parktrotter

Continuing my generic mid-1970s Disneyland trip: you parked in the oversized parking lot, immediately forgot where the car was, and joined the masses streaming toward the long row of park gates, which are much the same now as then. First you bought books of tickets.

The tickets –I haven’t thought of them in years. You needed them to get on the rides, and they came in books with the tickets arranged into five groups, stamped A through E. The people who ran the show, one guessed, were conspiring to stick you with worthless tickets: I recall that we finished every trip with leftover A and B tickets, and used the C tickets up. The best one, of course, was the green one at the bottom: the E ticket, which was good for all the best rides. They were so cherished that they drifted into the language itself, and one could describe any exciting experience as “an E ticket ride.”

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