An Unpleasant Surprise

During college I paid the bills by working at the “Happiest Place on Earth”, otherwise known as Disneyland.

One evening I received a call from the Matterhorn attraction that there was a male in a hot pink miniskirt wearing nothing underneath. How did they know, you may be asking yourself? Because upon sitting in a Matterhorn bobsled you must spread your legs to allow another person to sit between them as you ride tandem. This allowed for a rather unpleasant view for all those waiting in line.

Oh the humanity!

As I arrived at I saw two males, one dressed in the hot pink miniskirt in question, and a rather striking female that was accompanying them. Pink miniskirt was a taller than average male with an excess of body hair. Now, when I say excess I am not talking about your run of the mill excess, I mean Enron CEO bonus excess. It was like walking up to a gorilla in drag accompanied by his two handlers.

Does this skirt hide my love handles Morty?

I walked up to Pink Miniskirt and advised him that he had to have underwear on if he wanted to continue his evening in the park. He then proceeded to inform me that he did not have any underwear on his person, but did have a pair of pink hot pants in his purse. What kind of logic is this? “I’m going to a place full of small children and families, what should I bring? Underwear? No. Pink hot pants? YES!”

May God have mercy on the stupid.

Of course I couldn’t help but picture this Sasquatch in hot pants and spent the next few moments furiously trying to scrub my minds eye out. When I regained my composure, I asked him to follow me to the nearest restroom where he could change. When I arrived at the men’s restroom I checked to make sure no one was inside and told him he could go in.

This would have been useful in this particular situation.

Pink miniskirt went into the restroom followed by his male companion but then the female tried to go in as well. I put my arm out and told her that she was not allowed in. It was then that this beautiful woman turned to me and in a deep baritone voice said, “Why not?” 

This is the lead singer for Tokio Hotel.  His name is Bill.

I don’t remember anything after that. I all I heard in my head was “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” (at least I hope it was in my head) followed by a trip to the break room to call my then girlfriend, now my wife, to reaffirm my manhood. Reality as I knew it, where men looked like men, collapsed around like a fat man crossing the finish line at 1k fun run. It felt like a scene out of the Crying Game but no one was yelling “CUT!

To this day I still flinch when I see a hot pink miniskirt.