with commoners.

WDW Traveler Protip #2: Single Rider Line means you will be seated with strangers. It does not mean “Princess for a Day; I’m more important than you; You don’t understand how hard it is to be this popular; #Privileged.” I’m sorry if this was unclear for anyone. (As an aside, if this was unclear to you, may I suggest that you do the rest of us a favour and just stay home. Like, forever. Alone. Please.)

Moving on…

I’m still holding a grudge from the first and only time I ever rode the Nemo ride — within months after it had opened thus still generating long wait times. I remember standing in that damn queue for what must have been over an hour (it could’ve been 20 minutes; I don’t remember, but for the purposes of this hyperbole, let’s go with multiple hours), so excited for this new attraction based on a movie I loved, and then…

…

…blah mixed with meh and topped with whatevs. Fuck Nemo.

Thus, when we thought to ourselves, “gee, it’s been like, seven years since we’ve experienced this attraction, let’s give it another shot” only to then see a 20 minute posted wait time, I once again said, “fuck Nemo.” We went on Spaceship Earth, instead. Judi Dench > crabs.

Sweet hair, bro.

By now it was past 11:00, meaning past time to head on into World Showcase. Despite the fact that we had a 2:00 PM ADR at Biergarten and that I had also recently vomited, I was set on attempting the tip I’d read online about getting free chips and salsa at Cava del Tequila. Free food > common sense.

We were lucky enough to score an actual table with chairs at Cava (another First!), though, admittedly, it was a table with a couch and four chairs, thus being slightly overkill for the two of us.

A waitress came over, and we placed our order for two margaritas and chips and salsa, which I did, indeed, get for free by showing the waitress that I follow them on Twitter.

Seasons then pass. Babies are born and learned to walk. A new presidential term is upon us. Then we receive our drinks.

By now, we were also joined by two attractive couples, willing to comingle with us in exchange for the four unoccupied seats at our table. With the waitress making a rare appearance, they put in their drink order, as well as an order for the chips and dip sampler — salsa, queso, and guacamole.

More calendar pages drift to the floor. Med students are completing their residencies. Sea turtles are passing away from old age.

Finally, a manager approaches. “Alright, I know you’ve all been waiting awhile — how about you just tell me what you had ordered, and I’ll make sure you get it ASAP.” And so we did, and so she did. Within minutes, our chips and salsa finally appeared. Then a bowl of queso. “You ordered queso as well, yes?” Um, no, but… “here, just take it.” Okay! Then the couples’ dip sampler shows up… minus queso. Insert guilty look here. Luckily, more queso is brought out. We’re all having a good laugh. We’re all enjoying queso.

Duck torture.

In the time that it took a red supergiant star to phase into a supernova, our waitress mysteriously reappears, likely reborn into this world having vague memories of her past life as a waitress at Cava del Tequila. “You ordered a jalapeno margarita to go?” Um, no… “Just take it.” With that final offering, she was gone, lost in time like tears in rain.

And this, friends, is the story of how we got a free margarita, free chips, free salsa, and free queso from Cava. (We almost hit the trifecta with free guac, because our new friends only ate half of theirs and told us we were welcome to the rest. I was about to descend upon this miracle when a bus boy came by to clear their place settings. I was too proud to stop him and explain that I had plans for those strangers’ leftovers — one of my biggest regrets in life so far. That guacamole looked good.)

Now time for lunch!

Just kidding. We rode the Gran Fiesta Tour and Maelstrom (R.I.P.).

Then lunch time.

This was our First(!) time eating at Biergarten, and I was pretty excited. When I was served my tankard of beer in a glass so large I couldn’t lift it to my face with just one hand, I was even more excited.

I taught D@D everything he knows. It didn’t take long.

