Against a background of dim lights, with soft ukulele music playing, the drink I ordered flashed like a 90s rave party that threatened to overflow the glass and spill into the Seven Seas Lagoon outside Disney’s Polynesian Village. You see, shoveling a full-course, family-luau-Disney-Imagineers-style-feast down the throat at 9:05 p.m., requires the help of a Magical Star Cocktail—a lighthouse of sorts—to guide it to its destination.

Disney’s ‘Ohana restaurant is extremely popular, so it’s difficult to get a reservation. I was just going to have to accept the fact that I’d eat at a time of day when I’m usually drooling into my pillow, but instead of a pillow, I would drool into a flashing drink that would keep me—and everyone else around me—wide-eyed and helplessly awake.

My server, who was incredibly professional and prompt, most likely hid a look of disapproval when I ordered it. An unprofessional server would have said, “Do you know what time it is? Dial it the F back! I know you’re on vacation, but seriously. Do you have to order the most obnoxious drink on the menu? Some of us will be staggering out of the building, dazed and stunned by the lights—for hours!”

Often, when someone orders an explosive-looking drink, others in the restaurant will think it’s fun and try it too. When this happens, there’s a feeling of comradery and adventure. This did not happen in my case. People just looked, and then looked away, and then looked again. Then, they ordered subdued, romantic drinks, like wine.

Though somewhat loud, my drink was quite beautiful. I sipped it slowly, savoring the mango-passion-fruit liqueur, the coconut rum, and pineapple juice. It was intoxicating. It contained a souvenir Glow Cube, and when I finished my drink, I decided it was time to carefully remove the cube in a dignified manner. More importantly, it was time to flip the switch and turn out the light.

But since I’d sipped the drink down to dwindling pieces of ice, and the neck of the glass was somewhat narrow, I couldn’t grab the cube and pull it out. It continued to flash, and flash, and flash, and now, people could clearly see that I was struggling to pull the cube out with my bare hands. The table, set with beautiful white cloths and napkins—surrounded by people speaking in whispers—witnessed my sauce-stained-hands-attempt to grapple with a Glow Cube.

When I finally thrust it up the neck of the glass with the help of a straw, pineapple wedge, index finger, and fork, I almost thought people would clap, but they did not. When I hit the switch to stop the flashing lights, I think I did hear a collective sigh of relief.

And now, I’m home. With the Glow Cube. Ready to make a drink that steers all watercraft off course, and perhaps confuses a few pilots in the sky who’d maybe heard of the Magical Star Cocktail but had never thought to follow its light.

Cheers!

Cecilia Kennedy once taught Spanish and English courses in Ohio for many years. She now lives in the Greater Seattle area, and writes horror stories. Her blog (Fixin’ Leaks and Leeks: https://fixinleaksnleeksdiy.blog/) chronicles her humorous (and perhaps scary?) attempts at cooking and home repair.