“After me.”

Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first,"
Pushing in front of the ice cream line.
Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first,"
Grabbing the ketchup at dinnertime.
Climbing on the morning bus
She'd shove right by all of us
And there'd be a tiff or a fight or a fuss
When Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first."

Pamela Purse screamed, "Ladies first,"
When we went off on our jungle trip.
Pamela Purse said her thirst was worse
And guzzled our water, every sip.
And when we got grabbed by that wild savage band,
Who tied us together and made us all stand
In a long line in front of the King of the land-
A cannibal known as Fry-'Em-Up Dan,
Who sat on his throne in a bib so grand
With a lick of his lips and a fork in his hand,
As he tried to decide who'd be first in the pan-
From back of the line, in that shrill voice of hers,
Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first."
        -- Shel Silverstein, 1974

Rush hour was technically almost over by the time I set out for the Magic Kingdom yesterday. But plenty of folks living in high-traffic regions like Orlando adjust their work schedules to cut commute time and that stretches the “hour” to at least 120 minutes – longer still on Fridays as “get home” traffic is increased by “get out of towners.”

Many, though perhaps not most, drivers are fairly courteous and will give a little slack to motorists attempting to change lanes or make other maneuvers. But the general attitude is “get moving or get out of my way” as nearly everyone is eager to get where they’re going and out of the rat race called “the daily commute.”

I was on the road for nearly an hour and probably had mini-episodes with hundreds of other drivers. Several times, I needed to make an exit or lane change and waited as several cars refused to open a gap for me. Occasionally, I hit the gas and forced my way over – coming way to close to other cars for real safety.

It’s a jungle out there and sometimes you just have to be the aggressor. Or so it seems to me.

As soon as I arrived at the park, I knew I had made a good decision. Ten or 12 lanes offered access to the parking lot. Most were open, with green lights inviting me to make a choice between inviting options. None of the lines was more than three cars long.

And yet…

I slowed a bit to survey the situation and a half-dozen cars flashed by me, two or three made multiple lane changes so they could race to an open booth – or toward a line with just one car. On a busy day, we might have been held up for five or ten minutes; with virtually no waiting, drivers still seemed intent on saving a few seconds – at the expense of someone who hesitated, as I had.

We were single file all the way to our $11 parking spaces, but a new race began immediately. Families poured out of their cars and quickly headed for the end of our row where a tram was waiting.

Catching that first tram seemed to be the most important thing in the world for many folks and there was plenty of shouting, quick-stepping and even running to make sure to find a seat – at the expense of others who didn’t rush.

As so often happens, I caught up with those who had passed me before they were able to gain any real advantage. I took some satisfaction in the fact that I hadn’t raced past others in pursuit of my own self interest.

The ritual repeated itself at the ticket booths. On this slow day, there were very few people in line to buy tickets. But people jumped from the trams and raced to the short lines – passing others to gain a dubious advantage.

I was second in line at my ticket station and was soon beyond the gate. Two new races were underway inside – one stream of people headed for the Monorail and the other toward a ferry. Unlike the configuration in Anaheim, parking is a long distance from the real entrance to the attractions.

I turned toward the Monorail station, but soon noticed that more people were exiting that area than entering. Apparently there was a delay.

Those who were opting not to wait for the problem to be resolved looked a bit frantic, at least in my eyes, as they retraced their steps and headed for the dock. I decided that it was prudent to follow their lead and also opted for the ferry over the problematic Monorail.

The sense of urgency was very high as it became evident that the ferry was nearly full. I refused to join the panic and neither elbowed my way past others nor attempted to block those who were willing to shove me aside to make sure they got aboard.

Once again, luck was with me and I reached the dock before the ship was filled to capacity. Without having been rude or greedy, I’m sure that I arrived at main entrance at the same time those who passed me at the parking gate, in the parking lot – enroute to the tram, at the ticket booth and on the path to the ferry.

This pattern continued all day long. Despite very short lines for most attractions, visitors raced through the turnstiles and along lanes where folks normally wait for their turn. Several times, moved aside to let a pack of eager beavers rush past me. I always caught up with these rudesters farther down the line and always ended up on the ride within a few seconds of them.

Though I’ve linked the behavior of commuters to the behavior of vacationers in an amusement park, I don’t mean to say they are of equal import.

In the context of leisure activities, I believe running is a good thing. It adds to the excitement and keeps the heart rate up. I don’t mean to judge or even to discourage those who felt compelled to race to the front whenever they could. I am a bit miffed, of course, by those who did so in a rude fashion that transcended thoughtlessness. But, upon reflection, I’d say these were few in number.

There does seem to be a shortage of good old fashioned courtesy; and more of that is always a good thing. I’m very forgiving of children who are caught up in the excitement; and am tolerant of parents wishing not to dampen that enthusiasm by tightening the reins.

But when the adults take the lead, and when their actions take some of the joy out of the experience of others – and even threaten safety – I disapprove.

About two hours before the park closed, temperatures dropped and I began wishing I had brought a jacket. I had visited every attraction on my list and had stayed long enough to see the lights come on. The only remaining event of great interest was the evening parade and fireworks – which might have been enough to keep me around if I had that jacket.

But I left about 2 hours before closing. When I returned to the parking lot I discovered that about a third of those who arrived when I did had already left. All of their rushing around ended up saving them time they apparently didn’t need after all.