We flew into Orlando and grabbed our luggage with ease. (Well, not with ease, necessarily. My sister nicknamed my bag “Big Bertha,” as it could easily accommodate at least one full-grown adult, and possibly a small child.)
At any rate, we breezed through the baggage claim and hopped in line for the Magical Express.
We were the first group to get on the next bus, and the kids charged on board and took the coveted first row. They were SO excited! My sister and I took the row across from them, seated directly behind the driver’s seat.
Our driver got on the shuttle. He was heavily winded, which wasn’t surprising since he had to haul most of the luggage under the bus. However, I started to become concerned as continued to pant heavily.
He started to drive, and took the microphone. “Welcome (pant pant pant) to Walt Disney World. (pant pant pant) My name is (We’ll just call him “Johnny,” as I’m not going to reveal his true identity) and I must apologize…” (Long, dramatic pant sequence) “But I am getting older (pant pant pant,) and I cannot (pant) breathe.”
Some passengers seemed oblivious, and I exchanged bug-eyed glances with a few others.
Thankfully, this is *not* the last known photo of the kids.
By now, we were about 7 minutes into our 30 minute drive. It suddenly occurred to me that these highly sought after front row seats were not ideal if the driver should succumb to some sort of medical episode.
He mopped his face with a paper towel, and I tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, are you okay?” He insisted he was, and that was that. Meanwhile, I studied the path from my seat to the wheel in the event he should suddenly slump over.
We made it. By the end of the drive, he seemed to have recovered. We gave him a big tip for his heavy haulin’. I didn’t quite kiss the ground when we got off the shuttle, but I was very thankful.
Later, my sister said “Yeah – I came up with a plan to grab the wheel and pull his leg off the gas if necessary.”
I’m happy we didn’t make the news. Magical indeed!
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