Today's edition of
Life's Short is going to be interactive. Please follow these steps:
1. Get in your car and drive for 4 hours down a long stretch of road.
2. Have one of your friends (or enemies) ram their car into the hood of your car, while it's parked.
3. Dump half a gallon of sand into the back of your car.
4. Set a carton of Virginia Slims on fire and put it in your bathroom.
5. Purchase a box of Hot Pockets and eat them while standing in the bathroom.
6. Pack your bathroom full of sweaty, smelly 300-pound Hawaiian men.
7. Get back in your car and drive another 4 hours.
Let me just preface this edition with the following statement: I had a great time at the beach. The weather was fantastic, the water was the perfect temperature, and the respite from Central Texas was much-needed.
However, it would not be a Mean Rachel trip to the beach without its fair share of calamity/hilarity, and no one really wants to read about how wonderful the weather was, so I will begin this entry with what everyone is more interested in: vacation snafu's.
Wonder of wonders, we pulled off all our contracts for the month and got to leave work at noon on Friday. I should have known better than to assume everything would go smoothly from there. The drive down to the beach was your typical Texas long haul -- everything looks the same but different. You can go from hills to plains to prospering crops to red dirt cacti land in a matter of miles and then the cycle starts all over again. Every sign pointed to Corpus Christi, which had IS2 saying "Are you sure we're not going to Corpus Christi?" I only have been to Corpus once and when we did go, I stayed in the Sea Ranch Motel which had holes in the bathroom door that resembled bullet holes.
Little did I know, I would soon be in a place that surpassed the Sea Ranch's sketchiness. But I digress.
The ferry line was short and sweet, and we made it across the ferry without any sort of calamity. I was struck by how short the trip from Aransas Pass to Port Aransas was. In my childhood memory, the ferry ride was a voyage, where I would see dolphins and gulls and imagine pirate ships. We did get out of the car and stand out by the edge for a little while.
We arrived at the Sandcastle Resort & Conference Center at 6:30 PM. Check-in went smoothly, and we hauled our luggage and bloody mary mixers up to our room. Oh snap -- it had a balcony. Even better -- I could see the ocean. And the pool. And a bunch of people playing in the pool. The late evening sun was cascading down and I immediately took a deep sigh of vacation relief, only to be jolted back into reality when seconds later the hotel phone rang.
Assuming that they were just calling to make sure everything was okay with the room (we had literally just gotten upstairs) I answered the phone and they asked me to come down to the lobby.
When I arrived in the lobby the desk clerk pointed at another Sandcastle employee who was sitting in a side room. He looked at me rather sadly and said "I kind of backed up into your car."
Ah yes. Five minutes at the beach -- and we're on a roll.
I went out into the parking lot and was shown the damage. Smashed in hood, front grill and scratched up bumper. His Chevy truck pretty much smashed into the top of my hood when he backed into me. I stood there awkwardly for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He said he'd been a mechanic and offered me $300.00. I can't even buy floor mats for $300, let alone a new hood. I decided to do what any self-respecting, independent woman would do: call a man to come sort things out.
IS2 came downstairs (the kid who crashed into my car actually said "Is your boyfriend coming down to beat me up?") and oh snap -- laid down the strong arm. "Call the police, file a police report, exchange insurance."
Fortunately, the gods were smiling and the kid's parents had insurance, so we should be able to get everything cleared up. Another lucky break was that my car is still drivable, so we weren't stuck at the Sandcastle all weekend (which wouldn't have been so bad).
After spending the next 2 hours in the hotel lobby using their landline to call the insurance companies, we finally were able to head over to the Trout Street Bar & Grill, which we had passed on our way from the ferry to the hotel. Since I don't eat any sort of seafood but like to force others to partake, I watched as IS2 ate some shrimp and I got the chicken. I did have a mojito, in hopes of calming my post-wreck anxieties.
The next morning we awoke to a bright, sunny day coming in through our floor-to-ceiling glass doors to the balcony. Children were shrieking and playing marco polo in the pool, and the weather was gorgeous. It's hard to sleep through that kind of day. We put on our suits under clothes and went to grab some lunch at Moby Dick's (I will spare you the details of that meal) and then bought some ice for the cooler and some Silver Bullets.
We drove straight down to the beach. The best part of Port A is Beach Drive, which is basically just a road in the sand where all of the hotels end. We parked my crumpled car directly in front of our hotel and shuttled our sand chairs and towels and cooler down to a nice spot in the sand.
We hadn't even been there for an hour when a man walking back from his car stopped and said "Hey, does that cooler thing work?" He was referring to the cardboard box with the plastic liners that the Coors Light people now make.
