The producer pushed that button.

In 1985, when Theresa Mendavey was a kid, she was arrested at Disneyland.

Theresa’s father, Hector Mendavey, had just arrived at the amusement park with Theresa and some of her friends for Theresa’s twelfth birthday celebration. Theresa’s arrest took place during the girls’ first ride.

Hector had been looking forward to a respite from the Obnoxious Seven, his name for Theresa and her six friends. It would be Hector Mendavey’s first moment of peace and quiet since they all had left their home in Manderville Canyon. Manderville Canyon was basically an enclave of expensive homes near Beverly Hills, California.

It had been a long, loud, hectic ride from Manderville. Hector had driven only a few miles before the girls—all seven of them—complained of extreme hunger, which was strange since they had all just finished breakfast. So Hector Mendavey took the girls to a Denny’s. It hadn’t been more than six minutes since they left Denny’s when the Obnoxious Seven had to go to the bathroom ensemble. So Hector had to stop again. The first time at a scuzzy gas station. The girls refused to use the gas station’s toilet. “Gross,” the ensemble chorused. So Hector took the girls to a Wendy’s, bought a cup of coffee, and sat at the counter drinking it while the Obnoxious Seven did their peeing.

Now, with the girls off on some kind of miniature train ride, Hector Mendavey could finally enjoy reading his New York Times financial section in peace on an empty bench in the shade of an E ride. The quiet interlude was shattered almost immediately when he heard his name repeated over and over again on the park’s loudspeakers:

MR. HECTOR MENDAVEY
PLEASE COME TO THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.

MR. HECTOR MENDAVEY
PLEASE COME TO THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.

Hector Mendavey was shocked. Then panic-stricken. Though it was Hector’s first time at Disneyland, he hadn’t heard any other parents paged during his brief stay there. Something very terrible must have happened to his daughter Theresa. Something terrible was always happening to his daughter Theresa, he reflected irritably, which wasn’t true at all.

By the time Hector Mendavey found the Administration Building he was verging on a major coronary. He was also sweating like a pig. Theresa’s father was given a curt greeting and then led down to the bowels of the building where the jail was located. The jail looked like a jail. Even the prison matrons looked like prison matrons: large and bulky and manly in their black suits, white shirts, black ties, and butch haircuts. Everything in Disneyland looked like what it was supposed to look like.

“I’m Hector Mendavey. Is my daughter Theresa okay?”

“Yes,” answered the matron.

“Is she well? Is she in one piece?”

“Yes.”

Thank God, thought Hector. If something bad had happened to Theresa, Edna would have given him a tin ear for weeks.