Waiting in the shadow of the 12-foot-tall letter C, I tried to look nonchalant, even though I could hardly stand still, and had been compelled to visit the bathroom twice in the previous 30 minutes.

I’m about to start the biggest interview of my career, I thought. My heart pounded with adrenaline.

Working as a reporter isn’t the highest paying job, one with few perks. So I figured a family trip to Anaheim was the perfect chance to wangle my way into Disneyland’s exclusive Club 33 restaurant; rarely seen by the public, let alone journalists. This is the club that Walt built, but he died just months before it opened. With fewer than 500 members around the globe, it’s the stuff of legends for most Disney fans.

I wanted in.

Feeling bold, I bravely faxed my interview request to tour the private club. Just a few days later the Magic Kingdom called via Disney PR veteran John McClintock. 

Sure, I could tour Club 33, he said. But there was a catch.

We had to enter before opening hours, I couldn’t dine at the club — it’s for members only — and my family was not invited.

Amnesia quickly set in. Family, what family?

Meet at 9 a.m. at the C of the California sign in Downtown Disney, said McClintock. I’ll find you, he said confidently.

On the appointed day, I practically ran to the giant sign from my hotel room, arriving a half hour early. Waiting, I compulsively double- and triple-checked my press ID, notebook, pens and camera batteries.

As families queued up at the happiest place on Earth, I scanned the crowd for my guide. Man with blue jacket? No. Tall guy with beard? Nope.

Then, wearing a Disney nametag on his black leather jacket, McClintock appeared, calm as could be.

Shaking hands, we moved to a side entrance, marked “Cast Members.” Already I felt like a big shot. An announcement rang in my head.

“Journalist Jennifer Huffman is now going backstage at Disneyland,” it sang out. Woo, hoo! This journalism thing is great! Giddily, I got out my notebook.

Even the wait for my visitor ID was fascinating. Cast members in various themed costumes passed. Corporate types in business wear entered and exited. Two casually dressed men without nametags wandered out into the park. Looking again, I glimpsed earphones tucked behind their ears. Aha! Plainclothes security. Even the cops at Disneyland are interesting, I thought.

Walking behind the façade of Main Street, the park looked more like the back of a mall — but with much more interesting stops.

Costume Check Out, read one sign. Costume Return, said another. One cast member stopped to adjust his cravat necktie in a mirror before going “on stage” and others paused at employee cafe Inn Between.

So this is where the Disney magic begins, I thought. Everyone seemed so nonchalant — just another day on the job. Amazing, I thought. These people are real pros.

A short walk later we arrived at the unassuming, pale green door to Club 33, hidden in plain sight in the middle of New Orleans Square. Ornate wrought iron railings with hanging flowers set the mood of the 19th century-styled two-story building. Only a small, mirrored number 33 greeted us, as McClintock buzzed the unmarked door.

Wearing a dark suit with tie and special Club 33 nametag, Club 33 restaurant manager Michael Bracco, opened the door, welcoming us into the small entry.

Club 33 was created by Walt Disney in 1967 as a private retreat for guest dignitaries and other VIPs, said Bracco. Named after its “address” in New Orleans Square, only 480 corporate and individual members belong, paying between $9,500 to $25,000 to join, plus $3,175 to $5,925 in annual dues. A simple letter to Disneyland requesting a Club 33 application is all it takes to apply, said Bracco. But be prepared to wait seven to 10 years for your chance to join. More than 1,600 people await their turn. And while members get into the park for free, there’s no free lunch — they still have to pay for their meal. 

A Disney employee for nine years, Bracco capably guided us, pointing out movie props and artwork decorating the ground floor. A bust of Marie Antoinette was from Mary Poppins, he said. A painting of the famous Disney Gentleman of Jazz trio hung on another wall.

Inside a French-style lift, we ascended into the main floor of Club 33, which, in the shape of a U, winds around above the Blue Bayou restaurant lobby and stores on Royal Street.

Decorated with New Orleans French flair, two main dining rooms and several hallways connect the serene space. In one corner is an old fashioned phone booth from the 1967 movie “The Happiest Millionaire.” A leather bench was from “Third Rock from the Sun,” said Bracco.

Other walls featured original drawings from Pirates of the Caribbean and other Disney attractions.

It was almost too much to take in. Keep it cool, I said to myself.

Walt and Lillian Disney chose many of the furnishings themselves, said Bracco, including a detailed and painted harpsichord in one corner. Every picture really did tell a story, from Disney wedding photos to other family shots. A talking stuffed vulture and hidden chandelier microphones illustrated Disney’s playful sense of humor. The Trophy Room, once home to stuffed game, now more sedately decorated, is often used for larger group dining. I carefully snapped pictures of it all.

Club 33’s Main Dining room is described as “recalling the era of Napoleon and the early 19th century.” Light blue draperies with gold detail, dark leather chairs, bronze statues and parquet floors give the room a clubby and privileged feel.

Popular menu items include prime rib and salmon, said Bracco, starting at $63 per person. The club serves both lunch and dinner for up to 112 diners using its own kitchen, said Bracco.

While guests visiting California Adventure can buy a drink at a Disney wine bar, Club 33 remains the only place in Disneyland Park where alcohol is served. I don’t drink, but if they’d offered, I would have happily knocked one back just to say I did. 

The club really is for members only — even employees don’t eat there, said McClintock. In his 20 years at Disney, McClintock said he had only dined at the club a few times. I shook my head in sympathy. Bracco noted that Club 33 cast members are specially chosen, an elite bunch.

Toward the end of the tour, a discreet display of Club 33 souvenirs stopped me cold. I might not be eating any Club 33 food, but could I buy a set of Club 33 gold-embroidered Mickey Mouse ears? Bracco graciously indulged me. I quickly picked out a pin for a co-worker, and a mug and ears for me. I’d hit pay dirt.

Wrapping my items, Bracco passed a thin, elegant pen to me.

“For you,” he said solicitously. An official Club 33 pen! Could this day get any better?

Happily clutching my bag of Club 33 souvenirs, we exited the park, swimming against the tide of incoming strollers. In a daze, I didn’t hear the music playing until the next day’s visit.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes …” sang Cinderella, “… the dream that you wish will come true.”

And I had my pen and my ears to prove it.