Taking a Ride on Disney's Dark Side

Even the biggest fan of the Happiest Place on Earth has to admit that there is something slightly unnatural about the "Disney Experience." For me, it began with the reservation. My phone call was answered by a "cast member" named Cathy. All Disneyland employees are "cast members," so when you think you're talking to a reservations clerk you're actually talking to someone who is playing a reservations clerk.

No matter what I asked her, the answer was always a delighted, robotic "I am glad you asked that question." Had I asked "Is Michael Eisner the Dark Prince and are you one of his evil minions?" she would have responded, "I am glad you asked that question, no, Mr. Eisner is not the Dark Prince but the CEO of Disney Co. and I am cast member Cathy." Even when I inquired about an overcharge of a few hundred bucks, Cathy happily said, "I am glad you asked that question, yes, you have been overcharged."

But it wasn't Cathy's preternatural cheer or even spending $250 a night for a Disneyland hotel room that sent me to the Bible for a quick refresher on Satan. It was standing before the giant gates of the Magic Kingdom with the kids, waiting to get my hand stamped. Revelations 13 became reality: "And [the Antichrist] causeth all

We observed one man attempting to make a sale without the mark. He was dressed as Captain Hook and offering to pose for pictures. He disappeared "backstage" in a sea of cheerful Disney security men.

Once marked ourselves and inside the gate, things only got creepier. Ben, 6, Jack, 4, and Aidan, 2, as if compelled by some inexorable hidden force, pulled me gently and effortlessly toward insolvency. Is it a coincidence, I wondered, that Disney, Mickey and Eisner all have six letters?

Back to Revelations: "Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast

There were other portents. Who but the biblical Beast would sell bottled water in August in Anaheim for $2.75 each? And the surveillance -- I've heard there are more security cameras at Disneyland than at the Pentagon. When my wife accidentally spilled a drop of milk in the lobby of our hotel, I bent down to wipe it up only to suddenly see the feet of a maid. She had a towel at the ready. We slowly backed away. John Ashcroft might want a lifetime Disneyland pass: thousands of people under constant watch, rapid disappearances of troublemakers "backstage" and mandated smiling from all employees.