Permanecer sentados, por favor.

Pop quiz, hot shot: It’s Thursday night, 6pm. The Nurse has the night off and all three of the little roommates are bored. WHAT DO YOU DO!?!?!?

Go to Disneyland, duh.

Here’s a tip: if you ever find yourself living within 15 miles of the Magic Kingdom and you don’t own an Annual Passport, you my friend are retarded. I don’t care if you harbor an unbridled hatred of the amusement park that borders on the psychotically commitable. Get one, get it now. It WILL come in handy at some point; whether it be with wayward familial visitors requesting a visit, or simply boredom on any given night. Still hate the idea? Go to DCA first, head to the Wharf area and gulp down however many frosty Karl Strauss brews your wallet can handle. It’ll dull the searingly unbearable pain that is High School Musical 2: School's Out, I promise.

Still not impressed? Well, just limp that credit card over to Uva Bar or the House of Blues and continue to drink until the saccharine pain fades away. There, now you’re ready to join me- the sober one who enjoys the park while intoxicated (huzzah!) and while not.

So last night: pretty fun. Park was a little crowded for spring break, but seeing as it was around 7:30 by the time we got in the children had dissipated away to the comforting arms of whatever dreamland they call home. While still rampant with overactive teenagers, Disneyland nearing 8pm becomes the home of the teen to twenty-something set, thank the gods; and once the fireworks end you’re almost guaranteed to witness a mass exodus of anything under 5 ft tall…but I digress.

First stop was a food stop as The Nurse had a hankering for the Carnation Café which, sadly, had shuttered its windows for the evening. Next stop? The French Market over in New Orleans Square, a walk through feedateria that the roommates had never been too. For the record, they serve just about everything with chicken, red beans, rice and Tasso ham. Not an overly vegetarian friendly food stop unless you don’t mind sticking to whatever soup du jour decided to let the little animals live to see another day. Last night was Cheddar and Broccoli soup in a sour dough bread bowl. Not bad at all, I say!

As the roommates had never been to French Market (for shame!) it was a new experience for them. Sadly it was getting a tad late into Thor’s day so the usual zydeco/jazz fusion band wasn’t anywhere in sight, nor where the imitation pirates and their randy little accordions (balls.), so we were without Disneytastic entertainment aside from the 9 yr. old girl determined to dance to the music in her head whilst swirling about in her yellow ball gown. I must say, there is something hypnotically upsetting about small girls in cheap wigs and ball gowns…you want to simultaneously laugh and cry all the while applauding the parents for purchasing the Belle costume and avoiding the Hannah Montana wig/head mic combo.

After dinner it was time for Haunted Mansion- the new script seems to have been put into play, and the staff seemed to be enjoying themselves last night. Even the Lurch-esque attendant at the bottom of the stairwell managed an extra special aura of foreboding. We followed this with Big Thunder Mtn. Railway during which the fireworks began blasting the ever-loving jeebus out of the Anaheim atmosphere. Taking advantage of the halted crowds gazing towards the heavens with vacant eyes we dashed our way around the backside of Thunder Mtn., scooted through Fantasyland and hopped into line for the Matterhorn.

Ooooh…the Matterhorn, how my love has been increased ten-fold. Firstly, I adore this attraction. Even as a four year old absolutely terrified by the idea that a large monster with eyes that burned with the fire of Hades was dwelling within that fiberglass skyscraper I loved that fake mountain. But last night made me wish the damn thing was human so my love for it would be justified. First of all, a five minute wait is always a plus. Second of all, single rider seating- no herniated discs and bruised knees for this bunch! Thirdly, the ride stopped. Let me repeat that: STOPPED. As in, while we were on it the Matterhorn ceased running and we were escorted out of the toboggans, along the ridgeline and into the very living bowels of the miniature alp. HOLY HELL I’VE WAITING 24 YEARS FOR THIS DAY. What day? The day I got to go INSIDE the effing Matterhorn. INSIDE. Yeah, that’s right, my life is pretty much 90% fulfilled right now.

