Last night after work I zipped down to universal to find out what my horror night's role this year was going to be.
We had to first meet up at the 'Beetlejuice' stage area for even more orientation. We got a massive amount of paperwork. In every year I have done horror nights I have not had this much paperwork to do. Then we had to go through a mini orientation that more or less covered the exact same things we had covered in orientation a week or two ago. Then we had to learn about the dangers of losing your hearing in the workplace. I found this a bit amusing because there was a deaf guy working there, and there was a sign language interpreter translating to him all the dangers of losing your hearing. Heh.
We had to do a lot of clapping. Every time they introduced a new manager, we had to clap. Most of the people there seemed to know at least a few other people working there. There was also a lot of cuddling and giggling between couples. Felt like I was on a high school field trip.
After that orientation we filed out to try on our costumes. As I stood in line I watched them bring out some amazing and beautiful costumes... big leather cenobyte costumes, flowing and glittery vampire costumes, old southern dresses and top hats. I eagerly stepped forward to get my costume.... a pair of dirty pajamas. Sigh. I went to the little dank trailer to try them on. The smock fit ok, but there was no way I was going to squeeze into those pants. And my size twelve feet were not going to fit into those little size eight slippers. I brought it back and told the costume lady the pants did not fit. She shrugged and told me to just wear a pair of shorts and no one would see. Works for me.
They then took us through a tour of the house. It was pretty amazing. The theme of the house was 'Shadybrook Sanitarium' got taken over by the mental patients. So the patrons have to make their way through a maze of whooping insane people. Apparently the house was a mix of the original Shadybrook set as well as some pieces of the Hellgate prison set that I had worked in before. I recognized my old cell. Heh.
The shit room was utterly horrifying. A row of stalls exposing toilets overflowing with shit and wads of toilet paper. The walls were smeared with shit. They were pumping in the smell of shit. It looked very very real. I did not want to touch anything. Luckily, I am not in it.
I have to say I was fairly pleased with the part I got. To begin with I am behind a big steel cage so the drunks cannot get at me. Also... I get to sit in a chair. Yes! Score! Actually, I doubt I will be scaring anyone. I am not a pop-out actor. When you first walk in the house I will be the first thing you see... Sitting in a chair and laughing like a loon. I am sure I will get more laughs than scares. The area I am in is the 'reception' area. I am in there with two girls, one of them who has an amazing mop of long black hair down to her waist. She hangs it over her face ala 'The Ring' and it looks pretty freaky. Like a heroin addict. The other girl was some friendly plump girl who just sorta bounces around and plays with a typewriter.
We played with our roles for a while, and then we got to visit some of the other houses. They had us go through as a trial run. The other houses were pretty neat, however I have a feeling the house I am in is going to be the best one in the park simply because of it's not so much scary as it is disturbing.
All in all I had a fun time even if there was long boring bouts of simply standing around. The only thing I really did not care for was the 'team cheer' we had to do. Where we stand in a circle and hoot out the name of our house and then jump around and cheer. I hate having to do shit like that.
2026 Update
Firing up the time machine for September 13, 2006, where Ed gets handed dirty pajamas and a chair in a fake shit-smeared sanitarium.
Twenty years ago, being a horror-night actor meant driving somewhere, signing a ream of paper, standing in a sweaty circle, and clapping until your palms went numb. Now you'd get a badge on a phone app, a background-check link, forty videos about harassment, and a QR code to upload a selfie in a required 'character-neutral' shirt before anyone loans you a single glove. You used to be trusted to improvise a loon; nowadays every laugh is probably cued by a wristband at a timecode. And the costuming? You got dirty pajamas, no shoes, and a shrug. In 2026 those pajamas would be dry-cleaned, scan-tested, and pre-ordered in six sizes—or the park would make you buy your own 'vintage-lounge narrative loungewear' from a designer who calls gray laminate 'industrial minimalism.' The hearing-loss orientation with a live interpreter translating every warning to a deaf coworker is still beautiful. The universe still loves its irony.
“2006 Ed, you hated the team cheer, but you seemed thrilled to sit in a chair and laugh like a loon—so was the real victory the costume lady shrugging and letting you wear shorts, or the fact that those size-eight slippers never stood a chance against your size-twelve feet?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, you’ve been paying attention, haven’t you? Honestly, the shorts thing was the quiet miracle of the night. The costume lady shrugged like she’d seen a hundred guys with football feet and said nobody’d notice, and that’s when I knew I wasn’t dealing with a stickler for rules. But the slippers? Hell, those little size-eight loafers never stood a chance. I could’ve worn them as gloves. I’m pretty sure my feet have their own zip code. Still, the real victory was sittin’ in that chair. I get to laugh like a loon for eight hours while drunks stumble past a cage. That’s not a job, that’s therapy. The team cheer can eat me, but the shorts, the chair, and the fake poop smell? I’ll take it. Take that, size eight slippers.
