Extra magic hours are overrated. Allow me to explain.
In our household, Jenn is the master planner of Disney vacations; she does all the research to lay out a schedule of park visits (and, when we're on the free dining promotion, meals) for the week, normally based on Internet research of which parks are typically least crowded on a given weekday. It has always worked for us, and if we arrive a few minutes before the park opens, we can generally pick off a lot of rides early on with minimal lines; for instance, we can do all eight Fantasyland attractions in about 75 minutes by tackling the ever-popular Dumbo first, Fastpassing Peter Pan or Winnie-the-Pooh, and enjoying the other six in between. It's all about strategy, and the planning is half the fun.
Well, since we were staying on property last week, we threw that book out the window and decided to plot our days around which park had extra magic hours, which basically means the park opens early or closes late only for people who stay at the Disney resorts, so in theory you can ride a bunch of stuff with shorter waits before the unwashed hordes arrive, or after they leave. That's the theory, anyway. And the theory, we realize now, has two major flaws.
One is that about 3.7 million people are staying on Disney properties at any given time (based on a scientific calculation I just pulled from my ass), and they all think, like we did, that they're going to have the park to themselves, so they all show up for extra magic hours. Meanwhile, not every ride is open during this super special bonus hour or two, so the lines in many cases are longer than during normal hours. You seriously start to miss the unwashed hordes.
The second flaw is the resort shuttle system, about which Jenn and I have never had a complaint. That's because (a) we weren't using it much during extra magic hours the last time we stayed on Disney property, at sleepy Port Orleans three years ago, and (b) Pop Century, where we stayed this year, boasts about 2.4 million of those 3.7 million Disney guests (OK, now I have to wash my hands). And when that many people are leaving the park at one time and heading to one shuttle stop, well, you can imagine to what degree you're screwed.
That's how we wound up one night, right around 11 p.m., in the middle of a massive line outside the Magic Kingdom waiting for the Pop Century shuttle. Even using two depots, it was slow going, made even slower by the long wait to load and secure folks with wheelchairs, and the people who pretended to be with them so they could cut the line (seriously ... 20 people for two wheelchairs? Was it a family reunion?). So when we finally plopped down on a bus, Nate conked out on my shoulder, everyone was stressed out by a difficult end to a 95-degree day that included two afternoon downpours. As the driver had as many people pile on as possible, clogging the middle aisle, the temperature inside the bus steadily rose. Uncomfortable, sweaty, and smelly, we just wanted to get back to our beds. And as the shuttle lurched forward for the 15-minute trek, no one spoke. The radio was playing old pop songs, and we all half-listened, quietly, for several minutes, just relieved to be moving.
And then "Bohemian Rhapsody" started.
I'm not sure where the singing began. Maybe toward the back of the bus. Maybe someone was just humming under their breath, and someone else picked up the tune. But by the time mama killed a man, a few people were clearly singing. I smiled and looked at Jenn. She was smiling, too. By the time we were being urged to carry on, carry on though nothing really matters, probably 10 or 15 people had joined in. And a short time later, about half the bus didn't want to die, but sometimes wished they'd never been born at all. Now everyone was smiling. Some were even laughing, a surprised, delighted sort of laughter. And we hadn't even gotten to a little silhouetto of a man.
I don't recall when I joined in. Maybe the thunderbolt and lightning. And then it just got loopy, because everyone -- and the entire bus was singing by now -- picked either a high or low Galileo, but not both, like we were being guided through our parts by a conductor (probably Donald Duck, if he managed to find the hat). Same thing later on: some folks wanted to let him go, and the others refused to let him go. It was mad, and sort of magical, and everyone was grinning from ear to ear. And then, despite the length and heat of the day, and the crowds, and the long shuttle wait, and the kids squirming and rolling their heads back as they pressed against their parents' chests, for one bright moment, almost every passenger proclaimed that Beelzebub had a devil put aside for me, for me, for meeeeeeeee. And, trust me, that's a lot of devils, 'cause that was one crowded shuttle.
We were pulling in to Pop Century when Queen faded out, and Ray Parker Jr. started to ask us who we're gonna call when there's something strange in the neighborhood. A few people (me included) helpfully answered the question, but the enthusiasm was fading, and when the bus driver switched on the lights, we were all jolted out of the moment. Everyone seemed exhausted again as they trudged off the shuttle, collected their kids, and marched off to bed, or maybe a late-night swim. The three of us were pretty tired too, and still feeling gross and sticky, and our feet really, really hurt.
But you know what? We felt a little better than we had 15 minutes earlier. I guess we deserved a little extra magic.
