One Night Only / Cancun
They came for the Spring Break. They stayed for the pool party at Tequila Sam’s. One night only. One. Night. Only.
It has often been said that a pool party is not a pool party without a hot tub. And a hot tub is not a hot tub without fluorescent black lights. And a fluorescent black light kills the bacteria that the chlorine misses. Fortunately, hot tubs and black lights were not in short supply tonight.
This was indeed a pool party.
Outlawed malt liquor-based energy drinks in hand (and in many cases, hands), they came to get down. Many by the side of the pool, bumping and grinding with a gleeful abandon. But even more chose to revel in the hot tubs themselves, ankle deep in the chlorine-filled water and brow deep in jauntily perched trucker caps (and yet wearing little else).
As the revelers enveloped themselves in the warm water and each other, they spiritually returned to the womb – a simpler time when all was safe and the cares, trials and tribulations of life were all on the distant horizon. There is no simpler time than within the womb. And so with reckless abandon I leapt into the water to reclaim my lost youth. I attempted to join, sidling up next to several girls in bikinis and collegiate caps but like the waters of low tide, they receded away and I found myself gyrating in awkward solitude. A line had been crossed. The girls screeched. The guys dropped their cans. The music stopped.
As I was forcefully escorted from the premises I did not even have time to grab my coconut-ensconced Long Island iced tea. I had been ripped from the comfort of the womb. And for the second time. I screamed like that child did thirty seven years ago as he was cruelly cast out onto the cold Mexican tiled world.