EDITOR’S NOTE:
Given the frigid temps and raging winds outside my window, I thought it might be nice to get away from the frozen tundra that currently is New Jersey by heading back to Florida via a repost of one of this site’s most popular pieces ever.

 

If you’ve got people who love The Happiest Place On Earth hot under the collar, it might be time to evaluate your social skills or lack thereof. Because let’s face it… Walt Disney World is where millions of people go to escape their problems and be enveloped in the magic, and most of those folks are willing to do everything from shell out a small fortune to suspend their disbelief in order to have the best vacation possible.

 

But one fact even the most happy-go-lucky Disney lover eventually has to face is that no amoung of pixie dust can keep others from not only raining on their parade as it comes down Main Street USA, but then trying to poke their eyes out with an umbrella.  In fact, when asked to cite examples of bad behavior at the Disney theme parks, posters at Disboards.com – a site where fans gather to discuss anything and everything related to the House of Mouse — responded with nearly 500 messages. (It’s worth noting the discussion might have gone on indefinitely had not a few irony-challenged bad apples allowed their own bad behavior to get the thread shut down by moderators.)

It quickly became apparant that this topic was going to require more than one posting. So after touching on the rude, the crude and the socially unacceptable in this piece, there will be follow-ups to come on two the of hottest topics among Disney visitors: visitors with children vs. those without, and the never-ending battle between those who use wheelchairs or other assistive technology vs. their non-disabled brethren.

The Rude
One Line, No waiting: You know those long lines of people you see waiting to ride Space Mountain or Mission: Space? Fools! Every last one of them! Just ask any of those who figure “Why stand in line when I can just cut?” As one poster said, “My favorites are the people who have one member of their group stand in line and then, after the rest have gone off to get something to eat or ride another ride, come back and push their way up to where their place-holder is. And all along I thought everyone who wanted to get on the ride had to stand in line!”

Mary, Go ‘Round Me: Another oft-mentioned group are those who push and shove their way into a theater (such as the ones used for It’s Tough To Be A Bug in the Animal Kingdom or The Little Mermaid at Disney’s Hollywood Studio) only to then completely disregard instructions. Despite Cast Members (as Disney employees are called) specifically asking that all guests pick a row and move to the opposite end in order to accomodate as many guests as possible, these folks inevitably plop themselves down in the middle of a row… and then grouse about those forced to climb over them to get to seats on the other side.

(Personal) Space Invaders: True Disney fans know that when the parks are crowded, the one and only way to get a great view of the parades is by picking a spot early… or just pushing yourself in front of those who waited and just pretend that they aren’t there. After all, your kids wanna see Mickey, right? As one poster said, “My children are just as important to me as yours are to you. If my kids are willing to find a good spot and wait an hour for the parade, then they are entitled to it.”

 

 Telling Tales: Instead of sending postcards saying “wish you were here”, more and more people simply pick up their cell phones and describe everything they’re seeing… as they’re seeing it, and with complete disregard to those around them. Sure, the Hall Of Presidents is impressive, but it’s not going to keep Dad from calling the office to find out if he won the Superbowl pool!

The Children’s Hour: Yes, keeping kids in line can be a daunting task when they are in sensory overload thanks to everything Disney has to offer. But as one Disboarder so perfectly summed up, “You brought ‘em, you control ‘em.” Seeing a child have a complete meltdown as the parents ignore the situation is bad. Hearing a parent tell an unhappy child “Mickey told me that he hates you and never wants to see you again!” — as one poster did — is worse.

 

Lighten Up: You know why they call attractions like Pirates of the Caribbean or The Haunted Mansion dark rides? Because they’re supposed to be dark. And those announcements that say “no flash photography?” Crazy as it sounds, they’re directed at you, mister “I Gotta Get A Shot Of The Dancing Ghosts!”

The Crude
I Swear: Nobody wants to spend their end-of-day monorail ride back to the hotel exlaining to Little Susie the meaning of the new words she heard today or why they really shouldn’t be used in polite society. Or why that very mean man was screaming them at Minnie Mouse.

