Haunted Fairy Castle ~ Installment 12
I had an interesting conversation with Goofy today.
“Do you ever get tired of being stereotyped as an unintelligent canine?” I asked, as we stuffed large wads of cotton into the toes of his oversized, blue shoes.
“Sometimes,” said Goofy, dreamily plucking apart a cotton ball, and tossing the translucent wisps into the sunlit breeze. “But then I remember the first time I saw a Goofy cartoon as a kid. I laughed and laughed. It’s really something– to look into the eyes of the children, and realize they believe I’m real.”
“But you have to look into the eyes of adults too,” I said. “And they’re harder to deal with. Some of them pull your ears, in an offensive manner.”
“That’s true,” Goofy admitted. “But you would be surprised. Some of the adults think I’m real, too. You can’t tell which ones believe, and which ones don’t, so you have to pretend all the time, until you start to think the magic is real, too.”
After our conversation, a visitor called my office and complained that a ghost in the fairy castle bit her son. I told her a ghost could not have bitten her son, because ghosts, though real, are disembodied spirits who cannot make physical contact with living beings. Afterwards I checked with my boss, and she said that was okay.
I think I’m starting to get the hang of how things work around here.
I was stalking Cinderella again this afternoon, when she suddenly spun around on her dainty glass heels and said, “Listen, I know you’re gay. I’m sorry, but I don’t swing that way. It isn’t you, it’s just a sexual preference.” I turned bright red, but Peter Pan was standing nearby, so I managed to hold it together and said, “I’m not gay either. I’m just a big Cinderella fan.”
I don’t know why I said that. Cinderella is actually one of my least favorite Disney movies because the princess is so passive. She spends all her time hoping and dreaming for things, and then when she gets to go to the ball she says, “It’s more than I ever hoped for.” Are you kidding me? That’s all? If you’re going to dream big dreams, I say hope for billions of dollars and a Boeing 747, not some stupid 6-hour ball.
But to return to the subject, Cinderella looked slightly mollified and said, “Well. That’s very flattering. But really, it’s starting to get weird. I feel like I can’t go anywhere without this shadow creeping along behind me.”
“That’s because I think you play the character so well,” I babbled unintelligently. “Sometimes, it seems like you really are Cinderella.”
She said, “Really?”
“Yes,” I lied. “You do that kindness to animals thing very well, for example. And sometimes, you clean up after yourself in the cafeteria. Just as if you had a previous life as a scullery maid.” I didn’t know what I was saying. I was just prattling whatever I could think of.
She smiled and said, “Before I worked at Disney Land, I was a professional actress.”
She told me she would tolerate my presence on occasion, as long as I promised to stop stalking her. Given the circumstances, I probably will not be able to stop stalking her. So later I took her aside and privately confided in her about my crush on Peter Pan, to ward off future homosexuality accusations in the hallways. She got all excited and enthusiastic, and told me that if I would let her teach me a new way of doing my hair, she thinks Peter might return my interest.
I let her do my hair.
It’s becoming increasingly awkward that I haven’t fired her yet. When my boss asked about it the other day, I told her that I was preoccupied with the seagull problem at present. Hazardous attacking seagulls, I explained, are more threatening to a child’s health than having a role model who smokes, in the short term. I promised I’d be sure to get around to firing Cinderella by next week. (Continue…)