Amber Hears from the Mouse

And she can't wait to find out what he has to say

- by Amber Sewell, February 21, 2011

"Have you checked the mail today", my Dad asked me.

"No! I mean, yes, I've checked, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to!"

"So nothing from the Mouse yet?"

"Dad, if I'd heard from Disney, I think the entire world would know by now."

Waiting for the Mouse

Never have I been so diligent about anything. My CareerStart interviewer told me that Disney would contact me in one of three ways: by e-mail, by phone, or by snail mail.

I was going crazy, constantly checking all three. My computer screen was always open to my e-mail while at school, and I double-checked it at home on my phone (rather than wrestle with the evil that is dial-up). Only I was allowed to retrieve the mail from the mailbox, and I constantly grabbed for the phone when it rang, looking for a 407 (Orlando) area code or the official number for Disney's CareerStart.

I couldn't be separated from Disney websites, either. I shared my wait with dozens of other hopefuls; I even joined a Facebook group of the most devoted applicants. We discussed everything from how we passed the time to what classes we hoped to take when and if we were accepted. One of the people sent me an invite to 'like' the Electric Umbrella; it saddens me to say that I didn't recognize the name (I have a rule to eat only in the World Showcase when in EPCOT), but it was Disney, so I accepted.

Two weeks passed. How long would my wait last?

Disney had told some applicants that they'd hear back within 2-3 weeks (those were the optimists). Others were told 3-4 weeks (the most common response), and some unfortunate souls were told that their agony could last up to 6 weeks. We all fervently hoped we were not in the last group.

I annoyed my circle of family and friends on a daily basis. The only topic I wished to discuss was Disney. I talked about the parks, about how I was going absolutely mental waiting to hear back, the amazing things I'd heard from past participants, what role I wanted, where I would want to work, and so forth.

I'm fairly certain that sometimes I even got on my own nerves; honestly, couldn't I think of anything else to talk about?

Clearly not.

Of course, not everyone was hoping I'd get accepted. My coworkers at the animal clinic weren't too enthused at the prospect of me leaving; I had been there for a long time, and knew a lot of stuff that would not be fun training others to do. There was even talk of cloning me. While it was all in jest (or at least, I think most of it was), I did attempt to moderate my enthusiasm while I was at the animal clinic. I'm not saying that it worked, but at least I made the effort.

Still Waiting for the Mouse

At three weeks I was starting to get nervous. I was seventeen, after all. Even though I have an excess of enthusiasm for Disney, I thought that my age might be my potential downfall. I didn't think I said anything wrong in my interview, but I kept going over that first five minutes, when my interviewer had put me on hold to check the arrival dates. Did the recruiters take age into account? Surely they did.

Seventeen...

It sounded awfully young to move to Florida by yourself. Perhaps they didn't think I would be able to handle it. Maybe they thought the work would be too much for me, and I would quit and go home. What if they lumped me with other teenagers they knew, the ones who are more likely to text on the job than actually learn something? If I called them after I'd been rejected, would they give me an honest answer?

All I could do was wait. I could do nothing to speed up the process (as much as I would have liked to), and there was no number I could call to convince Disney that just because my birthday was only two weeks before move-in, I would still work hard.

So I continued to check the mail. I kept my e-mail on. I spent my time in journalism class quickly proof-reading others' articles for the newspaper or writing up something of my own, and then it was back to the Disney sites.

My anxiety was a convenient source of agitation for my family. Not that I blame them; I would probably have done the same thing. Sometimes the mail truck would supposedly come two or three times in a day, usually at the most inconvenient times for me. Usually, I brushed them off; didn't they think I had made a point to figure out when the mail came? One of these times I was in the shower, and my dad knocked on the door.

"Have you checked the mail today?"

"Um, yeah. I checked it a little while ago. There wasn't anything there."

"Well, I just saw the mailman. He may have had something for you."

As much as I tried to ignore this hint, just as I had all the others, my excitement built despite my suspicions. I have a long driveway, and just watching me walk it up and down is enough to amuse my family (I'm not exactly the active type).

I threw on some sweat pants and an "I 'Heart' Grumpy Guys" T-shirt, slipped into some flip flops, and went down to check the mail. It was all I could do not to run, as much as I detest doing so. The knowledge that my family - at least my siblings - would be grouped around the window watching me was enough to restrain me.

Mickey's in the Mail!

As soon as I got past the bushes that would block my family's view, I sprinted the last few feet, crossed the road, and wrenched open our old, battered mail box.

There it was.

My beautiful, large envelope with Mickey Mouse standing in the top left corner. My name was on the front. Just the size of the envelope was reassuring; it was just big enough to fit a yellow folder (the universal sign of acceptance for the CareerStart Program; the College Program uses purple folders).

Forgetting that I loathe running, or that my driveway is basically uphill, or that by now my entire family would be watching because Dad had told them that my folder was in the mail (the mailman had actually tried to give Dad the mail, but he made him put my envelope back in the mailbox so I could retrieve it), I rushed up the driveway.

Probably not the wisest thing on my part, because it took me a few minutes to catch my breath after I finally made it back into the living room.

I lay on the floor, surrounded by everyone, as I tried to catch my breath long enough to sit up. Eventually I did, and with hands shaking from adrenaline, I tore open the envelope. (Not intentionally. I was actually trying to keep it neat, but I'm terrible at opening envelopes neatly.)

There it was. Orange-yellow in color, "Disney CareerStart" printed in bold across the front, I was holding the key to a new world. Beaming, I opened the folder to read the contents.

"Dear Amber:

Congratulations! You have been selected to participate as a Quick-Service Food & Beverage Cast Member on the Disney CareerStart Program for the Spring 2010 Season"!

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