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Boo and Skidoo
Written on 2001-10-28, at 3:35 a.m.
dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

4 Red Bulls

1 Bag Gummi Worms

1 King Size Reese's Peanut Butter Cup(s)

4 Slices Cold Pizza

1 Diet (Ick!) Coke

And let's say...5 Cigarettes.

Read this, and get a glimpse into the maddening monkeyfart that is "My Theme Park Life"...
I woke up today at about 1pm.

I got out of bed today about 3pm.

Don't you love those days? I do.

After showering and dressing (adding a few shirts underneath...it was COLD tonight!...44º...in Florida!), I headed out to work at Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights. I stopped off at the gas station to pick up some snacks, and bought 4 Red Bulls, and candy. I go to pay...

"Hey...you work for that Halloween Horror Nights?"

"Gee, what gave it away?" I thought to myself. The shirt that says "Halloween Horror Nights: Entertainment Staff", or the credentials around my neck that say "Halloween Horror Nights: Entertainment Coordinator"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh...yeah, I thought so...you know, I was there, and them people...they scaaaaaared me, and I said 'You alls better STOP scarin' me', because, you know...they be trippin', they play too much...they needa stop that."

"Well, that is what they're there for."

"Yeah, I KNOW that...but they scare TOO much."

Now, last time I checked, the event was called "Halloween Horror Nights", Not "Halloween Cuddly-Fuzzy-Kitten Nights". You pay the $48.50 TO BE SCARED.

I pulled into the cast parking lot, and headed for the gate, preparing my bags to be searched.

Open my backpack...

"Thank you."

Open the bag from the convienence store...

"Sir, you can't bring alcohol onto the premises." says Al, the security guard.

"Oh no...these are Red Bulls." I reply.

"Well you still can't bring alcohol in."

I was confused...was he still under the assumption that Red Bulls were alcoholic, or was he simply reciting something new he learned today while reading the Universal Employee Policies and Procedures Manual?

I decided it must be the former of the two...

"No, you see...it's Red Bull, it's an energy drink. They're not alcoholic."

He gave me a cross look, then picked up one of the cans, examining it much like a jealous divorceé, looking at her ex-husband's fianceé's ring, hoping to find that it's Cubic Zirconia.

"Ok, but they should really find better packaging that doesn't make it look like beer."

I'll get right on that.

After getting past my geriatric friend in uniform, Al (All theme park Security guards seem to be well into their golden years. At Disney, it's been a long-running joke that the way to remember the direct line to security, which is "5979", is to simply think "All the security guards have 59 inch waists, and are 79 years old."), I arrived at the Entertainment offices, or, as they're known...T-65.

Numbers can get very confusing at times, especially when adding this building into a conversation using our radio code.

"New York 4 (That's me!) to Streets 1"

"4 by."

"4, what's your 20?"

"4 is at 65."

"10-4, 4, can we 56 at 65?"

"54, I'm about to be 51 from 65, can you 45?"

"54, I cannot 45, can we 96 to 3?"

"10-4, 96 to 3."

Now, let me translate that for you...

"Calling John, from Jackson."

"John, standing by."

"John, what's your location?"

"I'm at the Entertainment Offices."

"Ok John, can we meet at the Office?"

"No, I'm about to leave, can you call me?"

No, I cannot call, can we change over to channel 3 (an empty radio channel)?

"Ok, changing to 3."

Yeah, fun.

After our daily meeting, I set out to my venue, wanting simply to have a cigarette, and a non-alcoholic Red Bull before we opened.

Which was what I did.

People started arriving, and one of my cast members was wearing a wig, just for fun. I said to her...

"Ooooooh, I want it!"

So, I put it on.

It was a black wig, and I was told I either look like Cher, or Bettie Page.

Cher and Bettie Page...with stubble.

One of our sorority girls (we take people from sororities and fraternities to work as fillers for a few nights, and in return, their chapter gets $500 from Universal.) is in a wheelchair, and it's a cool little motorized one.

But, it broke.

It would only go in reverse.

