September 2011:

As a brand new college student in Southern California with a passion for eating out and buying shit, I really needed a job.

My resume was something special. I had listed six months of experience as a super market bitch (“courtesy clerk”) and ASB President, which by the way is a great piece of experience to add to a resume if you are an asshole.

With that, I assumed I was probably the most qualified eighteen year-old in Orange County, ready to jump head first into the job market and emerge magically employed. The postings I found were slim pickings: a stocker position here, a VP of Marketing position there, and enough sign-twirler gigs to last me a life time. But late into my third night of searching, it came to me, like a calling from the job-hunting gods above: an attractions operator position at Disneyland.

When I was in elementary school, my teacher asked the class what we wanted to be when we grew up. I remember some kids wanted to be firefighters, astronauts, and doctors. Some wanted to be firefighting astronaut doctors. But when I was a kid, I just wanted to work at Disneyland.

Second to the churros, what always made Disneyland special for me growing up were the dedicated employees who made my visits so magical. I was often jealous of them, with their cool costumes and awesome phrases (”Please drag your bodies away from the walls…”) So of course, the idea of joining their ranks really excited me, but incidentally also threw me into an existential crisis.

“What if working at Disneyland ruins Disneyland for me?” I’d ask my poster of The Rock that I’d won mistakenly at Washington’s state fair years before. Unfortunately Dwayne’s glinting, omnipotent smile offered only two-dimensional comfort, no answers at times of need.

I sat with the application filled out for a good five minutes, carefully revising my choices. I spent a solid ten minutes deciding my position on the statement “I am an organized person”, before finally changing my selection from “4: Agree” to “5: Strongly Agree”. After I was finally satisfied, I sent in my application late that September night.

To my surprise, early the next morning, I received an email letting me know I got an interview. “That sounds rather quick.” I know. But I figured that with so many people who apply, that must just be how Disneyland operated: automatically. I shrugged off the thought and let the excitement set in.

After twenty minutes with my inhaler, I gathered myself and texted my mom to tell her the good news.

Me: “MOM! I got the interview at Disneyland!”

Mom: “Who is this? New phone lol.”

The Interview

I spent the days preceding the interview preparing: watching Disney movies, visiting the Disneyland parks, and eating Disney character inspired foods, like Peking Duck. I used Aladdin’s “Friend Like Me” like Rocky used “Eye of the Tiger”. I wore sweats a lot too, but that was because I was unemployed.

The night before, I combed every piece of information I could find online about interviews with The Mouse. Here’s what I learned from forums:

“If you talk about how much you love Disneyland and Disney movies, they won’t hire you.” -indianajack, MousePlanet

This was a major eye opener for me. Why, when I interviewed for my grocery store gig in high school, all I could talk about was how much I loved food and bagging groceries. I waxed poetic about how stoked I was to push carts. This time, I’d have to actually rely on my “skills”. Nightmare.

“Whatever you do, don’t work in Tomorrowland.” –FedoraTheExplora, Reddit

I already didn’t plan on it, but for some reason, hearing it from FedoraTheExplora made it more important.

“Don’t dress like you want to suck Mickey’s dick” –jcruise86, MiceChat

This was a serious blow, as it ruined my plans to wear the sexy clear heels that have been collecting dust in my closet since last Thanksgiving, but I rested easy knowing I would do anything it took to get the job (yes, including suck Mickey’s mouse dick.)

Armed with the new tips from my friends online and enough Disneyland trivia to bore even Walt Disney’s cryogenically preserved mind, I retired to bed that night with confidence. Today, I was a normal Asian, but tomorrow, I’d level up to Disneyland Cast Member Asian. Hell yeah.

The next morning, my “it’s a small world” alarm woke me up, signaling my brain that today was important. I ate a good breakfast (which for a college student is nothing, literally) and put on an outfit I hoped Mickey wouldn’t find too suggestive. When I jumped in my car, I turned on the “Aladdin” soundtrack to get in the zone, and was off to go give a shot my dream job.

Interviews are hosted at “Casting”, Disneyland’s hiring department. It’s a bright yellow building tucked into the expansive campus that is TDA, or Team Disney Anaheim, the HQ of all Disney parks related business this side of the Mississippi.

