by Brian Fleming

Created on: January 14, 2009   Last Updated: August 19, 2010

The coveted Disneyland parade, full of wonder, magic, and happiness, right? Wrong. For those actually marching in the parade down Main Street USA, the parade is nothing short of hectic, dirty, and exhausting.

In 2005, I had the privilege; no, the honor of marching in the glorious Disneyland parade with the Pasadena City College Tournament of Roses Honor Band (PCCTRHB for short; well, not that short). I was excited, elated even to be part of such a magical experience.

Before I knew it, my band begin its fantastic voyage through the "short" parade route.

Now, let me stop for a second and talk about this "short" route. Yes, it may be short in distance, I think it is only a little over a mile, but, my ingenious band director came up with the brilliant idea for us trumpet players to hold our trumpets up the entire time. To put this in comparison, imagine walking with your arms out in front of you in a praying position, while holding a brick in your hands.

So, almost instantly, to my utter shock, my arms began to burn and tremble. If they were actors, they would have been on strike already. Burning arms I can handle, but, within the first twenty steps of the parade route, my foot falls square into a big, fat, squishy poop pile that a parade horse had left, so generously, for me.

Between the notes of Stars and Stripes Forever, I can hear my shoe squishing down with every step. Thud-squish-thud-squish. It was almost as if my shoes were attempting to join in with their own version of the song I was so desperately trying to play out of my heavy trumpet.

Burning arms, a poop-covered shoe, sounds truly magical doesn't it? If that's not enough, how about a sprained ankle, now that's happiness incarnate. While my band made its way down Main Street, my foot slips into one of the iron grooves for the trolley. My shout of pain gets covered by the smashing of the cymbals right behind me.

With arms and an ankle screaming in pain, and a foot now thoroughly soaked by horse excrement, I was the happiest marcher of them all. It's possible that because I was so elated about my situation, that I didn't hold the small slide on my trumpet as I begin the twirling routine.

Now, this twirling routine is yet another well-thought out plan of my band directors. Basically, the marchers who play trumpet are supposed to be able to spin their trumpets during their long rest in the middle of Stars and Stripes Forever. In theory, this goes off without a hitch and looks awesome. In reality...it resulted in one unconscious Mickey Mouse. That's right, I knocked out Mickey Mouse, on accident, on accident. Here's what happened:

I began to twirl my trumpet, trying to ignore the shooting pain in my arms and foot, and suddenly, my slide shot out from my trumpet. I watched, in slow motion, with Stars and Stripes Forever in the background, as my slide missiled straight for Mickey Mouse. With surprising force, my slide nails Mickey squarely between the eyes. He goes down like a K.O.'d heavyweight boxer.

Even over the constant cymbal crashes, I can hear the crowd gasp as one. For all they knew, I killed Mickey Mouse. Children began to cry hysterically.

"Mickey's dead!"

"That guy killed Mickey!"

Great, so now, on top of my smelly foot, painful arms and foot, and broken trumpet, a have a dead mouse on my hands. Fortunately for me, the parade ends a few seconds later.

Just like that, the magic is finished. The band disbands and relaxes. I pass out, on the spot. Maybe it was the pain, maybe it was the smell from my foot, or maybe, just maybe, it was killing Mickey that did it.

If I ever march in the the world's happiest parade again, I'll aim for Goofy.

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