Padded Red Benches and the Disney Script Under Jenny Huffman’s Red Pen - By N.L. Belardes

We stepped foot into Downtown Disney with food and shopping in mind. By the next morning we found ourselves inside the park roaming the Main Street drag for Kenny Rogers sightings. We estimate that between 30-50 Kenny Rogers look-a-likes could be inside the gates of the Magic Kingdom at any given moment. Upon seeing one idling along, we said amongst ourselves, “Kenny Rogers!”

I wonder how many Kenny Rogers were out surfing that very same morning?






Vintage surfboard and... could it be? Nah...


Looking among rocks for any sign of Kenny Rogers.

Or fishing?


Maybe he went over the side...

Or serving vacationers of California’s coastal waters as saintly Kenny Rogers knights of Baywatch?


This one is for the ladies...

There weren’t any Kenny Rogers the day before at the Rain Forest Café, better known as the place where the metro guys sit in “the gay blue elephant.”



We did see a rather fem-looking green-shirted Elvis with big gold glasses, his thank-you-very-much pompadour flopped with a life of its own as Dirty Spanglish and I sat on a bench searching our inner selves for a second wind.

“Somewhere in the park is a padded bench; the ultimate resting spot,” I said near the closed Pirates of the Caribbean ride. A mock Indiana Jones had just mocked me. He never sits down, just wobbles in untiring animatronic puppet glee.

What could I do but search the park for padded comfort, more Kenny Rogers, and decent chicken fingers. Hint: Try the Golden Horseshoe restaurant.

It was during the lull in the day’s action that Dirty Spanglish and I decided to go find a chocolate snacks and cinnamon rolls, only to discover the park’s purest form of comfort—padded benches not just for under the tush, but for weary backs as well.


Dirty Spanglish gets freaky...


Just before launching a baby Donald over a kiosk...
The very same kiosk last year saw a Buzz flyby

We had to dive further into Main Street, into the Coca-Cola Refreshment Corner to find Davey Jones Padded Locker had surfaced among a sea of theme park revelers. It was the perfect seating: a big red cushy bench lining an equally cushy back wall.

Munching on our snacks we began to forget about Kenny Rogers and instead began to focus on flare. You know the scene in Office Space with Jennifer Aniston getting chastised for only wearing the minimum amount of flare on her restaurant uniform?

Disneyland has the equivalent of flare that you can purchase throughout the park (character buttons by the bushel load), and so we began to peoplewatch and point out anyone with outstanding flare—mascots and workers did not count—just the tourists with lots of buttons hanging from big leashes around their necks. Is there anything Disney can’t get people to buy?


Matildakay, where is your flare??
(check into her site for her Minnie head pic)

I’m thinking one of the next Disney gimmicks needs to be some kind of street drug that gets folks to playback only Disney related memories and other princessy hallucinations in their spinny heads. Imagine people junked up on Disney cartoons playing back through their bloodstreams like traveling hormones. The park could sell them right from barrels on Main Street. Better yet, Disneyland has no real dress code anymore, why not a tattoo parlor as part of the new Pirates ride? Give someone a skull and crossbones Captain Jack tattoo and they get a free lifetime online membership and bonus cruise ship points every year. Why not, the Suicide Girls get people to tattoo themselves all the time…think of all the great conversations at the workplace…

So there we were, staring at flare, when I noticed on the very same comfortable red bench a script getting a heavy dose of the red pen.

What could this be? A Disney film representative getting in-the-park inspiration to do a script pass right in the park?

She looked very busy, and I didn’t want to bother her. Sure I made some small talk, but I know when I am out working in an inspiring area, I don’t necessarily like to be bothered either.

And yet, I wanted to know what she was working on.

What could it be? The story of a new princess movie? Perhaps about an Indian princess and evil British Colonialists, with one good soldier boy Brit trying to steal her love? Or perhaps a more urban cartoon with lifeguards and a young actress spinning herself a web of glamour on 1940s Hollywood streets... aren’t actresses American princesses? There could be a handsome rich chap falling for the waitress actress who disappears to dark Hollywood streets... Hollywood is so princess central. Just look at Brangelina…

Or maybe she was toiling over the sequal to more of Nemo’s adventures ala The Freaky Fish Show?

I strained to look.

Yet I could see nothing but red ink. How could I see the script through so much re-writes?

What was this lady doing to this poor bleeding script??

Just kidding. I kept a safe distance, made some small talk and discovered her name: Jenny Huffman.

Do I have any idea what she does for Disney?

No. I got her card and it had a travel guide link. So at the very least you can go book a trip through her site’s search engines.

Try the Mickey Cruise.

In the end, Jenny gave me her potato chips as she got up to walk away. You know, sometimes that’s all you can ask when you’re as comfortable as we were on the hidden red fluffy red benches of Disneyland… a park treasure for sure.


chingpea gets pirate hat freaky

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This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on Wednesday, May 31, 2006. You can leave your response.