The cast member sitting behind the glass window slid a brand new Annual Pass through the window's opening. A pass with my name on it! I held it up, to behold in all its glory, as the sun shimmered from behind it. The pass had that reasurring-familiar-concave bend to it, indicating that it had just come out of the warmth of the printer. Next stop, the turnstiles.
It was a rather crowded day, and the line between the turnstiles and myself seemed one mile long. It had been almost a year since my last visit, and needless to say I was quite anxious. I felt a warm tingling sensation as a train pulled up into the Main Street station. The sound of the engineer's bell coincided with the beating of my heart.
As the line moved forward, ever so slowly, I noticed a strange device between the turnstiles, directly above the pass-reader. It appeared to be a hollow, shiney metal box which I had never seen before. But I was still too far away to make out exactly what this contraption was.
I kept my eye on this mystical box, and noticed a guest place part of their hand into the box, and then continue through the turnstile. The following guest did the same. Upon closer inspection of yet the next guest, I noticed her place two fingers into the box, pause, and then continue through. "Well, this is surely interesting," I thought to myself.
After what seemed like an hour, I was closer to the turnstiles. As I counted the number of people between the turnstile and myself, I noticed a young boy, about to enter, picking his nose. He did this ever so vigorously, as his parents were obviously not paying attention. It was the boy's turn to pass through the turnstile, and his father handed him his ticket to slide into the reader. "Isn't that cute," I thought ...until what happened next.
The young boy proceeded to place his fingers, which had only moments earlier occupied the depths of his nostrils, into this silver box. I was quite repulsed by this sight, and suddenly became preoccupied with this silver box's function. Was this apperatus for cast members? Was it for resort hotel guests? Questions raced through my head.
It was finally the moment of truth. My turn had arrived. It was time to slide my virgin pass into the reader. I did so with pride, as though I had done it one hundred times before. I continued to step forward, only to stumble into a locked turnstile. "What is this, a faulty pass?" I asked myself. The cast member, who had been watching the adjacent turnstile, quickly noticed my dilema and turned to help.
He told me to place my two fingers into the "box." I looked at him with a puzzled expression, and replied, "Do what?" He repeated, "You have to place your fingers into the box first." I asked, referring to the box, "What is that?" Unfortunately, the guest relations cast member behind the glass window failed to inform me of this new requirement. The cast member at the turnstile, who appeared frustrated at this point, answered, "It's a biometric scanner and we need to scan your fingers before you can enter the park." The image of the young boy, who had placed his exploring fingers into that box moments ago immediately flashed into mind. I replied, "You've got to be kidding me."
The cast member, who many would qualify as "angry" at this point told me that I needed to do so, should I wish to enter the park. The guests waiting behind me became rather impatient as well. I replied to the cast member, "Do you know how many germs are in there?" This seemed like a reasonable question, but unfortunately it seemed to fall upon unreasonable ears. At this point the guests behind me were not as impatient as they were curious as to what was going on.
The cast member, obviously attempting to hold down his tone, said, "Sir, you have to either place your fingers into the scanner or I'll have to ask you to please step aside." As I stared down at that horrific box, a statistic immediatly came to mind; that 33% of people do not wash their hands after using the restroom (Virginia Department of Health.)
I realized that I had been holding up the line, and that it was time to do or die. So, I reluctantly placed my fingers into the scanner, waited for what seemed like eternity, and proceeded through the turnstile. The cast member, shaking his head as I passed by.
As I immediately began heading to the nearest restroom, I asked myself, "How could Walt Disney World do this?" Maybe the new catchphrase for WDW should be, "Did somebody say, hepatitis?"
Thoughts of hepatitis A, salmonellosis, and shigellosis raced through my head. I wondered which, if not all, I had just been exposed to. And to make matters worse, the restroom soap dispensers all seemed to be out of that "pink-sand" soap, which I am sure is of the highest medical-sterilizing quality.