Danny, as it turns out, was there in Port Aransas with his wife Rhonda, who didn't look like a Rhonda at all. They had sent their 3 kids to stay with their grandparents in Houston. Danny eventually moved his entire camp over next to us and between falling asleep and complaining that his feet were getting sunburned, kept us mildly entertained. He also made me a Parrot Bay & coke, which then became my staple drink for the rest of the weekend.
Somehow, IS2 (declared by Danny as "the whitest person in Texas") and I managed not to get too sunburned. I was pretty vigilant about sunscreen, having had too many beach vacations ruined after getting fried the very first day. By 6:00 that evening, we dragged ourselves back to the Sandcastle and got cleaned up. We then went to Virginia's On the Bay which was next to the Trout Street Bar & Grill. It had a long wait but we decided to go upstairs to the open-air bar area and have some drinks and appetizers. We inhaled chips and guac and eavesdropped on people's conversations. They had a nice western view overlooking the marina and the sunset. Once we finally made it downstairs to eat, IS2 ordered probably the best meal of the trip: "The Cajun Dump." I'm serious. Which happened to be very good if you like that sort of thing -- a crab, a few shrimp, potatoes, corn and sausage all with some sort of cajun seasoning and garlic butter for dipping. Can't go wrong with the garlic butter. I tried the crab and actually liked it -- and then tried a shrimp and once again was reduced to trying not to gag. I always try to like shrimp but I just can't get into it.
Sunday morning has us a bit worried. While there were still tons of kids splashing around in the pool, the sky was a bit ominous and grey. IS2 was convinced it was going to storm, however as a Texan I know not to believe anything the weather threatens to do. We decided we'd had enough authentic island food for the time being and also decided that we needed a good strong lunch in order to survive the day, so we went to the Subway down the street and had sandwiches. On our way back, the drizzle turned into a steady rain, however I wasn’t about to go sit in the hotel. We went down to the beach again with the plan on heading in if it got any worse.
We stuck our chairs in the sand and prepared bloody mary's, enjoying the breeze off the ocean. The rain had stopped but it was still grey. However, within the hour, the sun started peeking through the clouds, and ten minutes later, it was blaring steadily overhead without a cloud in the sky.
We left the beach at 4:00 and headed back to get cleaned up for what would be the most bizarre, most tedious, most outrageously hilarious night of my life so far.
When doing research on the internet for hotels, I had noticed an advertisement for the Texas Treasure, a casino boat that departs from Aransas Pass and cruises out to international waters. The website made the trip sound like a barrel of monkeys, or at least a bearable time.
We left our hotel at around 5:30 that evening and headed down to the ferry to get to the other side of the channel. There was a deceivingly long line of cars lined up to get on the ferry but it really didn't take that long at all. We made it across and headed to the main parking lot for the Texas Treasure.
Upon our arrival, we realized that the parking lot was full of cars from the day cruise that went out before us. We were on the 7-1:30 AM cruise. I let IS2 out to go and secure our tickets, while I hunted down a spot to park.
This is when we should have left. IS2 noticed a couple, nicely-dressed, coming from the gang plank area after disembarking the cruise ship. They weren't holding hands strolling out to their car but straight running from the cruise ship through the parking lot. Aside from wondering why they were in such a hurry, we didn't really think about them again the rest of the night.
We got in the ticket line and passed through security, then found ourselves standing in another line in a holding room with a swarm of other people. We watched as the day passengers on the boat walked down the gang plank, slowly exiting the boat. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they had gotten all of the passengers off the boat and started letting the next group through.
We found ourselves in a slow-moving line up the 200 ft. long walkway to the boat, surrounded by elderly people and a few sorority girls. It wasn't hard to tell the regulars from the tourists. Finally we made it onto the boat.
I didn't to say it but seconds after getting on the boat, I wanted to get off. The ceilings were understandably low, filled with tiny, harsh light bulbs that burned through my pupils. Everything was gilded but greasy looking and the carpets were gaudy and bright, ugly casino tones. As soon as we got on the boat, we were immediately funneled into yet another line, although we didn't exactly understand what we were in a line for. Soon, we realized that we were in a line to get up to the buffet area, which would stay open until the casino opened up for gambling.
We stood in a line that wrapped throughout the boat, waiting to get to the upstairs dining area. I continued to feel claustrophobic, as the cigarette smoke was hanging in the air.
Finally we made it up to the buffet area and were "seated." Which is to say, they pointed us toward a table and we sat down. From there, we leapt up (we were rather hungry at this point) to see what the buffet held in store. Guys…it was sad. I have had expectations crushed, dreams squandered and hopes dashed, but never have I seen such a face of misery on IS2 and myself while eating our meager rations. The buffet consisted of lettuce for a salad, mashed potatoes which tasted weird, some kind of corn in cream sauce which I didn't even try, a pot roast that IS2 couldn't procure from the bone, and a loaf made of mystery meat with Thai waiters slicing off thick pieces and placing them on the plates. It was the most disgusting display. Even the 'warm rolls' were nothing more than cold burger buns, taken directly out of the bag.
