Back for Thirds...

So we’re two days into my third contract working for Disney Cruise Line. Some exciting news, my manager is putting through the paperwork and such to make my Entertainment Host role a permanent one. Boom! For anyone wondering, I am technically still classified as a Temporary Assignment, or TA Line. This means that I am just filling the gap until a Permanent Host become available. Before now, if that happened, I would’ve been stepped back down to a counselor position. But once everything is cleared and signed off... they’re stuck with me. Win.

A start of contract would not be complete without a trip to Wardrobe and an epic battle over who is right (me) and who is wrong (them). It’s like they could sense my presence on board and thought to themselves, “Let’s see how difficult we can make her life this time around!” So there I am, waiting in line with all the people who embarked with me, repeating the mantra, “I will be patient with Wardrobe” in my head. All is going well, the line is moving fairly quickly, which is a rare occurrence indeed, and I’m just starting to think things are going to be okay. That when I see it. Sitting in the pile of returning crew members name badges is mine. Spelled, A-L-L-I-S-O-N. Fail number one. It is at this point the dark sense of foreboding begins to creep over my shoulder and pierce my soul.

I get up to the desk, and in a weird twist of fate, it is the same woman I had so much trouble with last time. I inform her that my name is misspelled and she has me add my name to the long list of others that need to be redone. Okay, maybe this will be the only mishap. She goes to get my costumes and returns with clothes fit for a resident of Munchkin Land. Sweet Lord above, it has happened again. They still have me in their system as the other Alison. The one who NO LONGER WORKS FOR DCL! She actually realized her error at this point and start to shake her head and smirk. “We’ve been here before,” she says. I concur and we go through the ordeal of getting the correct sizes.

So it comes to asking for my pant length, “I’m a 34.” I say and wait for her to go get them. She doesn’t move though. She stands there, starring at me in disbelief.

“I’m a 32. There is no way you can be a 34.”

“I have long legs. I’m 5’ 10”.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Trust me, I’m a 34. You can give me 32s but they will be too short. I had 32s last contract and my manager made me come down and change them out for 34s because they were high-waters. Can we please skip all that and you just give me 34s?”

“You are not a 34.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Come back here, I need to measure. There’s no way you’re a 34.”

Now at this point, that little mantra I was trying to hold fast to has shattered into one million pieces, caught fire, and begun smoldering. My patience is gone. After talking to some other crew members, I have yet to find a single person that leaves wardrobe in a good mood. This is why. I go back into the sewing room where she gets the head seamstress to measure me. She pulls out her official DCL measuring tape and finds my natural waist line (cause that’s where we have to wear our pants) and measures down to the top of my foot. Low and behold, the number she came up with was 34! She then stands up and stares at my legs like they are aliens and finally mutters out, “I guess you were right.”

You think? You think I’m not right about the length of my own pants? I am 5’10”, Woman. I do not joke about pant length.

After that huge ordeal, I went to Safety Familiarization, commonly referred to as Safety Fam, and prayed to God I didn’t get a safety duty. My last two contracts I have been given a Traffic Controller duty somewhere in the uppermost decks of the ship. This means that every single embark I have to climb 11+ flights of stairs in a limited amount of time and then direct the thousands of guests on board to their Assembly stations. This  is a very important job, don’t get me wrong. But I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that in the event of a real emergency I wouldn’t make it up 11 flights of stairs, fighting against the flow of panicked guests. So I am praying hard for something a little closer to Deck 5 (where the YA spaces are located). They pass out the safety cards and the Lord gave me a gift. No drill duty. The rare and coveted safety card. The only thing I have to do is show up at the life raft in the event of an emergency. I expect to hold on to this safety card for roughly two cruises. There is no way they’ll let me keep it. I don’t have that kind of luck.

My luck has already been received in the form of my Ent Host costumes. Not only did everything arrive on the same day I did, it was all the right size and quantity. I haven’t seen my wigs yet, but they have been restyling most of them. And when I say all of my costumes, I mean all. Lab and Club. Which is unheard of. I got to see my pajamas for Pluto’s Pajama Party. They come with the best slippers. They’ve got baby ducks on them. I am beyond excited. It’s the little things that make me happy. 

Little things like getting an awesome roommate. Well, truthfully that’s no little thing. In my time on board I’ve had every type of roommate from “I need complete silence and darkness to sleep. Do NOT wake me.” to “Hey, it’s 4am and I’ve brought a boy home. We’re gonna be noisy.” So having a good roommate is a HUGE thing. My new roomie is a girl named, Juliette. She is amazing and I love her. We were friends last contract and kept trying to room together and it just didn’t work out. So she requested me before I even got back and our managers sorted everything out for us. Praise!

Things are going well so far. I’m getting back into the swing of things. My feet hurt. Spending the majority of your vacation sleeping and lying in bed with hours of Netflix makes you forget about long hours on your feet everyday. I have been reminded. I will be buying some Dr Scholls insoles the first chance I get. I will also be buying some trash bags. Apparently our housekeeper has a distaste for trash bags and refuses to leave us any, opting instead for a simple paper liner that sets in the bottom. He also has a distaste for toilet paper. But he changes our sheets and vacuums, so I will just suck it up and buy stuff at Wal-Mart.

More updates to come, with hilarious shenanigans to ensue! Until next time...


See Ya Real Soon!