And it's not really scary, having a zombie backing into you.

Unless of course you're really really scared of the back of a zombie.

I had to go to the front of the park to pick up one of the electric chairs for her, and let me tell you, it's not very good for your sanity to try to explain that...

"Hi, I need an electric wheelchair."

"For you?"

Looking down at my perfectly capable legs, I answered...

"No. For one of my cast."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Um...she's a zombie. She can't walk."

"Oh! Well then she has to go to Health Services!"

"No..." I reply, "She's quite aware as to why she can't walk...she was born that way."

Quizzical look.

"I don't understand."

"I... Have... A... Handicapped... Cast... Member... Who... Needs... A... Wheelchair."

"Oh, where is she?"

"Probably backing into some drunks, can I please get a chair???"

"Ok, do you need a stroller too?"


Yes I do.

For Rosemary's Baby.

I was inside the "Ooze Zone Fright Club", standing behind a box, and watching some of my characters when he came by. It was dark, and he thought I was one of the actors.

"Hey man, high five!"

He holds his hand up in front of me.

And leaves it there.

"Hey, high five!"

He's loud, and drunk.

"Please keep on moving, sir."


Just barely missing me because of the width of the box between us, he had taken a swing at me.

That little bastard.

"HEY!" I yell, in my most butch voice.


I walk him over to the exit of the house, and get a Stage Manager involved.

He denies everything, of course, and is thoroughly backed by his teeny-bopper posse.

"Are you saying I swung at you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Man, that's bullshit, if I swung at you, you wouldn't be standing here."


He grows more hostile, won't answer any of the Stage Managers questions...

"Ok then," says Jackson, "if you don't want to cooperate with me, then we'll just go get OPD (Orlando Police Department, who have jurisdiction over Universal when requested.).

And here we are, outside finally, with OPD.

The boy still denies it, and keeps making thinly veiled threats against me, which doesn't bode too well with a police officer.

So, OPD and I decide to take the little punk down to investigations, much to the chagrin of his group.

Continually arguing, he looks to the police officer for support, trying to explain himself while putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Do...not...touch...me." She says, in that I-swore-off-men-years-ago voice.

"What? Why? What did I do?" he says.

"Because it's called assaulting a law enforcement officer, and I'm itching to arrest you for something right now."

Thank God she's never pulled me over. I'm a little snot to cops in that situation.

Now, the whole time, the kid kept asking me, "How old are you, how old are you?" over and over again.

He asked this again, and I finally said, "Twenty-three, how old are YOU?"

"Man, I'm nineteen."

Officer Lesbian butts in with..."You're nineteen, huh? Then why are you drinking?"

"What? I'm not drunk..." (Oh, he was...quite.)

"Kid, you're drunk as hell, I can smell it all over you." she says.

30 seconds later, he bolted...to his defense, I've never seen a human being run so fast.


Here's the punchline.

Deputy Mullet looks dead at me with...

"Should I chase him?"

And you know...I had really liked her up to that point.

"What?? YES!"

She turned, and gave it her best shot, which consisted of running about 15 feet, turning around, and running back to say "He's gone."

I couldn't tell if that was her interpretation of "chase", or if she was doing an impression of a runway fashion show in fast forward.

We had pizza tonight, compliments of upper management. over 200 pizzas, over 600 sodas.

Delivered in a timely manner.

And by timely, of course I mean as I'm running out the door of the green room for an hour.

There was so much more to tonight...One of our Haunted Houses caught on fire, via a drunken guest. He just decided it would be a good idea to hold his lighter up to the hanging burlap.

And poof.

No one was hurt, and it was taken care of quickly, but the house had to be evacuated.

And no one batted an eye.


Because on peak nights, we do between 1 to 2 million dollars a night on alcohol sales alone.

We're SO used to it by now.

So, there's just a glimpse as to the madness that is my life, and maybe a little better explanation as to why I haven't been updating a lot. It's 3:50am, and I've only been home for about 30 minutes.

So now, I get to go to sleep, in my nice, warm, bed...

...and do it all over again tomorrow.

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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