That was about when IS2 looked up at me and said "I just realized -- we're stuck on here." This was at around 7:45 PM. Six hours to go.
We walked out to the top deck and watched the ocean roll by, while enjoying a drink. Albeit a little windy, this was rather pleasant. IS2 made the comment that things would improve once they opened the casino and we could play some blackjack & poker.
We sat out by the pool -- which is to say, we sat next to an empty concrete hole in the stern that they had covered with what resembled a large fishing net. I wondered who would be the first person to attempt to lay down in the netting. At this point, I was struck by how much this giant whale of a boat reminded me of the Madrone Ranch six-horse steel trailer that we often called "Moby Dick" due to its enormity and inefficiency.
At some point while we were sitting there, it occurred to us that we might want to go downstairs and get a spot at one of the card tables downstairs, even though they hadn't made the announcement that the casino was open. We walked down the stairs and into the main casino hall and suddenly were struck by the horror: they had already opened the casino.
It is an awful moment in life where you have cash in your pocket, and you're ready to spend it, lose it, win it back, whatever, but you can't. I would not wish that feeling on my worst enemy. Every card table in the house was full. Large men sitting on tiny stools, their right haunch overwhelming the size of the chair, were in for the long haul. Elderly Asian women were not about to move.
IS2 and I stood in a smoky haze, pushed up against the wall, waiting for someone to leave one of the tables for nearly an hour. I finally couldn't take it anymore. I told him that we were going to give up on gambling and take the money we would have lost and go upstairs on the deck and buy drinks, as we weren't gambling and couldn't get free drinks.
We staked out a table upstairs, where the steel drum band had finally come back and started playing various Bob Marley tunes and played "Brown Eyed Girl" for the second time in the night. Some older black women who had also given up on gambling were doing the electric slide, and I felt for a moment like I was in a scene from
Waiting to Exhale.
The absurdity of the moment hit us after our second Corona and Malibu & Coke, respectively. It suddenly became a test to see how many angry looking tourists were strewn across the upper and lower decks of the boat. People were camped out next to the pool, sleeping on the concete, or crouched with their head in their hands. IS2 and I were proud of ourselves for procuring a table with two chairs from which we could watch as one by one, the people who weren't able to gamble gave up and came upstairs.
At around midnight, I went downstairs to go to the bathroom and found myself waiting in yet another line to use the bathroom. One of the girls in front of me, who looked like she'd been there a time or two, said to her friend, "You think after this we should get in the line to leave so we can get off the boat faster?" The other one said, "Totally, that's what we did last time and it was so much better."
I suddenly did a 90 degree turn. I no longer had to go to the bathroom -- all I wanted to do was get to the front of the line.
I ran upstairs to the upper deck, where I made eye contact with IS2 who was surrounded by some large biker men leaning up against the railing. He was sitting in a swarm of derelicts, looking hopeless. I barely had to make the "Let's go" motion before he leapt up, grabbed my purse, and came down the stairs. No questions were asked as we raced down the stairs and into the main lobby of the boat, where we came upon a pack of people already standing in line. I told him how I had heard about the line to get off the boat and we were suddenly giddy to be near the top 20 people getting off the boat first. As we stood there, the line lengthened behind us quickly. Eventually, it wrapped back up the stairs and around the top of the boat.
Finally the boat came into port and they opened up the one and only entrance/exit door. Again, we found ourselves walking behind large elderly people down the long gangplank. We realized there was no one entering the boat from the opposite lane, so we hopped over the pipe railing and powerwalked down the gangplank, passing the old people.
We were finally out in the parking lot, squinting at the lights from the taxis and hearing the hiss of the tourbus air brakes that were already lined up, ready to leave. As soon as we got out into the parking lot, we felt ourselves walking faster and faster. Suddenly, without a word, both IS2 and I were running -- fleeing -- the boat, racing through the parking lot. IS2 yelled behind to me "I'll start the car!" and took off at a mad sprint back to the far reaches of the parking lot. Suddenly, we knew why the other couple had been running -- they wanted to get the hell out of there.
Fortunately, we made it to the ferry and were the first ones in line to depart Aransas Pass. We made it back to the hotel having gambled not a cent on the casino gambling boat.
Monday we got up early and hit the road to beat the ferry rush and actually made it back by 3:00. All in all, it was a great weekend, despite my smashed up coke-bottle of a car and the Texas Torture Cruise.
I wouldn’t have have it any other way.
Sometimes you'll laugh
Sometimes you'll cry
Life never tells us
The when's or why's
When you've got friends to wish you well
You'll find a point when
You will exhale.