I purposely scheduled our lunch as late as possible to be there to experience both the lunch and dinner offerings. However, I guess 2:00 PM isn’t a super popular time for lunch, so there were very few other folks in there with us. When they seated a charming young couple next to us at the communal-style table it felt more like when someone with the social IQ of an aardvark chooses to occupy the restroom stall directly next to you when there are 20 others available than it did “communal.”

But whatever — they were a delight to chat with. Turns out, they’re both big Disney fans, and they, too, follow all the same Disney blogs I do (I refrained from mentioning that I write a Disney blog; contrary to the pompous ass I come across as through my writing, I’m actually shy and borderline respectful in person). I really wanted to exchange Twitter handles as we were leaving, but see previous parenthetical.

Diba was kind enough to use the few clues I had to hunt them down on Facebook for me, but I figured sending out a friend request with the message, “I foooooouuuuuuund you!!!!!!!” probably wouldn’t result in a beautiful new friendship.

Perfectly sensible footwear for touring. I’m only offended that she paired brown shoes with a black skirt. Idiot.

The food did not disappoint. I was in sausage heaven! And pickle heaven! And pretzel bread with beer cheese soup heaven! In fact, the only negative thing I could possibly say about Biergarten (aside from their determination to have you sit with (admittedly lovely) strangers even if there are 84 other empty tables in the joint) is that I think they strategically place the nudel gratin in an out-of-the-way place, not obvious in the order in which most people approach the buffet. The result? I didn’t find it until after I’d already eaten so much that I wouldn’t have entirely minded puking for the second time that day.

Mind you, I still ate the nudel gratin. Obviously. I just wasn’t happy about it. Well, aside from the fact that it was fucking amazing. Other than that, I was not happy.

We refrained from hijacking anyone’s ECVs and instead actually walked out of the park toward the Beach Club for some light pin trading and use of their bus stop to get us to Downtown Disney for the evening.

Once there, we hit up the Pin Hut in hopes of completing our Mine Train pin set — these were being offered at the time in mystery packs — two pins in each pack with a total of seven (duh) to complete the set. We had four out of the seven, yet the last two packs we bought had the exact same two pins in them. We decided to try for one more, and lo and behold — the same two fucking pins.

What’s up with this? I’m not new to capitalism — I know they’re going to make one or two pins rarer than the others so that crack-addicted fiends like me will keep throwing money at them in hopes of getting that elusive last pin in the set, but c’mon — at least mix up the common pins. Throw a little fucking variety in there! Ugh.

One last First for the day: I’d been meaning for awhile now to try Raglan Road’s bread pudding. I’d heard it was to die for, and I consider myself something of a bread pudding connoisseur (best ever: Commander’s Palace in New Orleans). Sadly, every time I’ve been dining at Raglan, I’m always too full by the end of my meal to order dessert. Surely, on this day in which I’ve eaten all the food at Epcot, this is the day that makes sense for me to shoehorn some bread pudding into the bottomless pit that is my stomach.

We sidled up to the bar, ordered a couple of drinks, and I ordered my bread pudding while My Mother ordered … umm… I don’t remember. I was a little preoccupied with the bread pudding and the breathing exercises required to power through consuming it.

And the verdict???

It was good.

I wouldn’t place it above ‘Ohana or Commander’s, but it was definitely quite tasty. And filling. Oh, my poor, poor stomach.

Side note: what the fuck is up with raisins in bread pudding? The person who first started this trend should be brought back to life just so that I can kill them again. Preferably by drowning them in a sea of poisoned raisins. Fucking raisins.

Speaking of getting angry at inanimate objects, it was time to head back to the resort for cocktail hour. One last night of choking down Courvoisier. And then never again. Never. Again.

Patrioticky.

By the time we got back to our room, after one last viewing of the Electric Water Pageant with Courvoisugh in hand, we were delighted and touched to find the following note from our new friend and deaf Mousekeeper, Hanna.

You bet your ass we took those towel animals, you bet your ass. Thanks, Hanna. You rock. You can walk in on us naked anytime.