Souvenirs

As old as I am I can never resist buying a sometimes silly, sometimes significant souvenir when I visit a theme park or site of historical significance. Even if it’s not my first visit. Even if it’s my 59th visit, I still require a tangible marker of my trip.

This summer I visited Disney World twice within a span of four months and I bought a souvenir mug on trip one and another on trip two. Like I could forget that I’d been there without them.

This past weekend I went to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios. I looked all that evening for the perfect souvenir–a Walking Dead hooded sweatshirt that touted a visit to Terminus. Unfortunately, this must have been an incredibly popular sweatshirt because all that remained were men’s sizes small and XL.

I’d just about resigned myself to leaving without a reminder of my visit when I saw a refreshment kiosk selling an alcoholic beverage called a “Dead Walker” that came in a souvenir glass with pulsing LED lights. Damn! I needed that. Never mind that the concoction included an energy drink that would keep me awake most of the night.

The drink was tasty and I was particularly proud of my classy glass. I kept it close to my body as we navigated the last of the houses of horror–a place called “Giggles and Gore” filled with clowns of nightmarish proportions. I used the glass as a shield against these sideshow terrors. When we returned to the hotel I placed the glass in one of our car’s backseat cup holders so I wouldn’t accidentally leave it behind. I’d bonded with that cup.

The next morning we set off for home. Studly and my brother-in-law Steve in the front seat, my sister-in-law Angie, the cup, and me, in the backseat. We stopped at a Denny’s for breakfast and then were back on the road. We hadn’t driven more than half an hour when Angie made an urgent request to stop the car. Her face was a hue of green I’ve seldom seen outside of cartoons. I realized that Studly would not be able to stop before Vesuvius spewed. With only a second’s hesitation I offered up my souvenir glass as a receptacle for her vomit. And vomit she did.

Studly, by then, had safely pulled off the road. Angie opened the door and finished her business in the wild flowers on highway 428. I’ve never been a litterer, but by golly, my souvenir glass now takes up a small space of real estate in Central Florida. I hope I can remember my trip without it.

Peace, People!

Author: nananoyz

I'm a semi-retired crazy person with one husband and two cats. View all posts by nananoyz