Hammer(ed) Time: Drinking your way around EPCOT’s World Showcase always sounds like a good idea… in theory. And it’s all fun and games… until someone throws up on Test Track or decides it’d be a kick to try and climb the pyramid-like Mexican pavillion.

 

Where There’s Smoke, There’s Ire: It’s a toss-up as to which is worse: People who willingly ignore the designated smoking areas set up by Disney and puff to their hearts content wherever they see fit… or the non-puffers who, for whatever reason, plop themselves down in said smoking areas and then proceed to complain loudly about the fumes they’re being “forced” to inhale. “One woman,” shared poster CM, “pushed her stroller with a tot in it into the smoking area and, after a few minutes, started coughing and fanning herself. She proceeded to lecutres us all about smoking around her toddler!” 

Socially Unacceptable
Anytime, Anywhere: This one, my friends, is a stunner, but apparently, some people believe that the world is their toilet. More than a few Disney visitors have encouraged their children to pee in bushes or pools, and one shocked Disboarder even watched as a parent instructed their child to take a poo of the non-Winnie variety in the middle of a sidewalk in EPCOT!

 

In the end, however, it’s worth noting that while the generous folks over at the Disboards were happy to share their tales, most agreed that the secret to a successful Disney trip is to avoid letting the little stuff get you down. And in a spirit that Walt Disney himself would have no doubt admired, a poster named Jennifer — aka TheTXTaylors5 — suggested that perhaps the best way to combat heinous behavior was by setting a good example. “Why not pay it forward?” she wrote. “If one person sees someone doing something kind, like giving up a seat [on the bus] to a Mom holding a sleeping child… it would be such a better ‘civilized’ world. Being a parent, I don’t expect or feel entitled to anything, but being kind and selfless are very rewarding character traits.” And if there were more people with that attitude on the face of this earth, it would be not just a small world after all, but a better one as well.

A friend of mine fell on hard times in August. I offered her my couch. Fast forward 3 months. She was still on the couch, getting $800.00 a month from SSI waiting on SSD, and I find out she is selling her pain pills for $700.00 a month. (Thats what got her off the couch.)
She would shop for fancy shampoo , creams, and even bought a pair of boots. Meanwhile, my main job as a Realtor was slow due to a downward market. I reinvented myself. I started caring for the elderly in their homes and, thanks to great word of mouth, ended up with a lot of clients.
Meanwhile couch friend is spending money eating my food and has the nerve to tell me “Don’t forget to get toliet paper!” GRRRRRRRR.
While painting my kitchen on her last day here, she decided to go for juice. Or claimed to… she really went to sell her pills. I called her on the lie, and she had a nasty attitude. I said “You put me in jeopardy when you do that since you use my address,” but she didn’t seem to care. I said ” I am done”. She started putting all her stuff in her car. It has been 3 wonderful weeks since I reclaimed my condo. She moved in with another friend of ours.

Once was bad enough: You told me my pain and fatique MUST be caused by depression, so if I’m still ill in a week to come back and get on anti-depressants.

Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back: You had your employee call me and question my symptoms, “because don’t you have gynelogical problems?”

Wow. I’m deeply offended at your Victorian attitude toward women’s health! You, sir, are an idiot. I will be taking my (female) health care needs elsewhere!

No love,

The Angry Feminist

At various points in the evening, practically everyone in the mid-sized, mid-town restaurant turned to look at the woman and her companions. Not because they were particularly well-dressed or unusually attractive, especially by Manhattan standards. But when the overly-made-up blonde threw back her head to laugh, it was a little too loud; and every few minutes, the cellphone belonging to one of her companions would emit a jarringly loud ring, inevitably triggering an extended conversation easily overheard by anyone within a three-table vicinity.

Even the coldest of winds blowing outside the restaurant on that blustery winter night couldn’t match the chill of the glares directed toward the woman and her companions, who remained either blissfully oblivious to the level of annoyance their behavior was causing or, as seemed increasingly likely, didn’t care in the least.

