In fall 1969 I was editor of my high school paper, and received two promotional day passes to Disneyland (the understanding being, I think, that I would write a puff piece for the Chatsworth Carrion--I did not, of course). My friend N and I set aside a Saturday in October for the excursion, and arranged to be...ah...lavishly impaired. All went well until the treacherous N insisted that we try the "It's a Small, Small World" ride, for the camp value, I assume. And halfway through the ride...it stalled. We were trapped in the dark on a little boat with about three hundred animatronic munchkins singing "It's a world of laughter, a world of fun, etc" over...and over...and over...

It was Not Pretty. Particularly with the mediating ergot alkaloid it was several shades of Not Pretty, and the world became very Small indeed over the course of...probably not more than ten minutes, but a subjective eternity. We emerged pale and shaken, and I, for one, knew that I must change my life, and did:

I have not been back to Disneyland since.

cordially,

[edit:typo]