Tag Archives: Travel

And this is how I got a criminal record…

15 Mar

Speedy Gonzales doesn't stand a chance of rolling this on the curve...

So one of the fun things about being on Captiva is that there are no cars here. Instead, everyone drives golf carts. (Side note: about a year ago I learned that my mom has something of a golf cart fetish… somehow she got a catalog of golf carts and – according to my dad – poured over it for hours. She would be in heaven here.)

Anyway, our house has two golf carts – both sporting our company’s logo. When we arrived yesterday, we each randomly chose a cart and took off for the house. Within minutes, it became obvious that my cart had a slightly more robust charge than Alan’s. I floored it and took off, bouncing along without a clue where I was going and assuming that Alan was hot on my trail. After rounding a bend, I turned around and looked for him – and saw nothing.

I waited – and waited – and waited. And finally, he came tooling around the corner looking about as amused as a wet cat. Both his arms were in the air making a “don’t ask me” gesture, making it clear that he wasn’t just being a cautious driver. I slowed my pace and we continued on, looking for our beach house.

Let’s just say that the island was significantly larger than I expected, because I assumed it would be a snap to get to our address. Instead, we cut encountered a slew of dead-ends and it seemed every turn we made took us right back past our starting point. This all would’ve been in good fun and in the spirit of exploration, had we both not needed to pee desperately and been saddled with a slow cart.

Frustrated, we decided to ditch Alan’s pokey cart at the check-in area, and join forces in mine. Alan drove and I navigated, and eventually we made it to the house. (It was obvious that our journey had, in fact, taken some time: our luggage and groceries had already been delivered to the house and we weren’t the first stop on the route.)

Rather than risk getting lost again, we decided to stay put for the remainder of the day and go back for the second cart in the morning. Fast forward to today… we woke up, drank coffee on the deck, then transitioned to mimosas. Bt 11am we had polished off a bottle of champagne and decided to head to pick up the cart and check out the pool.

On our way, it occurred to me to wonder about the legalities of operating a golf cart while under the influence of alcohol. Sure, drinking and driving are illegal, but what if it’s a battery-powered vehicle that tops out at 10 mph? (I posted this query to Facebook and received many immediate first-hand confirmations that indeed it IS possible to get a DUI in a golf cart. I had never realized so many of my friends a) had driven golf carts while intoxicated and b) apparently got arrested for it.)

We pulled into the clubhouse on the heels of another cart, driven by a crazed looking woman who kept turning around to give us furtive glances. We ignored her, parked, then stumbled upon a basketball hoop with a freshly inflated ball. Before retrieving the other cart or hopping in the pool, we decided to take a few shots.

We had just started passing the ball when the same woman and her two kids rode past us on bicycles. Immediately past the court, we saw her lay her bike down and check the tire for we assumed was a flat. In any event, she left her bike and daughters there and stomped off on foot. I lost track of her but was quickly reminded of her – when I heard a shocking BANG!

I turned and saw that she had put her cart in reverse and floored it – right into a pillar by the pool’s entrance. Her face read holy terror. Her daughters – still straddling their bikes – looked like they wanted to crawl under a rock and die from embarrassment. She recovered quickly and – without so much as a backwards glance or even pausing to talk to her daughters – floored it out of there.

Two women who looked like busy-bodies eyed the post she had hit, shaking their heads. Two feet next to it was the concrete stump of what – presumably – had been another post that had met a similar (but more scarring) fate. As I watched her speed away, I listened for sirens. I heard none. If she could get away with a hit and run, I decided our odds of dodging a DUI were pretty good. Mentally I began mixing mojitos for our next excursion.

Tags: , ,

Chariots for Hire

15 Mar

When we landed in Ft. Myers yesterday morning, I had instructions to call the car service as soon as we cleared baggage claim. A few minutes after doing so, a Lincoln pulled up and popped the trunk. And that’s when we met our driver, Richard.

Richard looked like the former drummer for a 1980s hair band. He was short and lean, with gray curls pulled back in a ponytail that stretched halfway down his back. In short, he looked like almost every other middle-aged guy in Florida: a few decades past a serious drug habit, a few hours past his last pull on a joint, happy to spend his last dollar to buy a friend a beer, with a laid back swagger letting you know he still fancied himself a lady’s man.

(And, like most Floridians, he wasn’t really from Florida. He moved here from Stephensonville, Texas, 25 years ago. Asked if he prefers Florida to Texas, he told us he did. “I went back in 2005 and realized I couldn’t do it any more. Even the gas stations in Florida are landscaped nicely compared to Texas.” That wouldn’t be my first line item comparison of two geographies, but OK.)

