If you missed it: Part 1 here
LUCK BE A LADY TONIGHT
Who ever said complaining doesn't solve anything needs to pick up a white courtesy phone at Gate B12 and kiss my ass, because not long after my extremely audible tirade, an older, sultry woman with a Mrs. Robinsonesque quality about her strolled by and before I could say "Coo-coo-ca-choo," she was on her cell phone talkin' turkey with her ex-boyfriend "Ken," who just happened to be the manager at an all-inclusive resort on St. Thomas ironically named "The Renaissance" - which, for all you people named something other than Leonardo, Donnatello or Fred, means rebirth or new beginning. So poetic, so timely so abso-freakin'-lutley lucky.
So our new lady friend whispers a few sweet nothings to Kenny and bing-bang-boom, he scores us two rooms for some pocket change. So we got that going for us, which is nice. Next thing you know, the airline trades the flying jalopy currently sitting in our jet way for "the plane to be named later" and only 10 excruciating hours after the mother of all cock blocks, we're singing "We are the champions" while coasting on the warm trade winds down to the not-so-Virgin Islands.
54b, why do they call them the Virgin Islands? I'm glad you ask. According to legend, back in the fourth century, a boat load of nuns took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up stranded a little further south of their intended target. And since there were a lot of pirates and other unsavory characters in the vicinity, these ladies of the cloth decided to off themselves rather than risk a run-in with One-Eyed-Willy, if you know what I mean. Thus insuring their vow of chastity forever and making elementary school aged geography students (and me) giggle every time we hear the name of the islands that pervert Columbus named in their honor.
LET'S GET IT ON IN ST. JOHN
After a good night's rest, a couple of trips through the renowned Renaissance breakfast buffet and a dip in the Caribbean (30 minute wait Optional outside contiguous United States), I felt like a new man, or at least a man wearing a new pair of underwear anyway. By noon, the eight of us had checked out of the resort and were on our way to the dock to catch the ferry to St. John, but not before fleecing the hotel for towels, pillow mints, shampoo, sewing kits and shower caps...you know, just in case I needed to pull a MacGyver and build a submersible or something.
Anyway, once you get to St. John, you notice two things very quickly: the only thing flat on the island is your white ass and everyone is driving on the wrong side of the road. Thankfully, Steve, who claims to have seen the movie European Vacation 27 times, volunteered to drive and he did a jolly good job. Otherwise, here are the top 10 things everybody who ever got jilted by a cruise ship and stranded on St. John ought to know:
- Driving while drinking a beer in front of a cop is perfectly legal. But throwing that same beer can out the window is punishable by death.
- Getting your hair braided doesn't make you a local, it makes you a target.
- Happy Hour is like calisthenics for when the real drinking games begin.
- Leave your jewelry at home, you don't need a watch to tell island time.
- Asking the waiter if they serve "Jerk Chicken" is like saying "hey, I'm Bob from Wisconsin, can I pay you to kick me in the balls."
- Just because a barracuda swims up near you doesn't mean he wants to be part of the underwater petting zoo. (Trust me on this one)
- Finding a beach that's just right for you is like playing Goldy Locks and the 3 Iguanas - better just test them all out.
- There's a very good reason why that fish bowl drink comes with 8 straws.
- Sand happens - it's like pubic hairs on a bar of soap. Embrace it.
- Fear the mongoose.
Check back soon for Part 3