Despite my best efforts, their boisterous conduct eventually managed to impact my own mood and evening, leading me to join my fellow diners in shooting icy glares at the diners to absolutely no avail.

I left the restaurant with a hunger for a smackdown that went unfulfilled.

Fastforward a week or two. Another restaurant, another racous group of diners, another group of neighboring tables being disturbed by peals of loud laughter and excited exclamations.

This time, I was seated much closer to the action… right in the middle of it, in fact. I’d been out for drinks with friends and we’d decided to stop in one of our favorite restaurants for something to eat. Thanks to the good time already in progress — not to mention several rounds of cocktails — we had unwittingly become “those people.”

We were now the people at the next table.

The ones who had annoyed me only a week earlier with their loud conversation and fun-fueled frolicking. We were cackling wildly at our own jokes as we drunk dialed a friend and tweeted every thought that entered our alcohol-soaked brains.

And never did it occur to us that we’d become Those People, at least not until it was much too late and the cold glares I’d reserved for others were now being directed toward me and my fellow diners.

Like many who wind up on the receiving end of looks that could, but don’t, kill, it wasn’t our intention to disturb anyone. And had we been able to step outside ourselves and witness the scene from another perspective, I’d like to think we’d have been mortified… or at least mollified.

But the next time you’re in a situation where a tableful of diners are having a little more fun than you might like them to be having, instead of looking upon them with anger, smile and remember that almost every single one of us has been, at one point or another, in their place.

We’ve all been the people at the next table.

I am a 35 year old man in New York City, and like most New Yorkers, I have a roommate. She is 45. You’d think that she would behave as an adult. You’d think I’d get treated as an adult. That is not the case. I just walked into the living room and said her name, in preparation to ask her a question. She curtly ’shushed’ me like I was an unruly child and gestured toward the television to let me know I was interrupting her program. I feel belittled and angry.

I was checking out of the grocery store today with about 20-30 items, using a regular check-out aisle. A woman got in line behind me and sighed heavily several times, obviously trying to get my attention. When that failed, she tapped me on the shoulder, held up her single item and said, “You have to let me go before you.” Looking up, I replied, “Um, you know, there are express aisles, and even a self-check-out line for people with a few items, or just the one, like you have.” This obviously was not the answer she was hoping for. “My husband is a police officer!” she said in a commanding tone. “This is an emergency!” Looking at the item she held in her hand, I smiled. “Um, an ice cream-related emergency?” I asked. “I will have him arrest you!” she declared, to which I responded, “For what? Creating a public disturbance? Harassment? Oh, wait, those would both be against you, won’t they?” I said. Offering her my phone, I said, “Why don’t you give him a call?” Throwing the ice cream container on the floor, she shouted, loudly, “I will never shop here again!” I can’t be sure, but I swear I heard the cashier say, just under her breath, “Yeah, right. We all wish!”

For the last few months, someone has been rummaging for soda cans out of the recycling bins I stick on my curb late at night. And I mean like 2 in the morning late at night. I find it grossly irritating due to the fact that it’s there for recycling. I already pay enough for trash pickup and recycling…and honestly I’d like to get my money’s worth out of it. Not to mention I”m giving someone a job. And even though we have recycling places that pay you for aluminum cans, it’s practically 30 cents per pound here. But this person drives their truck around the entire neighborhood and collects everyone’s recyclables to get some extra cash. It’s just extremely rude to take it, let alone make money off someone’s else things. And don’t they realize it’s screwing someone out of a job too?

I absent-mindedly entered on the uptown track instead of the downtown side of the subway station. I left the station and crossed over to the other side of the tracks but, of course, my metro card had been swiped and was now in a dreaded “already been used” state.

I approached the MTA booth and found a woman sitting there, apparently doing paper work. I said, “excuse me” but she did not acknowledge me in any capacity. I thought to myself, ok, maybe she is the middle of something I will give her a minute or two. Minutes passed and now at least one train went by and she did not even give me a “hold on a sec” acknowledgement.