I have since thanked the Walt Disney World company for placing the burden upon me of bringing a latex glove alongside my annual pass each time I visit a park, not to mention my own container of hand sanitizer.
-TK
It was a rather crowded day, and the line between the turnstiles and myself seemed one mile long. It had been almost a year since my last visit, and needless to say I was quite anxious. I felt a warm tingling sensation as a train pulled up into the Main Street station. The sound of the engineer's bell coincided with the beating of my heart.
As the line moved forward, ever so slowly, I noticed a strange device between the turnstiles, directly above the pass-reader. It appeared to be a hollow, shiney metal box which I had never seen before. But I was still too far away to make out exactly what this contraption was.
I kept my eye on this mystical box, and noticed a guest place part of their hand into the box, and then continue through the turnstile. The following guest did the same. Upon closer inspection of yet the next guest, I noticed her place two fingers into the box, pause, and then continue through. "Well, this is surely interesting," I thought to myself.
After what seemed like an hour, I was closer to the turnstiles. As I counted the number of people between the turnstile and myself, I noticed a young boy, about to enter, picking his nose. He did this ever so vigorously, as his parents were obviously not paying attention. It was the boy's turn to pass through the turnstile, and his father handed him his ticket to slide into the reader. "Isn't that cute," I thought ...until what happened next.
The young boy proceeded to place his fingers, which had only moments earlier occupied the depths of his nostrils, into this silver box. I was quite repulsed by this sight, and suddenly became preoccupied with this silver box's function. Was this apperatus for cast members? Was it for resort hotel guests? Questions raced through my head.
It was finally the moment of truth. My turn had arrived. It was time to slide my virgin pass into the reader. I did so with pride, as though I had done it one hundred times before. I continued to step forward, only to stumble into a locked turnstile. "What is this, a faulty pass?" I asked myself. The cast member, who had been watching the adjacent turnstile, quickly noticed my dilema and turned to help.
He told me to place my two fingers into the "box." I looked at him with a puzzled expression, and replied, "Do what?" He repeated, "You have to place your fingers into the box first." I asked, referring to the box, "What is that?" Unfortunately, the guest relations cast member behind the glass window failed to inform me of this new requirement. The cast member at the turnstile, who appeared frustrated at this point, answered, "It's a biometric scanner and we need to scan your fingers before you can enter the park." The image of the young boy, who had placed his exploring fingers into that box moments ago immediately flashed into mind. I replied, "You've got to be kidding me."
The cast member, who many would qualify as "angry" at this point told me that I needed to do so, should I wish to enter the park. The guests waiting behind me became rather impatient as well. I replied to the cast member, "Do you know how many germs are in there?" This seemed like a reasonable question, but unfortunately it seemed to fall upon unreasonable ears. At this point the guests behind me were not as impatient as they were curious as to what was going on.
The cast member, obviously attempting to hold down his tone, said, "Sir, you have to either place your fingers into the scanner or I'll have to ask you to please step aside." As I stared down at that horrific box, a statistic immediatly came to mind; that 33% of people do not wash their hands after using the restroom (Virginia Department of Health.)
I realized that I had been holding up the line, and that it was time to do or die. So, I reluctantly placed my fingers into the scanner, waited for what seemed like eternity, and proceeded through the turnstile. The cast member, shaking his head as I passed by.
As I immediately began heading to the nearest restroom, I asked myself, "How could Walt Disney World do this?" Maybe the new catchphrase for WDW should be, "Did somebody say, hepatitis?"
Thoughts of hepatitis A, salmonellosis, and shigellosis raced through my head. I wondered which, if not all, I had just been exposed to. And to make matters worse, the restroom soap dispensers all seemed to be out of that "pink-sand" soap, which I am sure is of the highest medical-sterilizing quality.
I have since thanked the Walt Disney World company for placing the burden upon me of bringing a latex glove alongside my annual pass each time I visit a park, not to mention my own container of hand sanitizer.
-TK
:animwink:
