After writing this post, it is longer than I thought, so I’ll split it into three mini ones:
Spring Break this is not. Funny, in a “it would be funnier if it wasn’t happening to me but one of my friends”, yes. Fun… not sure yet. Firstly, the 4 stars this hotel proudly gives itself has to be wrong. This is not all-inclusive. That to me would mean eat and drink whenever, wherever and, more or less, whatever you want from the menu. This is more a form of totalitarian all-inclusive. You can eat what we give you, when and where we feel like it. It’s brutal. So far I’ve tried sticking to the buffets. I could be in & out easier, I didn’t have to wait around to be disappointed by what I ordered, the food was already out to see and disappoint. Plus I didn’t have to make reservations for a table like the other restaurants.
However, yesterday, I see a sign that the dinner buffet was closed that night in the usual place. Instead there would be a big event on the hotel’s beach front, an ABBA’s tribute band, plus the dinner was being served there, but you had to reserve a table. So, I made the reservation, reserved a table, and went along about 8 o’clock to check it out.
The setting was cool in fairness. Down along the edge of the beach, lit up brightly, stage at one end, food buffet along one side, sand and sea on the other side, lots of tables in the middle, all cordoned off by rope and ribbons. Just lovely. I go to the entrance, wait to be seated at my table. Andy and Colin, once again poor chaps, were feeling sick, so I had to go along on my own, ha. I notice, while waiting for Miguel to seat me, that the tables are the ones you’d see at a wedding, or a hotel function, the big round ones that seat a few, a good few. I start to wonder if they’ll have a small one like that for me.
So I follow Miguel, from the entrance at the back of the set-up, through all the tables with all the people, up to by the stage, just in front and to the left, next to the food, under a floodlight, my cosy table. My big, round table, just like the others, that seats 10 people. No-one else is at the table, looks like its reserved just for me and my party. Sorry, Miguel, anything a bit smaller? He can’t hear me with Dancing Queen being belted away in the background, gives me a smile and a si, pulls out a seat for me and I sit down. For some reason facing the crowd, I think the spotlight lighting up my table and the dance floor was blinding so I had my back to it. Then straight away get up and go get some food. Back to my big, cosy, exposed feeling table, back to the floodlight, spotlight, the big shining light that brightened up my table nicely, and nicely illuminated the shadow of my head across the dance floor.
I’m sure no-one even looked up at my table, or cared I was there on my own. However, in my head, the scene from the movie Sideways was playing on repeat, where he’s eating on his own, looking annoyed. This was great fun, Miguel, two of your flat, watery beers please! So while Miguel scuttles off, a guy getting food from the buffet next to me salutes me with a nod and asks if this seat is free, can he sit down. Work away buddy, bring your friends over, fill the table up! So a friend of his does come over, and its then when I recognise them… my big, fat, gay German buddies. They’re no longer wearing their identical hats, both look similar to Gary Glitter still though, and thankfully they’re wearing more than just red thongs this time around.
Gary 1 starts the small talk, asks me questions in German, I respond in a bit of English with a dash of German here and there. Gary 2 asks me if I’m here on my own. Gary 1 asks me more small talk about Germany. Gary 2 keeps asking if I’m here on my own, with a sparkle in his eye. I’m wishing I was still feeling like the Sideways dude now, instead of feeling like Gary 2 is going to ask me up to their room at any minute, so I wouldn’t be on my own. Miguel finally comes back to the two yellow waters. I use them to wash down my fish that tastes a lot like washing up liquid, bid the German Garries adieu, and head off to buy some beer and get a Subway. My usual route after I have a meal in the hotel.
Off to the nearest shop I go, buy some cans of Bud light, nice and cheap, not in the fridge so they’re also nice and warm but its better than the hotel’s stuff at least. Pack of tic-tacs, seeing as its Mexico, I’ll try the lime ones. Power walk onto Subway, cursing the fact I bothered with all-inclusive when I keep having to do this routine a few times a day. Get to Subway, the yellow water has flown through me, or was it that dodgy fish, so I ask the guy making my sub where the bathroom is, he points down the hallway. Down the hallway I go, into the small bathroom, not like a big public one, just room for one in there. So, the door closes, I hear a click, reach for the light, it doesn’t work. Get out my phone, using the light from it to fumble with the light switch, its still not working, must be bust. Maybe there’s a light switch outside the door actually, let me check. Turn the door knob, door doesn’t open. I try the lock, its just turning fully around, clicking away, just like it did actually when it closed behind me. The job, I’m now locked in the bathroom of Subway, in complete darkness.
