At that very moment he said, “OK here you go,” as he sat us in a prime table on the balcony above the dance floor. Helen and I wondered what the hell that was all about considering there were about fifteen other open tables. I imagined it was a way to weed out tourists, figuring most would simply settle for the first available seat. We sat down and began our night of mediocre food and top-notch entertainment. The Latin Connection Band and the continued gyrations from the buff and beautiful kept our eyes and ears engaged.
The guy with the best job in the place was the guy who helped the girls off the bar when they were done dancing. He’d grasp their asses and slide them on down. Well, except for that one girl who looked a bit old and awkwardly out of place. All of the dancers turned out to also be the wait staff. The guys were your typical bodybuilder types and the girls all wore honking Frankenstein boots. I told Helen that I found that to be very sexy.
Soon we’d meet up with Helen’s friend Melissa who would introduce us to Angela, Anna and Mercedes. We moved our party into the Voodou Room (yes that is how they spell it). This was one of the smoke-filled rooms and a real loud assault on all senses. Packed into a small space on Mango’s second floor, my face was blasted with one very bright, slow strobe light leaving ghostly images of hot bodies and pretty faces.
We all had a ball dancing. Yeah, I know … me dancing. The girls were all over Helen. The guys were all over the girls and I was just trying to keep up. Drinks were more expensive in this room than the rest of the club. A Jack & Coke and a Vodka Tonic ran me over $21.00. But they were super strong and the gratuity was included so I really couldn’t complain much.
Slumber Party
It would be from this point on that I’d be told time and again that I was the luckiest guy in the world … just not that lucky. Imagine my delight at sharing a room with three beautiful, funny, sexy women. It didn’t matter all that platonic limitations placed on the situation. OK, it mattered a little, but these are my friends and I was having fun anyway. I’m not your typical guy that measures a good time based on carnal delights. Still my imagination was having a ball on its own.
Problems with the Hotel
During breakfast we found the first in a series of difficulties in service at the Palms Hotel. These are problems that a hotel of this status and price should consider unforgivable. First of all, the three of us decided to have omelets. We ordered and went about hitting up the rest of the buffet tables. Fruit, yogurt, pastries, etc. After a while we wondered where our omelets were. I asked the cook and he said there were several orders ahead of ours. The problem was that when we ordered, he started making them right in front of us. Whatever, we let it slide and ordered again.
When more time passed, Melissa went up to ask about where the food was. This time his excuse was that he burned them. Burned them? All three of them? So she orders them again. Things were growing tense as still more omelet-less time dragged on. Now Angela got up to talk to the man who was now sounding more honest as he told her, “Sorry, I forgot to make them.” Finally we were able to enjoy our food.
Other problems during this weekend included construction that started outside of our room door at 7:30 in the morning. Not only did this rock us all out of our beds, but it left the hallway looking like a war zone. Later that day when I went in to change for the beach, I stepped in a puddle of dirty, brown slop water on the rug outside my bathroom. Then there was the botched wakeup call on the day of my flight out that came at 5:00AM instead of 8:00AM as I had asked for. The final blow came when I was somehow charged for the room despite changing billing information at check in to someone else’s card.
A Day in the Sun
I tried to be good. After breakfast, I tried to be responsible and get some work done. Honest I did. But just about an hour into it, the hotel’s internet connection went dead. Who was I to challenge the hand of fate? So I went for a walk on the beach, sat on the rocks watching the salty spray in front of me. It was very relaxing. Poor Helen had to work for the day at some marketing event at a couple of local Wal-Mart stores.
Me spending time in a pool or on a beach is a very, very rare occurrence. So rare that I found myself ill prepared. After a few hours, I felt my skin tingling. The girls told me how red I was getting. I was in trouble and even though I knew putting on sunscreen would be pointless, I figured maybe I should get some anyway. Here’s a bit of travel advice for you; since you cannot fly with gels or lotions anymore you should make it a point to find a local drugstore. If not, like me you will be forced to pay $9.00 for four ounce tube of SPF 50.
