He imagined the look on the fat man's face. He cherished the idea of another one of those city tourists who liked to complain about everything, from how the beds were made to how the animals at the Serengeti looked, getting stuck in Space Mountain.

It was a bet he and Tony did every day. Ten dollars, a mutual agreement on who to choose, then spend the rest of their day following the obese American around the park to see which ride he, or she, would get stuck on first. They would pick up their broom and dustpan and follow the tourist around, it was never figured out why the park was always so clean after obese men or women had passed by. The employees not in on the bets made jokes about the gravitational forces from the larger people picking up trash as they moved, and it wasn't far from the truth, those Americans would grab everything they could get their hands on, from corn dogs to cotton candy before walking the full half-mile to their next ride of choice.

The man they had chosen for that day, sweat pouring down his double chin and large cheeks, had to unstick the front of his t-shirt from his chest just before he stepped into the front row of the car on Space Mountain. The safety latch was lowered by the operator. It didn't latch. The operator pushed down harder, it popped up. The man looked confused, as if this had never happened before. Shooting an apologetic face at the operator he placed his hands on the safety latch and on the count of three slammed it home. The safety latch clicked and stayed put. The man had barely fit in the car.

"Damn." Tony said as he handed his ten dollars over.