When I was in college, I never had a chance to do an
“official” spring break trip. Back
in 1985 I came close while crashing at a friend’s house in Clearwater,
Florida…Thank You Chuck! 1986 was
a wash because of the knee since the trip was to Killington, Vermont. No skiing, no point in going. In 1987 the gang was off to the famous
Fort Lauderdale strip. Due to a
change in major I needed more course work meaning less co-op job months…and
less money. I was low on funds and
I decided to be responsible. Yeah,
remind me not to do that again.
By changing my major I would have to go an extra semester in
the fall after my class had graduated.
It would lead to many things, but one sticks out by far. Better job? No, wound up not getting a job corresponding with my
major. Better opportunity?
Nope. Staying longer in college,
the crash of 1987 led to widespread unemployment. Rich beyond my wildest dreams? No…well, I guess in a way…Yes.
By the time we were seniors, my roommate and I transformed
our simple dorm room into a den of iniquity. The beds were up in lofts to maximize the space. Under one bed was a couch and a coffee
table, but under the other was the centerpiece. My roommate had built a beautiful bar. My input being the cutout center that
displayed a 20 gallon fish tank.
Behind the bar was the fridge with our TV upon it. We were 14 stories up and had a
huge bay window with an awesome view.
It had a 5ft square window “sill” that most people would place books,
supplies etc. We were not most
people. What a waste that space
would have been for such simple inanimate objects. We tacked down cushion and topped it with carpet. We adorned it with throw pillows for
ambiance. It became known as "The Perch". Even Heff would have been
envious.
The summer after graduation I remained in that room. However, with a new semester coming, I
did not want to reside in the upperclassmen dorm. Cliques were already created and there was no need to meet
new people. I decided I would move
the entire room to the freshman dorm.
As incoming freshmen they would be eager to interact, and knowing the
ropes I would have the upper hand.
One look at my room and they would know that would be the place to
party. Since I was a “super”
senior I was among the first to select my new room. Upperclassmen were going to choose “their” dorm, so I knew I
would have the pick of the litter in the freshman dorm. I chose the seventh floor. It was a co-ed floor and high enough
for a view. Also I strategically
picked one of the two rooms in the elevator lobby. It was a high traffic area so I would not go unnoticed.
I developed friendships quickly that semester. The guys nicknamed
me “grandpa”…which was fine by me.
Luckily, the barely out of high school girls, didn’t…which also was fine
by me. After I finished my final
classes, it was time to depart Drexel.
However remaining so close to my new found freshmen, I would return…and
return...and return. Their
following sophomore year they moved on from the dorms into their own apartment
dwelling. I would find myself
crashing there almost every weekend.
Spring break 1990 was rapidly approaching. Even though I was out of college, there was no way I was
going to miss it this time.
The freshmen now sophomores selected Cancun. We looked at several packages. Price was now no object for me since I
was gainfully employed. However,
they were still broke college students.
My frugal friend found a package for the five of us that sounded too
good to be true…and we would soon find out it was.
We arrived in Cancun and looked for transportation to our
hotel. The tour buses were all
headed to the resorts and we could not find ours among the listed. We were finally informed our hotel was
downtown. We found ourselves among
the locals…not the locals that embrace the tourists either. The hotel looked like something out of
Revenge of the Nerds II. The pool
was half full, and the half that was in it looked like the sewer I fell in oh
so many years ago. The five of us
entered the room to find one double and one single bed. We told the man that we were supposed
to have a room that sleeps five.
He pulled the mattress off of the double bed and placed it on the
floor. “Cinco” and with that he
left the room.
That night we were off to the bars. We would have to cab it out of downtown
towards the tourist destinations.
The first night was Tequila Sunrise. Not the best of venues, but it had an “All the tequila you
could drink party for $19”. We met
a group of girls ranging from 5-10’s.
The 5 seemed the most interested in me…hey, who am I to judge
anyway. It was time to refill our
drinks and I offered to go. At
this point I had already established a relationship with the bartenders. My spang-lish kept them entertained,
but it was mostly my tipping. I
was probably the only non-student so I had more cash flow than most. Each time I returned I did not have to
wait in line. They would welcome
me with “Mi hermano” and “Mi amigo”.
I told them there was a girl waiting for me. They cheered me on with “Bueno, bueno”. I said “No, no bueno…es muy fea…
necesito tequila.” They must have
understood since they soon showered me with shots. I returned to my 5, much more the 10 now. Hey who knows, maybe she had to go for
some tequila too. That evening must
have went well, for we were all invited to their beach resort the following
day.
We were happy to get away from our no-star hotel for as long
as possible. We packed like we
were not returning. We arrived at
their resort, luggage in hand.
They said, “Are you planning on staying? Because you are welcome to.” That was an awesome invite. They had been well aware of our plight. We changed into our bathing suits and headed out. We annexed a small section
of the multiple cascading pools.
It was away from the center waterfall laden larger one. It was our own private oasis. While in the water we decided to have
chicken fights. For those of you
not familiar, that is when you place another person on your shoulders and try
to knock an opposing couple over.
Obviously my stature lends to me being the bottom support guy, whether a
female OR MALE resides upon my shoulders.
A few rounds in my partner and I were undefeated. Then I discovered something about fancy
pools. It seems the bottom was set
with tiny tiles…not the usual gunite.
During one of our jousts, I slipped and struggled to regain my
balance. I pushed off on my right
foot and felt a shooting pain. I
lost control of my partner and our battle was lost. But worse, I could see a cloud of bright red below me. I exited the pool to find I had sliced
open my toe on the tiles…and the blood was flowing. I needed to find first aide.
I did not want to draw attention to myself since the resort
had a strict policy about allowing guests…and I did not want to get us all tossed
out. I headed alone to the front
desk for help. I trekked
throughout the resort unknowingly leaving a bloody trail. I arrived at the concierge to find a
couple being helped and another waiting in line. The cantankerous couple at the desk were oblivious to anyone behind them…especially
me…and they looked like they would never be satisfied.
They finally departed and the next couple was up. The guy happened to turn and took one
look at me. I was still soaking
wet and stood in a developing pool of my own blood. He just said, “It’s ok, you can go next.” The clerk led me to first aid. I was lucky he did not inquire as to my
staying. He said he would alert
the first aid attendant. A few
minutes later walked in one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. I could tell she was a local and soon
found out she was attending nursing school. My heart was throbbing more than my toe. I was lucky her beauty was matched by
her skill, as I was quickly wrapped and ready to go. She informed me she would be right back, I needed to fill
out the paperwork and my proof of residency. Uh-oh. Alas, my
encounter would be fleeting. I took
this opportunity to just slip out the back Jack…and set myself free.
I headed back to my friends, who caught me as I was exiting
the hotel. They just pointed back
at my extensive trail of blood by the pool. The local police had been summoned and they cordoned off
that area as a crime scene. My
friends informed me that the girls had gone back to the room...and we should do the same as soon as possible.
Rumors later flew around the hotel that someone was shot. I assumed eventually they would
interview my Florence Nightingale and she would inform them of the "blood
gushing gringo". We laid low in the
rooms the rest of the day…which wasn’t so bad. My 5 was a 10 when it came to compassion…and that’s what
really counts anyway right?
All the effort of moving my dorm room for that one semester
worked…better than I could have imagined.
The group gathered recently for a wedding. We relived our Cancun trip along with all our other
adventures. That fall I wound up
forming friendships that would last a lifetime.
And I wound up richer for it.
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