The tale of a Goofy bratwurst
The road home from Florida is fraught with danger and excitement.
At last, our Caribbean cruise was finished, and it was time to fly back from Orlando. It just so happened that we had nine hours to kill while we waited for our flight back to Utah. One intrepid member of our group had the bright idea that, rather than spending nine torturous hours in the airport, we could relax by the pool at Club Orlando, a “gentlemen’s club.” What a scathingly brilliant idea, we all exclaimed! Subsequently, we arrived at the club with all our luggage in tow. Gratefully, the hunky young man at the desk allowed us to bring all our luggage inside with us.
I was the last member of our group to check in, and by the time I had slogged all of my luggage and Queerteeny, my mobility scooter, through the door, my companions had all disappeared into the deepest darkest recesses of the club. I contemplated just napping in my room for the day, but the loud thump, thump, thump of the house music distracted me, and then I thought, “What the heck, I can just cruise the hallways on Queerteeny.” So, I changed into a large, beach-sized towel, big enough for a whale, mounted Queerteeny and sped off down the maze of very dimly lit hallways, to see ‘the sights’ of Orlando. Oh, the thrill! Out of courtesy for the other patrons, I elected not to turn on Queerteeny’s headlight. I figured that the glow from my lily-white body would be enough to warn anyone I was approaching. I carefully negotiated the narrow dark hallways, deftly dodging the other scantily clad hunky patrons.
After I had made about three full rounds of the maze, my confidence began to grow, and I picked up my pace. The place was indeed full of beautiful, scantily clad, off-duty Disney World workers. I most likely was driving too fast for the dark conditions. When I sped around a very sharp corner in near blackness, I abruptly collided with something, and I heard a loud oomph as Queerteeny came to a sudden halt! I turned on the headlight so that I could see what damage I might have done. There, in the glare of the beam of light, pinned up against the wall, was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. His towel had been knocked to the floor by the impact; thus, he was totally in the buff, and his substantial bratwurst was at full attention. You know in the movie “A Christmas Story” when everyone tells Ralphy that he’ll shoot his eye out with the BB gun, well, the same sentiment could have applied to me. “You’ll get your eye poked out,” if you ride that scooter speeding through a bathhouse.
I begged the beautiful man for forgiveness. Luckily for me, he had only been startled rather than injured. He ended up inviting me to join him in the swimming pool for a refreshing soak. Turns out, he told me that he works at Disney World as Goofy, and he regaled me with stories of weird interactions with kids at the theme park that were even more bizarre than being hit by a drag queen on a scooter in a bathhouse.
After several delightful hours of relaxation, it was time to go to the airport. We called an Uber. Trying to load all the luggage plus Queerteeny into the van was like playing a game of Giant Tetris. We had to load and unload the entire mess at least three times before it would all fit in. This took up valuable time. We needed to hurry. But to my dismay, there was extremely heavy, standstill traffic on the way to the airport. I could see the clock ticking. My anxiety began to grow. We finally got to the airport about thirty minutes before takeoff.
I’m not a well-seasoned traveler, thus when it comes time to check in at airport security, I am clueless. We got caught in a long line of people. I worried that we would never make the flight. I thought that since I was on the scooter, there might be a separate line for gimps. So, I drove the scooter right up to a counter, and the attendant began to help me. After I got through, others in our group pointed out that I had jumped the line ahead of about a hundred other passengers. Apparently, when you act confidently that you are allowed to do something, and you have a scooter, so it looks like you are an invalid, the crowd won’t kill you when you jump the line.
The clerk radioed the plane to tell them to expect a latecomer on a scooter. I sped as fast as Queerteeny could go, while my accomplices sprinted behind. I may have ‘bumped’ several Mickey Mouse ears-wearing kids in the process. I screamed “sorry” as I sped past. We arrived at the plane just as they were preparing to close the door. The flight attendant remarked to me that she was surprised that we made it.
As I settled back in my seat and the plane took off, I began to relax a little from the harrowing romp through the Orlando airport, and I began to doze and dream about Goofy and ‘bratwurst’.
This story leaves us with several important questions:
1. Should I install emergency hazard lights on Queerteeny for dark hallway situations?
2. Should I mount a large soft squishy dildo to the front of Queerteeny for any possible future bathhouse collisions?
3. Just how fast would I need to be going for a ‘bratwurst’ to poke my eye out?
4. How would I explain to the EMTs how my eye got injured?
These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.
