The big guy is watching me stash our used hotel towels behind the door and collect all the glasses and there were a few and arrange them symmetrically on the bathroom counter. I wipe up the toothpaste spills and smooth out the lumps on the comforter-covered bed. "You know they pay people to do this," is his comment but I cannot, I will not leave a hotel room in any kind of disorder. I am the product of an OCD germaphobic brain and I wouldn't think of apologizing for this. I would never expect any human being to clean up my filth and if everyone felt this way then world peace would follow quickly, assuredly and permanently.
I learned this from my mother. I'm pretty sure she had cleaning products at the bottom of her suitcase whenever she traveled. I come from a long line of proud women who worshiped bleach and my father is of the same vein. In his precision-packed Marine suitcase he would have bed linens, his personal war against creepy-crawlies in those foreign beds. Back home I would be collecting their newspapers and mail each day and they left their house as if they would be returning in ten minutes instead of ten days. Half a blackened banana on the kitchen counter, dried-up drumstick in the fridge already five days old, cottage cheese two weeks expired. My parents suffered from bellyaches and intestinal problems all their lives and I theorized mild food poisoning was often the cause.
I awake the first morning in lovely Jamaica and stretch before the patio door, singsong waves and pinkish clouds in my sight, perfection. My solitude is seriously challenged when Thong Man, every resort has one, does his yoga exercises on the pier outside my window. His favorite pose seems to be bent over with bare ass aimed in my direction and swinging his right arm in a large arc like a gigantic elephant dong. but he is easily dismissed, silly narcissistic goose that he is. He will spend his day on the nude beach with the other silly narcissistic nudist geese out of sight, thank god. But there is one more group on campus of which I am leery.
And that would be the group from Wisconsin, arrived just this morning. You can hear them coming from a great distance because they can't seem to have a conversation unless it is in the very high decibel range. They descend on the pool, my sacred area and announce in loud blaring tones, "pool volleyball, NOW, deserters will be shot." Their quivering bellies above their Green Bay Packer swim trunks are starting to seriously redden but they have no awareness of this due to their huge consumption of the native Red Stripe beer and they have two-litre beer mugs which allow them to make less trips to the bar.
It is time for me to retire to the isolated end of the beach, look for more sea glass and ponder the problems of the world.
I learned this from my mother. I'm pretty sure she had cleaning products at the bottom of her suitcase whenever she traveled. I come from a long line of proud women who worshiped bleach and my father is of the same vein. In his precision-packed Marine suitcase he would have bed linens, his personal war against creepy-crawlies in those foreign beds. Back home I would be collecting their newspapers and mail each day and they left their house as if they would be returning in ten minutes instead of ten days. Half a blackened banana on the kitchen counter, dried-up drumstick in the fridge already five days old, cottage cheese two weeks expired. My parents suffered from bellyaches and intestinal problems all their lives and I theorized mild food poisoning was often the cause.
I awake the first morning in lovely Jamaica and stretch before the patio door, singsong waves and pinkish clouds in my sight, perfection. My solitude is seriously challenged when Thong Man, every resort has one, does his yoga exercises on the pier outside my window. His favorite pose seems to be bent over with bare ass aimed in my direction and swinging his right arm in a large arc like a gigantic elephant dong. but he is easily dismissed, silly narcissistic goose that he is. He will spend his day on the nude beach with the other silly narcissistic nudist geese out of sight, thank god. But there is one more group on campus of which I am leery.
And that would be the group from Wisconsin, arrived just this morning. You can hear them coming from a great distance because they can't seem to have a conversation unless it is in the very high decibel range. They descend on the pool, my sacred area and announce in loud blaring tones, "pool volleyball, NOW, deserters will be shot." Their quivering bellies above their Green Bay Packer swim trunks are starting to seriously redden but they have no awareness of this due to their huge consumption of the native Red Stripe beer and they have two-litre beer mugs which allow them to make less trips to the bar.
1 comment:
I love this. I know it's kind of serious for you, but you tell it well :-D
But hey, the 'cleaning your room' thing? I do that too!! Himself leaves the place like a tip. I don't want people (ie the staff) to think we LIVE like that. Even though he does EXACTLY the same thing at home....
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