I can’t tell you how long I’ve silently prayed to the Amusement Park gods for a ride to breakdown while I was on-board. Hell, I’d be willing to sacrifice tiny adorable animals for the chance to wander around Space Mountain with the lights on. No joke. But yeah, it was super awesome and completely odd. First-of-all, the innards are quite huge, not really surprising, but interesting how the engineers are able to completely screw with ones sense of size and scale and throw you completely off your judgmental rocker. Inside there’s a continual hum of machinery, generators and the like accompanied by the tinge of a greasy, metallic and paintish smell resting just on top of the dust in the air. At some points you can look straight up to the underside of the basketball court where Tinkerbell is de-rigging post air raid. At other places you’re forced into a crouching stoop as you walk underneath the steel track, the only thing separating you from a certain crushing, painful (and wet) death being about four inches of fiberglass, two inches of wood and some paint.

It was inside this very behemoth of wonder and glory that I tucked my camera away inside my pocket, not wanting to risk confiscation by the hosen-clad employees escorting us through the mountain, so I shall do my best to continue this visual description: If you have ever been inside of a large hanger, a metals and/or plastics workshop, the stockroom of a large retail store, or wandered the bowels of any large arena (Bren-inites, that’ll do), that’s the sort of landscape you can expect. Wooden workbenches line the walls, white boards with various notes hang cock-eyed above them. A few lengths of lockers for the staff’s personal items fill the nooks and crannies, “out-of-order” banners, wooden signs, excess loden-coats, bollards and Disney employee paraphernalia are stuffed into corners and on top of the many boxes of light bulbs, cans of paint and general randomness cluttered against the walkways.

Above, zig-zagging dizzyingly between the enclosed tracks are catwalks that undulate without reason between gray painted steel walkways and awkwardly rambling wooden planks. Inside the Matterhorn it is painfully clear that a full renovation is needed to bring it up to code, yet this ramshackle operation merely adds to the child-like joy the experience offers. The bowels of the Matterhorn are perfectly matched to its rugged exterior, mismatched topiary and rusted steel beams. It is fabulous, and everything I had ever hoped it would be.

Cheerfully, the roommates and I struck up conversation with the employees as to why the ride had stopped functioning.

“We lost a customer” the Fraulein responds. Bewildered, we stare at her for a moment before speaking.

“What do you mean you ‘lost’ a customer?”

“I dunno” the Junge answers, “They just stopped the ride and told us to come get you guys.”

“So, someone jumped out of the line? Or off of the ride? Where did they go?” we ask, incredulously.

The Fraulein and Junge shrug and glance at each other. “I don’t know,’ she finally answers. “He’s around here somewhere.”

The five of us marvel at this fact as the Junge scribbles on a pad of paper. Grinning, he hands over a Re-Admission pass good for any attraction other than Nemo and they send us on our way. Not before we ask them to take a picture, of course.

I believe I was saying "Amy, don't touch my boo-" when this was taken.

As we exit our Alpine Expedition I spot a security guard standing by the tracks. Grinning sweetly I wander over to him and ask once again what happened. He gazes up on top of the mountain before answering me.

“Someone got away,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Did you catch them?” I ask. He looks at me for a moment, before glancing back to the mountain and answering with doubt in his voice.

“I don’t know…” he pauses and looks back to me, “I know as much as you do.”

Smiling, I thank him and wish luck before rejoining the Roommates as we head over to Space Mountain with our golden (greenish white) ticket. Pausing, we look up to the Matterhorn, still grinning from our adventure, and quickly locate a team of employees huddled around the summit. Silently we all tip our hats to the customer who disappeared, each of us somewhat jealous of whatever it is he has seen within the Matterhorn, but pleased with what we got instead.

In short: That was way freakin' cool.