Continue reading →

Tags: ,

  • Comments 1 Comment
  • Categories Uncategorized

My bags are packed, I’m ready to go…

8 Mar

I can’t decide if my Type A personality is an asset or a handicap. Admittedly, it’s come in handy lately: in addition to an always-demanding job, I’ve been trying to coordinate a vacation AND prep my place to go on the market.

I know, there’s not much pity for someone coordinating a vacation – but this one is surprisingly mentally taxing, considering it’s a beach vacation. Next week we’re going to Captiva Island, which is just off the coast of Florida and accessible only by boat. That’s what makes it a bit of a logistical challenge – in addition to packing, we need to coordinate a ride from the airport to the marina, a water taxi to get us to the island, a golf cart to pick us up and shuttle us to the house – and we need to pick up groceries from Publix along the way.

(Admittedly, the groceries thing doesn’t sound difficult, but consider this: you can’t actually go in the store. You have to fax a grocery list 72 hours in advance and let someone else shop for you. As a proud bearer of OCD, it’s incredibly hard to realize that someone else will be selecting my steaks. Also factor in my tendency to operate exclusively off minute-by-minute food cravings, and you’ll start to understand my challenge with this system.)

Continue reading →

Tags: , ,

Warning: Clumping litter will stick to your (cat’s) balls

4 Mar

I find that people who travel a lot tend to lean on Facebook more than the general population. I know I do, and it’s probably some combination of interesting things happening when I travel and a need to feel connected to friends back home. My friend Brian travels for work as much as I do, and I enjoy keeping one eye trained to his posts when he’s on the road.

This week, he did not disappoint:

When I read this, I was rolling. In the follow-up to this thread, Brian went on to explain that the girl’s father asked the gate attendant to repeat what she’d just said. The woman obliged, but substituted the word “balls” in place of “testicles” – presumably because she understood she had a more mature audience.

I appreciated her use of the proper anatomical terms with the little girl. Growing up, my parents did the same. (Maybe because my dad was biology teacher?) I don’t think my sister or I even knew what “Going #1 or #2” meant until we went to school and heard our classmates saying it.

In fact, one of often retold family stories is about my sister, who – as a four year old child – contracted a bladder infection while my family was on vacation visiting relatives in Alabama. My parents took her to the doctor, a sweet old southern man, who asked her, “Honey, does your tee-hee hurt when you tinkle?”

My sister looked him in the eye and said, “No, but my vagina burns when I urinate.”

Tags: , , ,

Today’s Flight: My (OCD) stream of thoughts…

18 Feb

Where is my Purell?

I’m glad they sell caramel apples next to my gate.

Even though I used Purell, is it dumb to eat a caramel apple with my fingers on an airplane?

That was good.

I’ll just have one more slice.

Why doesn’t Purell get rid of the stickiness?

Why do I always forget to bring a napkin.

I need one of those wet wipes that I pocketed after the lobster in Boston.

That was weeks ago.

Shit. My cell phone is sticky now.

Who has their shoes off?

Please put them back on your feet.

Oh my God – you are still wearing your shoes?

Amputate your feet.

Seriously, if my feet smelled like that, I would not be able to get far enough away from them.

I would probably throw my back out trying.

That smell is unforgivable.

Did they say I could turn on my electronic device yet?

I just want to take a picture out my window of the skyline with my cell phone.

I’ve definitely done that before on a chartered plane and it didn’t crash.

Or do they just not want us distracted in case there’s a crash, not that the device will cause the crash?

Did I set my phone to airplane mode?

If I didn’t, is it possible it might ring, right now, mid-air?

Man, this would be a perfect shot.

I’m going to do it. I’m just going to turn it on and snap the picture.

Will the guy sitting next to me report me?

Where is the flight attendant with the drink cart?

Will I order a club soda or a glass of wine?

What time is it?

How long is this flight?

I wonder if they have limes.

Why do I smell tuna?

Is the rustling paper bag right behind my seat someone pulling a hot tuna melt out of a bag?

I think it is.

Will the flight attendant let me request a new seat?

I don’t know what smells worse, the feet or the tuna.

Oh – NOW it’s ok to turn on my electronic device. Good.

Wait: maybe I should read my book?

Or take a nap? I *am* kind of tired.

Flying is exhausting.

Tags: ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →