Conference adventures at Disney Part 1 of 3

First word that I was heading into a hurricane came Thursday morning as I waited on my flight at Michigan’s Capital Region International Airport. “Don’t miss it!” the email exhorted. “Tomorrow’s conference will be held as scheduled in Disney Springs.” They assured us that all was well. I’d heard about a tropical storm developing on the evening news, but my favorite weather app reported only a 60% chance of rain in Orlando. I’d packed an umbrella. 

And, this was Disney. Who wanted to miss a trip to Disney?

It was 2016 and I was headed to an annual workshop held by a national agency that administered the program I worked on at the state level. If they were saying, “Please come,” I reasoned, then surely they weren’t guiding 200 of us into danger. Surely, all was well with Mickey and Minnie. I was counting on 36 hours of sunshine with a guarantee of top-notch customer service and some of the best popular culture that America could deliver. I was all-in.

I arrived in Orlando mid-morning and found the city preparing for the worst. At the airport, I attempted to arrange a shuttle to bring me back to my outgoing flight. They informed me that they weren’t taking reservations due to the weather. “Lady, this is a hurricane,” he said. The attendant wrote down a phone number and recommended a wait-and-see-approach. Still, I couldn’t quite let go of my promised respite.

I took a cab to my hotel and checked in. I did a quick walking tour of the area, including the conference rooms and the path to shops and restaurants. From the French exit doors, I watched the rain pour in ragged, uneven sheets. Precipitation in Lansing was almost always an unassuming patter. The winds there were not hurricane force yet, but they were much stronger than anything I was accustomed to. Gusts whipped between the buildings. I felt an appreciation for a phrase I’d read in books but had never used: bad weather was brewing. I was steps from the shops, restaurants, and boulevards promising magical moments, but I didn’t feel safe venturing to the comforts they normally provided. 

I checked my iPad; I had received a second email encouraging everyone to make their way to Florida. I turned on CNN. A Category 5 hurricane was predicted and appropriate precautions were recommended. They showed reporters talking to Floridians caught up in the mass evacuation. The TV was full of images of abandoned coastal neighborhoods with boarded windows. I went to the lobby bar when it opened at four o’clock. Dinner in a charming, Disney Springs restaurant was no longer a part of my evening plans, and I wanted a drink.

The bar took up most of the lobby and had beautiful, floor-to-ceiling views of pools with cabanas and palm trees, enticing to my Midwestern sensibilities. A variety of seating options welcomed visitors, from leather bar stools to cushioned loungers. I ordered a frozen alcoholic concoction. 

In other years I had attended this conference, I worked down a list of people to fit into a networking schedule: group dinners, one-on-one breakfasts with others who were experiencing program problems similar to mine in their states, and afternoon coffee with the expert members of my cohort. But that year, no one I knew was attending this particular venue. The lack of familiar company stung as I sat drinking alone while I watched hotel employees bring in outdoor furniture from the rain.

I ordered a $14 steakburger from the menu, along with a second drink. I ate slowly. The company of strangers was better than nothing, and I did some covert people watching. I overheard telephone conversations revealing that other guests felt trapped as well and were calling home for comfort. Rebecca, one of the waitstaff, went about business as usual. 

“You’ll be just fine in the hotel,” she said as she paused at my table. 

“I appreciate your attitude,” I told her.

“You’re in Disney Springs,” she said, and winked. “It’s magical here.” It didn’t sound corny coming from her kind face.

On the TVs, CNN covered the ever-breaking news of Hurricane Matthew with minute-by-minute updates. A ticker tape newstream about preparations ran unceasingly, filled with talk of where the Red Cross was establishing shelters, and the work of the National Guard.

The next morning, I checked the weather again. My favorite app had caught up to reality, as had every forecaster. Weather was the only news. The hurricane was headed right for us. Local channels reported that Orlando International Airport was closing. Airlines were getting their fleets out of the area. It would take days for scheduled flights to return to normal. I was becoming alarmed. My husband Scott and I had plans for emergencies that we might face at home, but I had come to Florida with only a couple of extra pair of clean underwear and a Leatherman tool. I was not prepared to be in harm’s way. 

I made my way to the conference area where a continental breakfast for 200 was laid out. I picked up a croissant from a mountain of pastries. A long row of carafes were lined up, and I took my time doctoring a hazelnut blend with cream and sugar. The breakfast area was nearly empty and there was no one to hurry for.

We did not start on time. I looked over at the contractors, who I knew from previous workshops, as they huddled around a laptop. A half hour late, Sean, the lead presenter, got up and inserted a thumb drive into the computer. He brought up a revised agenda. 

“We’ll be cutting today’s training short,” Sean announced. The new schedule released us at lunch instead of 5 p.m. I turned and did a head count. There were only 60 people in the room. They proceeded with the day’s abbreviated content, and I dutifully took notes, trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on the material.

During the morning break, I called my airline. They had sent me a polite email informing me that my return flight to Michigan was canceled. The wait time was long, and the customer service representative told me to watch my email for updates.

At lunch, where food was again laid out for 200, I sat with Sean. He had the interpersonal polish that is a requirement of government representatives. He confessed that they’d cut the training short because he and his colleagues had managed to book evening tickets out of a western Florida airport. They intended to drive across the state in time to beat the hurricane. Traffic on Orlando streets was limited to emergency vehicles. I uncharitably hoped they’d be ticketed.