Tom Verdi

Twelve bucks for a cheeseburger. Twelve bucks. Now, that’s reasonable if it’s from a decent restaurant, or you’re at a resort, or it’s the last cheeseburger on Earth. But for cheap, greasy, “ doesn’t pass the McDonald’s test” Disney food? Get out of here. Other prices are also exorbitantly high, such as $9.49 for a mini pepperoni pizza with an inch deep grease puddle in the middle, which Austin Scavetti (’13) can attest to. I wouldn’t pay that much for “food” unless I was trapped in a gated area with no other alternatives for miles. Welcome to Disney World.

Look around. Beautiful gardens, thrilling amusement parks, and gift shops as far as the eye can see. In fact, if you haven’t noticed, after every single attraction, the exit “casually” guides the guests through an overpriced gift shop. Of course they’re going to buy something! Where’s the competition? It’s nonexistent. Over the course of the Disney band trip, there wasn’t one single opportunity to purchase anything not sold by Disney. Within the confines of Disney World, Disney is a monopoly and there’s nowhere else to turn. Legally, Disney can get away with it because they are not the only game in town. No one’s stopping the customers, or “guests”, from going to Universal Studios or, dare I say it, SeaWorld (which is obviously the best park, by far). But in its magical kingdom, Disney is a monopoly and a price-maker. Economic lesson of the day: Because Disney World is the only firm in the market, it has complete price control over its goods and services. There is no competition to dictate price; therefore, Disney can charge however much it wants to.

Another interesting fact of Disneyopoly isn’t noticeable at first glance. But after a hard day’s walking and park-hopping, it soon becomes apparent. If you want to sit down, go inside of a restaurant. Particularly in Epcot, there are hardly any benches at all. Disney wants its guests to keep moving, to keep walking through gift shops and attractions. If you want to sit down, get on a roller coaster and walk through the gift shop at the end of the ride.

Unrelated to the monopolistic characteristics of Disney World, inside of Epcot exists an unauthorized picture of Mr. Quinn. Either that or he has a clone living somewhere in Orlando. I wouldn’t be surprised. Man, he sure looks angry—probably because he had to pay $9.49 for a grease puddle and his kid wanted a $42 mini-statue of Donald Duck. See the picture of Mr. Quinn’s clone below.

Disney magic makes dreams come true, for a price. Unless a rogue hot dog vendor sneaks his cart in through the service entrance, we’re all going to pay top dollar for those magical turkey legs.