There’s only one thing you need if you want to have a fun time in Orlando, Florida: $40 million. I didn’t have $40 million. I barely even had half that much. But we got a really good deal on a place to stay and Travis, Amber, Amy, Ann and I were eager to spend what little money we did have for the privilege of waiting in long lines, so we went to Orlando anyway.

While we were in Florida we spent one day at Universal “we’re no Disney but we still cost as much” Studios, a designated “theme park.” I think the main theme of Universal Studios is “stand here and don’t move.”

We spent many hours waiting in long, twisting lines in the hope that they led to something fun and exciting. This is always a risk at these big parks because you can never quite see where the line you are in is going. I don’t even think some of them lead to anything at all. There are probably people who entered the park years ago still wandering through an endless maze of ropes in the hopes of someday finding an exit so they can go to the bathroom.

But Universal Studios offers the kind of fun you just can’t find anywhere else — until now. I have developed a technique where you simulate the thrill of Universal Studios in your own home:

Get a cardboard refrigerator box and cut a small door in it. Stand next to the box for at least an hour. Enter the box. While inside the box, light a firecracker and have a friend shake the box vigorously. Pay your friend 50 bucks.

But Florida has many other things to offer that make spending spring break there worthwhile. Such as deep penetrating sunburns.

I couldn’t con the Daily into funding this trip for the award-winning journalistic research I was no doubt performing, so to save money we had to drive down there. This meant a 26-hour car ride both ways with five people in a Ford Taurus. This included three women.

Don’t get me wrong, I like women. But traveling with them is not easy because they are never satisfied. For some reason when I was riding shotgun, the girls in the back felt they should be in charge of the temperature.

“We need more air,” they’d say. “Could you make it colder please?” “I said turn it colder!” “TURN IT COLDER, DAMNIT!”

Try as I did to please them, they wouldn’t shut up. I had penguins making snow angels in the front seat, and the girls in the back were still whining about how hot they were. Not only that, they wanted control of the radio too.

“Turn down the volume, I’m trying to sleep.” “Turn it up, I can’t hear it!” “If you play any more Weird Al, I’m gonna poke your eyes out with a curling iron!”

That was no idle threat, either. All the women had curling irons, along with a lot of other crap that men don’t need, like hair dryers and clean underwear.

They had the car packed tighter than a “Baywatch” swimsuit, so moving to adjust the radio was difficult, not to mention my fingers had frozen off half way through the trip anyway.

It may sound like I don’t recommend traveling with women, but they bring good food, so things kind of even out. I even made it through the entire trip without shooting anyone (I need to work on my aim).

But 26 hours in a car was a long time, so if we weren’t pissing each other off, the only other thing to do was look at the lovely scenery. By lovely I mean hideously boring. The only interesting scenery on the trip were the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, and I only know that from reading AAA Tour Books because we drove through them at night while I was sleeping.

While the scenery sucked, there was one thing we could always look forward to seeing: tall, yellow signs over little yellow huts known as Waffle Houses.

Anyone who has ever been to the South, especially in Georgia, knows about the Waffle House. There are more Waffle Houses in Georgia than people. There are Waffle Houses across the street from other Waffle Houses. There are Waffle Houses inside of other Waffle Houses. We stopped for gas and they even tried to build a Waffle House in our car.

Naturally, as a man of culture, I felt the need to stop at a Waffle House and experience some authentic Southern cooking. Nobody wanted to stop, but if you beg to do something for 18 hours, you’ll eventually get your way.

So about 3 a.m. somewhere in Georgia, we stopped at a Waffle House. I had a waffle. It was really bad, but that’s not the point. The point is, I learned something about Georgia, mainly that their waffles taste like sweaty tennis shoes.

But I stole a Waffle House hat so I was happy anyway. Next time I go back, I’m going to bring a U-Haul and steal an entire Waffle House.

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Peter Borchers is a sophomore in advertising from Bloomington, Minn. He never plans to ride in a car again until Monday night.