Finally, I persisted, with “Excuse me, Excuse me, EXCUSE ME.” Then she looked up, told me to “hang on” accompanied with a real withering look. She then moved over to a different chair and asked me to swipe my card. I swiped my card, seriously, twenty times. Sometimes it said, “Swipe again,” at other times it said ” just used.” She insisted that nothing was registering on her end at that I needed to swipe it straight. Of course I was frustrated and I said, the screen read, “It was just used.” And she got haughty and said I “wasn’t listening to her.”

I kept swiping but eventually just walked away. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t acknowledge her behavior. I just left the booth and bought a new single ride pass at the computerized booth.

Go ahead MTA, replace her with a machine.

Today’s guest posting comes from Josh of Absurdly Awesome.com.

Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve  enjoyed the hobby of golf. It was a fun and relaxing sport that got me out of the house and into my child-like idea of the “wilderness”. As I got older, I started to recognize the seedy underbelly of my favorite pasttime. Sure, it’s still an enjoyable experience, but like everywhere else, people have a way of partially ruining for me what should be a great experience.

There is a list of usual characters that you will cross paths with at every single golf course in the world, and I’d like to go over a few of them right now:

The Mower: Golf courses are so huge that they have a tendency to have lawn mowers running constantly. It’s not really a problem… until they drift off into their little grassy dream world and pay no attention to you. I’ve waited as much as 10 minutes, just staring at the lawn care (un)professional as he slowly mows down the center of the fairway. Now, with the way my golf game is lately, there is little chance I’d hit anywhere close to him, but his case isn’t helped by the fact that when he finally does see me, he just moves slightly over to the side and stares at me while I take my shot. Being a self-conscious mess — and having slight golfers stage fright – makes this one of my least favorite situations to be in.

The Impatient Driver: One of the only characters that can cause bodily harm or death by golf ball. Sometimes, the golf course can be moving super slow, leaving you in an endless cycle of hitting, then waiting 15 minutes for the people in front of you to play through the next hole. The impatient driver, however, tries to push through the pile by teeing off right into you. I’ve heard horror stories about people getting hit in the head by these complete idiots. I even been hit once myself. Luckily, the ball hit the ground and bounced once before catching me in the stomach. As I looked back, I noticed this particular impatient player had his kid with him. It’s a circle of rudeness that doesn’t seem likely to be broken anytime soon.

The Slow Olds: They take forever to hit their ball, require 20 minutes to look at the angle of every putt, put their huge cigars out on the tee boxes and would never even think about letting you play through. These “old slows” usually travel in packs of four —  each driving  their own cart – and can usually be found in their natural habitat, the local country club. There’s probably nothing more frustrating than getting behind a group of these guys on a golf course.

Honorable Mentions:

The Noobs: They yell constantly, throw their clubs, and dance around/tear up the greens when they make a foot-long putt. They also usually bring their own styrofoam cooler with their favorite cheap beer and urinate on every hole that doesn’t have a restroom nearby.

Little-Kid Parents: They bring out their seven-year-old kids who can only hit the ball five feet at a time and act like they’re playing in the Masters. They’re praying that their kid will be the next Tiger Woods, what with having given up their own quest for fame and fortune and placed their future hopes and dreams on their little ones.

As much as I can’t stand this cast of characters whose discourteous actions tend to suck away at the enjoyment of others, I can’t help but want to golf every summer day that I have available. Sure, you hear golfers talk about being brought back by the one perfect shot they made the last time they were out, but it goes deeper than that for me. I keep going back for the very cute and sweet beverage-cart girl, who probably isn’t all that cute, but clouds my judgment with her rare golf-course etiquette and general politeness. She’s a beacon of light in the brutal, unforgiving sea of rudeness that is golf.

People who annoy others and then — when the annoyed retaliate against the ones who chose to annoy them–  feel they are justified in counter retaliation. That is bull crap considering that they earned it and just dont seem to get the picture that it is childish and stupid to act that way. We are all supposed to be adults so they should act like it like the rest of us.