After a good few minutes hammering on the door, shouting for Miguel, Raul, Gary 1 or 2, anyone, I get no response. I realize I could panic but there’s not much I could do really. I’ve been locked in a bathroom before, ha, I know the routine. I decide to hope that the guy making my sub notices I never came back from the bathroom. I open a can of warm beer, throw in a few lime tic-tacs for that authentic Mexican feel (they did nada for the manky warm taste in case you were wondering), sit on the sink, throw a song on my iPod, and wait in hope.
About two cans in, someone knocks on the door, wuu to the huu. The guy making my sub is here to save me, tells me to wait Senor, si, I get the manager. Two and a half cans later, I have no clue what took him so long, he’s back with the manager. The manager has perfect English at least, tells me to stand back from the door. Two thuds, kicks I think, and a barge later, and the door is bust open by the stocky little manager, my saviour. I’m on my fifth can at this stage, so I no longer really mind, especially seeing as the manager apologies and says I have free subs for the rest of my stay (apparently there was meant to be a sign up saying the toilet was out of service, but, they forgot to put it up, so sorry senor, no problem Raul, c’mon we share my last can!!!).
At least the free sub, and the 6 cans, had me in the mood to head out that night. I went along to supposedly the best club, Christine, another all you can drink place. Lo and behold, the hotel crew all seem to be there again like the night before. Canadian dude, Gary 1 and 2, Tom Cruises, Bon Jovis, couples, the whole crew, minus the hot wife, not that I’d do anything now I know, of course. The place is strange to say the least, old bald dudes everywhere, majority wearing their sunglasses in the club, lots of old asian women in young asian women clothes, some had to have been grannies, and one guy who was doing the most elaborate dance moves while on his own on the dance floor, something to watch at least.
While watching him in bewilderment, and wondering what are the chances MTV might show up here to film this version of Spring Break, Gary 1 and Gary 2 come over to me, asking if I’m here on my own. I can join them at their table for drinks if I like, do I like to dance? Sweet lord, I need help, the Germans want a threesome. Thankfully, over comes my buddy from the night before, the little Canuck, round of shots in hand, and two women flanking him. He introduces me to them, two English girls. A bit of small talk here and there, when one asks me if I’m 16 too? Pardon me, what do you mean? Your Canadian friend is only 16, you’re not 16 too are you? What the funk, he’s only 16?!!! I am, eh, I’m here with my parents, anyone want a tequila, eh? I’m being drunk under the table by a 16 year old, happy days, booze on boss, booze on.
The little Canuck heads off to get plenty more rounds of shots for us, and I try to talk to the blonde English girl (she’s 28, not 16 too, thankfully), the one who looked like she had more interesting conversation in her, and I suppose, far and away the hotter of the two. Not that I noticed, obviously. After a while, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, be right back. I tell her to be careful of the lock, and I’m left with the, sounder, frumpier, grumpier looking friend. She tells me straight off “I hope you know this is going no further for you tonight?” Eh, pardon, what do you mean. “With my friend, nothings going to happen tonight for you there.” She then kindly tells me, not asks, time, month… nothing is going to happen for you with her tonight. I think its a p**s take because of the night before, has to be surely, oh jesus, is the husband in the house?!!! “Fine, ask her yourself when she comes back, or else I will just to prove it.” So, the frumpy, grumpy, sound friend does ask her hotter friend when she comes back, or states the fact of time, month for her, in front of both of us. Turns out she wasn’t lying, her friend does enough to confirm, at least there’s no denial. The frumpy grumpy friend is fine though, she informs me, hers was last week. Lovely. I’m not sure what to say to either of them after that, nice bit of awkward silence, weird enough.
I decide I should really go help the Canadian dude with carrying the round of shots. In the end, I never did manage to get to talk to either of those English girls again though. It was a big club, and I ended up losing them. Eventually. The frumpy, grumpy one was far harder of the two to shake off I must say, ha.
Song of the day, the first Subway bathroom song that came on my tripod, is this savage new one… Snookered by Dan Deacon