The day my innocence died

I hope Pea’s friends don’t mistake her for a liar.

What follows is the true story of the night I was "Roofied" at Disney World, in the presence of America’s beloved cartoon rodent. As you will see, I’m not blaming Mickey, necessarily. I’m just saying - he sure didn’t do anything to help.  Neither did my friends.  For shame.

The year is 2004. Fate has placed a free time-share condo in our best friends’ lap and the fact that she is a flight attendant makes this the cheap trip of a lifetime. Excited, we head to Orlando (photos included as evidence of the authenticity of this story).

The first few days of the trip are amazing. We hit up several theme parks, ‘enjoy’ the mandated time-share presentation and get some sun by the pool.

On the third day, after another theme park bonanza, our group decides to have dinner at the condo before hitting Paradise Island for some clubbing.

For those unfamiliar with Paradise Island, it is essentially Disney’s club district. You pay admission to the ‘island’ and gain access to a dozen themed clubs, each playing a different variety of music. You can buy drinks in the clubs or on the street from little booze shacks.

As soon as we arrived, we all headed to a booze shack to get a drink. My pals all get frilly drinks with umbrellas and I order a beer. The bartender pours it into a plastic cup, hands it over, and the fun begins.

Or does it?

As I turn to walk away from the booze shack, something splashes into my cup. At the time, I merely thought my drink was jostled as I tried to make my way through the crowd, but the next morning I would come to understand the real significance of that splash.

What follows this splash is nothing short of horrifying. After a brief stop at a club featuring a revolving dance floor, where I did my best Jamiroquai/Virtual Insanity imitation (it was awesome), I crashed. Hard.

Within 30 minutes I was dizzy, slurring my speech, incapable of staying awake and generally uneasy – all symptoms of Roofiness (source: ever-trustworthy Wikipedia). Less ‘attractive’ symptoms occurred in the cab on the way to the condo, and then back at the condo itself.

Now I know what you’re saying… Ricochay, you’re clearly a lightweight. You were drunk and you couldn’t handle your booze.


I may be a lightweight, and sure, I can't prove I was drugged, but this was different than just being drunk. No one gets that drunk that fast off half a beer. Not even me.

Fortunately, the Pod and my friends stayed by my side the whole time, keeping me from harm. YEAH RIGHT! They tore up the night, leaving me alone on a bench in a remote corner of the ‘island’. In their defense, they checked in periodically and propped my head up using a ketchup bottle, but no ‘lush’ was going to ruin their night.

The next morning was a right-off, but come afternoon I felt right as rain. What hangover have you ever had that just completely disappears like that? A Roofie hangover, that’s what.

The next day, my friends left me to nurse my ‘hangover’ while they hit up another theme park without me as dead weight. Solo, I spent some more time at the pool, and at nearby outlet malls, but I will forever have missed the excitement of that shared.

There it is people. My tale of Roofie misfortune and doubt.  I hope you can learn from this tale.

For years, I questioned the Roofie’ers motivations, until Wikipedia once again cleared things up. It turns out Britons use Roofies to sedate and rob unsuspecting victims. Was I a potential target for some evil-doer? Perhaps. Or maybe I was just some light evening entertainment for said evil-doers.  Only Mickey knows for certain.

At least you, my faithful blog readers, will believe my Roofie misadventures. Feel free to post some words of encouragement and support for me or some remarks of shame for those that don’t believe my tale.

(To leave a comment, simply choose the “Anonymous” option when leaving a remark… I know it’s complicated, I’m sorry!)

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope her friends don’t mistake her for a liar.