In college, if you were in a fraternity or sorority, wore Abercrombie and Fitch or a Nike headband with gelled up hair or owned a Prada black purse; Spring Break mean't one thing- Acapulco. Prior to my trip my grandmother passed away and my parents allowed me to go to Acapulco for my senior year as a way to "celebrate her." This is what my parents said as I signed my life away on documents that stated that the travel agency was not responsible for my life if lost while mourning my grandmother. Ironic.
After going to the gym for a month- I had to look big for the loads of hot girls-the big trip had arrived. Starting out on a low note- I managed to leave my ATM card in the ATM. Always a great start to a week-long trip to a foreign country. Then I figured that I would probably lose it in Mexico, regardless; College Park, Maryland seemed like a safer place to lose a card. After arguing our way into First Class, we arrived in Mexico wasted and fed. The Hyatt (who had a page on Friendster at one point-silly) would be our home for the next week. After checking in it was down to the pool.
Claiming lounge chairs at the pool was an art. Much like crazy teenagers that wait for Harry Potter Books in the freezing rain or as those of us that went to Maryland remember, waiting for Basketball tickets in the snow at Cole- getting a chair required you to get to the pool by the crack of dawn. In an effort to outsmart and secure the best seats (terrace level facing the ocean), we decided to come home from the clubs, change and use our towels as blankets. Who needs to sleep in the room you are paying $300 per night for...idiots.
The highlight of our days at the pool arrived promptly at 5 (this was a very strict policy) and ended at 6, on the dot. However, in the 59 minutes making up this hour, chaos ensued. It was here that I decided to become the MC for the pool area, taking command of the microphone doing a stand-up routine (where I basically made fun of those at the pool who were not binge-drinking). At the end of the week, I was known as the "guy from happy hour," my grandmother would be so proud.
At night, it was pretty much the same- however, the lounge chairs were replaced with $2000 tables with bottles. I could not tell you what the names of any of these clubs were- but like those that came before me, I did "Dance with the Devil" (who rumor has it is gay) and watch the sunrise through the clubs large windows. This "Devil" character was a man painted with silver who stood on a large podium - really got the japs going. I have a feeling Elmo could be standing on a podium and we would have gone equally insane (who even knew what was going on). I dont remember much about those nights, but I do know that everyone was taking some sort of prescription sleeping pill that to be honest I think my grandmother was taking prior to her passing (Again ironic). The highlight of the evening were the fireworks that streamed down from the ceiling, which I am sure would have broken many fire codes back in the US.
I dont want you to think that I was not able to take in the scenery of Mexico, aside from the Hyatt and the random nightclubs we stumbled into like drunks. While lounging at the pool, my body sent me a message that it was over my vacation of tequila, vodka and quesadillas. I proceeded to throw up what I thought was blood. My quick thinking (and my wasted condition) led me to my "little brother" from my fraternity...after asking him if he could speak Spanish, we were off to the hospital.
My little brother was not the brightest bulb; he often left his keys in his car, and frequently went days without showering, but he was perhaps the nicest guy I knew- and the thought that he didnt speak Spanish never crossed my mind. Upon entering the hospital, which resembled a makeshift lab featured in the movie "Saw", I found myself playing a game of charades with the doctor...or man dressed in a white coat playing doctor, who knows. After no tests or coherent exchange, I was given pills and determined that the "blood" was really my happy hour margarita, ole, oh vey.
I will always remember my time in Mexico...I know this because I brought my video camera to capture the seven days of binge-drinking of me and my friends. In addition to running around the hotel slurring my words, jumping in girls showers and filming hours of incoherent life altering conversation- I managed to film myself sitting on my bed doing nothing, talking to myself for two hours. This movie will certainly not earn me an Oscar nod, but I do have some great footage for studies on alcohol and teenagers. Wouldn't my grandmother be proud.
Clean it up Kids,
Dan
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