Disneyland is great in so many ways. I went there on vacation earlier this year with my brother, Danny, and our family friend/”adopted” sister, Emily. One of the people we encountered during our sibling trip was Deb, a joyful cashier working on Disney’s Main Street.
As we walked up to the counter, I gave her my Mickey golf hat and two collectible pins. From the very beginning, Deb was invested in our happiness. It’s almost like she made a commission if anyone asked us if we were having fun.
We talked to Deb about Danny’s upcoming college graduation, Emily’s Disney internship, and how this was a much-needed break from the amount of stress I was feeling at work. With her soft eyes and gentle tone, Deb said to me:
“Today’s work is to make magic. Walt would have wanted it this way.”
I almost began to cry. After constantly and apprehensively checking my email throughout my trip, it’s what I needed to hear. She then asked us who our favorite characters were and disappeared for about 5-10 minutes. Deb returned with personalized postcards from Aladdin, Snow White, and Ariel.
It took 45 minutes for us to pay for three items, but we all had ear-to-ear smiles as we walked out of the store. After walking around for a bit, I took my new hat out of the bag and looked at the receipt. Deb spent so much time talking to us she forgot to charge me for the hat. Did I mention she cut the tag off for me, too? This was the best and cheapest therapy I’ve ever gotten.
We nicknamed her Saint Deb and went looking for her the next day, but with no success. She was one of the highlights of the whole trip and I’m so happy she crossed our path.
All summer, I have been going back and forth on whether I should spend the money to repair my golf clubs. It’s been an interesting few months as I’ve been on the job hunt and looking for freelance work (more on this later). However, today I decided golfing is a major stress reliever for me and was worth the expense.
The golf pro at the sports store (who looks like Gilfoyle from “Silicon Valley”) convinced me to replace the grips on 11 of my 12 clubs, instead of just the three or four I was intending. It’s fine, it’s fine. It‘s an investment in your mental and physical health.
As he repaired the clubs, we discussed the Red Sox/Yankees game that was on the TV above him, which lead us to argue about how great New England teams are in general. After he finished the repairs, he explained that his computer was down and he had to fill out the pricing sheet manually. I thanked him for his time and walked to the front to pay.
I watched as the guy at the register scanned the paper 11 times. The total came to $33 — not the $120 I was nervously ready to pay. “Are you sure…?” I asked him. He nodded and said that’s what the paper said. I left the store with my heart bursting and full of excitement.
Saint Deb has struck again. It’s what Walt would have wanted.