All right, who told?

The secret is out.  Someone spilled the beans.

I am talking, of course, of what used to be the great secret of going to Disneyland on Christmas Day.  When everyone else is home opening presents or sleeping off an eggnog hangover.  It was a great day to go to Disneyland.  There was a time when my family would go every year.  'Course that was, like, 20 years ago.

I went again this Christmas.  More precisely, I tried to go this year.  As I approached the parking structure, I saw a little sign reading, "Disneyland is full -- California Adventure is open."

OK.  There goes my plan to ride the new (and allegedly improved) Space Mountain.  But, y'know, my annual pass is good for both parks.  I can go over to California Adventure for a couple hours -- ride Tower of Tower, maybe the roller coaster again...

I notice my vehicle is not moving in a forwardly manner.

This is because, although there must be about 15 lanes driving into the parking structure, none of them is actually moving.  The entrance to the parking garage was, well, a parking lot.  My lane was the worst of it (if you could possibly be going slower than stopped) -- the little booth at the end of the lane to my left was closed, so everyone from that line was trying to merge into my lane.  A process that was going fairly slowly because, y'know, whoever was at the front of my line didn't appear to be coughing up his $10 (or whatever) and moving along.

At this point, I am struck by a thought.  And that thought is:  Once I actually get into this lot and get parked (which was looking to be -- and I say this without hint of exaggeration -- upwards of an hour), I am going to have to get in line for the shuttle to the parks.  With all of these people.

I wait until the dude to my left merges into my lane, and then I take his spot in the "Closed" lane.  A Disney employ-- sorry, "Cast member" walks by and I ask him where the "Turn around and get the heck out of here" lane is.  Bonus:  I'm sitting in it.  Once all the people in front of me merge their way into the (theoretically) open lane to the right, my lane will be turned into an exit lane.  A few minutes later, the cast member returns with a stack of bright pink papers, on which has been printed the word "EXIT."  He puts one on my windshield.  Now I officially belong in this lane.  Fifteen or so minutes later, I finally get to turn around and leave the parking lot.

I believe this is the official end of my Christmas trips to Disneyland.