A video played explaining a bit about Disney heritage, shit I already knew, like employees are “Cast Members” and Disneyland is a “show,” etc. It featured a young and smiling Hispanic woman (♪ “Diversity!” ♪). That was not her name, but the imaginary tune that rang in my head every time she’d slip her accent into her spiel.

At first glance, most of the crowd looked normal, with only a few apparent Disney nuts in the mix.

Now even though I consider myself a serious fan of Disneyland and its heritage, I have never been able to tolerate hardcore Disney-philes. You know, the folks who are ready to spout out a thousand unsolicited facts about the Parks or Walt at a moment’s notice. They’re also the folks who look like they’ve been dipped in butter and rolled around in a Disneyland clothing store back room. I have always been a much more private worshiper.

One such Disney-phile was seated next to me: a portly, nostrilly man named Gary. Watching his nostrils flare open with every breath reminded me of timelapses I’d seen of flowers blooming. I knew his name because he wore a replica personalized Disneyland name tag, a service they’ve since discontinued. I noticed him notice that I was noticing.

“Great nametag,” I lied.

“Thank ya!” Gary said. He polished His Precious with the cuff of his shirt. “I wanted to show ‘em what I would look like with a name tag on, and that I know my memorabilia.”

I tried to hide my intimidation, but I was sure Gary could smell it.

Except it said “Gary”

Enter Hannah: interviewer dressed plainly in business casual and a real name tag, saving me from having to feign interest any longer.

“Michael Wong?”

All eyes in the room turned to the lone Asian fellow, me. As a joke, I looked at Gary (not Asian), who shook his doughy head. He didn’t know if my name was Michael because I wasn’t wearing a Seven Dwarfs name tag like an asshole.

“That must be me then.” I followed Hannah and gave Gary a wink.

I expected the office to be a Disney lover’s room of worship. A framed opening day ticket here, a Mickey altar there. Maybe Walt’s opening day speech playing on a loop as happy, white noise. But instead, the office was normal. Aside from a few, and I mean a few, Disney mementos occupying a good 15% of the total desk space, the office was an office. Office AF, if you will.

I sat down in a normal chair. We went through the basics: “Tell me about yourself,” “What’s are your strengths?” etc. Though I was ready to answer these, I was expecting more. More Disney, more magic. I played along, and before long, the conversation turned Disney.

“So why do you want to work at Disneyland, Michael?” It was a really good question, one I had thought about all week, molding and revising until I had the perfect answer.

But I had forgot it.

“I mean…” c’mon… “I just…” almost got one… “…really love Disneyland a lot.” Fuck. I could feel indianajack’s disappointment as the Disney love slipped out of my mouth.

“Well great, we love people who love Disneyland!” Yeah, you don’t know shit indianajack. “Do you have any favorite rides, somewhere you could see yourself working maybe?”

“I’d love to work at the Jungle Cruise,” I said, this time with more confidence and honesty. It’s because I’m funny. “It’s because I’m a huge fan. But really, I’d be happy working anywhere, but Tomorrowland.” I remembered my training.

She gave me a curious look. “Hmmm. What’s wrong with Tomorrowland?”

Things stopped for a second. My heart fluttered and I started sweating profusely. I looked around the office for a hint. Was Hannah a former Tomorrowland Cast Member? Did she love Tomorrowland? Did she have a lover that worked in Tomorrowland? Did she get proposed to in Tomorrowland? Was she born in Tomorrowland?! WAS HER DAD WALT DISNEY?

“I mean, wow… Tomorrowland. What a great place. Where do I start? It’s just that, you know,”…racking my brain for something… “I just enjoy the theming of Adventureland more.” I could almost hear the buzzword gods “Huzzah!” from the Job-Hunting Heaven above.

“I could definitely see you in Adventureland!“ She smiled. And then so did I.

Hannah gave me the job that day, and I couldn’t have been happier. On my way out, I flung her door open with stupendous strength, my nipples aroused I assume because of the thrill of it all, or maybe it was the cotton blend of my shirt. All this caused the room of interviewees to look at me, full of nerves and anxiety, now newly intimidated by my joy. Their faces nonverbally asked for consolation, for help, for a promise that they too could get the job and have hard nipples like mine. My face, smiling and triumphant, nonverbally whispered “No.”

I got my assignment: October 1st. Training, called “Traditions.” Adventureland.