1 post tagged “bar writing”
I wrote on a piece of paper from my purse the other night. It was a large piece of paper.
I’ve been in the Cayman Islands for three weeks now. I don’t know what compels me to keep moving to vacation destinations, but here I go again. Great Whitesnake tune. Anyway, first Fort Myers and its accompanying beaches, then the Florida Keys, and now here. It’s so vacationy that I can see cruiseships parked just a few miles away. Do I have some masochistic tendency that drives me to relocate somewhere for work just so I can I obsess over all the fun all the tourists are having that I’m not having? I don’t know. Maybe I jus like sand between my toes and sunshine.
Also on my mind – the fact that I’m at a bar alone, writing. Isn’t this what I did at Cabascas? Do I really want to go down that road again? Then again, what else am I going to do when I’m not working? Things will be awesomer (that’s right) when I have some cash and I can start diving.
Wow. I just noticed the pillar I’m sitting next to is covered with pictures of girls making out at the bar. Classy. And yet, this is the island that arrested two gay male tourists for kissing in a bar. Double standard. Why is it cool for girls to suck face with each other? I’m not down with this trend that won’t go away.
There’s a map of the Caribbean sitting under glass at my stretch of bar here. Fun fact: the Cayman Islands are very, very small. I had an English teacher who loathed the word ‘very,’ saying that it doesn’t add anything to the sentence stylistically or in meaning. So, I especially like using it multiple times in a sentence, separated by as many commas as possible. It makes me feel so rebellious. But I digress. The Caymans are tiny, like you’d try to wipe them off a map, thinking they’re crumbs from your breakfast Danish. My new country is pastry-bit small.
Another thing about Grand Cayman – or at least where I’m sitting right now – B.O. is just hanging in the air. Perhaps that’s because humidity hovers around 85% on a daily basis and rain just never comes. The aroma of others’ sweat contributes to the heaviness of the air, as if the sweat is actually the cause of the humidity and not the other way around. But it doesn’t faze anyone – people are still playing volleyball, running on the beach, drinking. Well, I guess that last one isn’t too hard, no matter the temperature, no matter the latitude.
Like any bar, this one has money taped to the wall. I don’t see any American cash, but there is a Canadian bill right in front of me. It has hockey players on it. I had no idea. I wonder if there are any Canadian bills that feature curling. Someone else has written all over a Cayman dollar, which somehow seems wrong since our currency features the Queen. I wonder what William and Harry would think if they saw Sharpie tarnishing grandma’s face.
Eh, they’re partiers. I’m sure they’ve seen it before.
The preponderance of scantily-clad chicks taped to nearly all surfaces here makes me wonder if the proprietors are aware that women also like to imbibe alcohol at bars and some may even like to see the strategically placed scantily-clad dude here and there.
Or so I’ve heard.
