Chris Mitchell by Cast Member Confidential: A Disneyfied Memoir

little boy from Toronto was trying to answer the day’s quiz. “What letter comes between R and T in the alphabet? Here’s a clue: it begins words like ‘spaghetti’ and ‘Snow White.’” There was a pause and then the little boy took a wild guess. “Is it an S?” The DJ went wild, as did Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, and at least one chipmunk.
    I kept going, nodding at Cast Members along the way. Baloo and Dale turned down a corridor toward Toontown, temporarily leaving Minnie to struggle with an immaculate four-fingered white glove. Belle rolled up her sleeve to place a Nicoderm patch on her arm, smoothing it with one hand before carefully replacing the sleeve and pulling her underwear out of her butt.
    Just ahead, Mary Poppins was pacing in her Jolly Holiday outfit, holding a cell phone in one delicate white-gloved hand. Prim red lipstick accented the ribbons in her white summer dress. Her pink parasol leaned against the wall beside her. “And they have no clue,” she was saying. “Those motherfuckers. If they try to stick me in Pluto again tonight, I’m walking out. I’m serious. Fuck that! I haven’t done fur in two years, and I’m not starting now.” It was a miracle that she could get service down here. I made a note to set myself up on her phone plan.
    There was nobody interesting in the Mousketeria, and only a handful of people loitering in the hub by the Zoo, so I kept walking toward Frontierland. I was just about to climb one of the stairways into the park when I saw Pooh shuffling down the hallway with a familiar limp. I caught up with him at the break room door.
    “This is not a good day,” Brady moaned. “I am not feeling the sparkle.”
    “Forest fire in the Hundred Acre Wood?” I quipped.
    He tossed the bear head into a corner and slumped down into an armchair. “I was supposed to be in Mike Wazowski all week,” he said. “Instead I got screwed into doing Pooh sets.”
    “I see.”
    He pointed a threatening yellow mitten at me. “I’m not just being a diva. This suit is heavy. No performer does a whole week of Pooh without a break. Or restrictions. Normally, I wouldn’t complain, but I specifically requested—”
    Suddenly the door opened, and a grim-faced manager entered the room. He was Jafar height with thin lips and a crooked nose. He had the complexion of a pallid autumn squash. “I was told you wanted to talk to me,” he growled at Brady.
    Brady spread his furry paws. “Why did my schedule change?”
    “Schedule’s not written in stone. Sometimes it changes.” The way he said it reminded me of my brother Michael telling me to stop playing make-believe.
    “I understand that, Sam, but couldn’t you just run it by me first?”
    Sam sighed as if the question was causing him great pain. “Why?”
    “It’s my schedule.”
    “Actually,” Sam said, glancing at his watch, “it’s my schedule. It’s your job.” As he was about to walk out, he noticed me. “Who are you?”
    I didn’t like his tone. He sounded like a security guard on a power trip. “Name’s Travis.” I figured he wouldn’t know the Motocross Champion. “Travis Pastrana.”
    “Well Travis, you’re not supposed to be here.”
    I drifted across the room and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “How about here?” I said.
    Sam blanched. “Give me your Cast Member ID.”
    I made a big show of patting my pockets. “Shit. Left it in the carriage with my glass slippers. Will you take a Dave & Buster’s gift card?”
    A bead of spittle was frothing at the corner of Sam’s mouth. He drew himself up to his full stature and leveled a finger at Brady. “One reprimand.”
    “What!” we said in unison.
    “And you’re in Pooh until June.” He turned to me. “You have a choice. You can leave now, or I can have security escort you out. Your choice.”
    “I’ll wait here,” I said. “I hate leaving a building without an escort.”
    The manager narrowed his watery eyes at me, then turned on his heel, and