I am off to Disneyworld soon, and in preparation I have been remembering incidents from the last time my family went.

Because we are Snooty McBetterThanTheTeemingMasses we spent quite a bit of time mocking our fellow tourists, especially the family of twelve that was wearing matching rainbow-colored propeller beanies to help pick each other out of crowds. We were also very disapproving of people who would not follow Disney's gestapo rules about not eating on rides or videotaping them.

When waiting in line for the Haunted Mansion once, we got separated, my mother and sisters going inside with one group while my dad, brother and I had to wait outside with the next group. The guy standing next to my younger sister was chomping down on a popsicle, and she looked up at him with this nostril-flaring sneer of disgust just as the doors closed them away from our view.

Dad: If I were running Disneyworld they would need a superhighway for all the people I would kick out of here.

I like to think that we are as anarchistic as the next family (especially me and little sis, even if we never did get those anarchy pins), but trumping my glee of breaking rules is my loathing for messy pigs who smear melted ice cream on railings with their sticky hands and leave a trail of crumpled Mickey-festooned debris in their wake. And judging by the wrinkles stretching across the bridge of little sis's nose at the moment when the doors of the Haunted Mansion closed her away with that pig, she feels exactly the same way.

Of course, this is the same little sister who at age five, during our first family trip to Disneyworld, yelled "Smoking! YUCK!!!" at a lady who was smoking next to us in line. No fear.

Anyway, as disgusted as we were by people eating where they weren't supposed to, we were even more annoyed by those families that couldn't put one foot in front of the other without a video camera recording their every movement. Not just inside the stage shows (where management specifically announces, NO TAPING) but in line as well. As they inch their way forward, step by painful step. How god-awful boring must those videos be? Here we are rounding the THIRD bend in the maze of switchback rails with only seven left to go!

So one day at lunch we started making up a mythology about these horrible tourists, eating everywhere and taping their every fart. We decided that the most fitting punishment for them would be to be hauled off to Mickey Jail, a cheerful honeycomb of cells secreted somewhere in the bowels of Mickey's Birthday Land. Naturally the offenders would tape their arrest--"Here we are on our way to Mickey Jail, ha ha!"--and then the wall of their cell...for hours and hours...while they waited fruitlessly to be set free, the minutes slowly ticking away on the date/time marker in the corner of their tiny viewscreen.

We can dream.