Beware these 13 theme-park curses
Fear not. There are no black cats in our path, under-ladder walkways or broken-back mothers included in this column. But in recognition of this month’s Friday the 13th, here are 13 instances of bad luck in or around Central Florida’s theme parks. With the right intonation, “Golden Girls” matriarch Sophia Petrillo could probably turn these into a Sicilian curse. Read at your own risk.
Picture it: Orlando, 2017. You get in line for a roller coaster under threatening skies. It begins to sprinkle, but the ride keeps loading, so you maintain hope. Then, right before the gate opens for you to get on board, there is an announcement that the coaster is going down for weather-related reasons.
In the Disney Springs parking garage, you make a beeline for the little green light at the end of the row that indicates an empty spot. And it’s near the escalator. It’s too good to be true. But once you get down there, you see a parked motorcycle.
At bag check, the person in front of you has a backpack with 40 zippers but no clue.
As it turns out, the splash zone is a little larger than advertised, says Mr. Damppants.
Your staked-out spot for the afternoon parade is smack on the border of two loudspeaker zones, so you hear the music too soon or too late or at the same time and you think maybe you’re having a stroke. (Or maybe the dad who put the kid on his shoulders at the last second put you over the edge.)
You miss a soon-to-bebright-pink spot on your neck with the SPF50.
When told to fill in “all available space” during a pre-show, the strangers standing near you actually follow instructions and move (uncomfortably) closer to you.
Your MagicBand and the front-gate scanner mysteriously forget who you and your index finger are and your deep personal connection, then the cast member on duty says “Are you sure that’s the finger you used?”
You cannot convince security that your selfie stick is really a very, very skinny thermos.
You wait, oh, let’s say two hours, for limited-edition souvenir merchandise. Then the next day on Twitter, you see it’s still available in stores.
In the parking lot conga line, the car right before you is the last one to fill out the row, so you are the first vehicle sent to the far reaches of the parking lot, which is a healthy hike away from the tram route.
You’re stuck in line with the dreaded theme park know-it-alls who make a big deal about referring to Epcot as EPCOT Center. (You can just hear the ALL CAPS in their tone of voice.)
You get stranded in a ride about midway through. The ride is, of course, “it’s a small world.”