Let it be said first that as I write this, I’m severely hangover.  And today, for the second time in my life, I experienced grocery shopping with an epic hangover.  Walking by a perfectly stacked pile of lettuce in my current state is, needless to say, both hilarious and totally wrong.

This painful state of post drunkenness was brought about by my low tolerance for alcohol and a weeklong vacation to a tropical island.  Last week was my father’ birthday and he wished to spend it as far away from here as possible.  Also, mother hadn’t taken a break from work in two years, and she informed me that I was also in desperate need of a vacation.

A vacation was the last thing I needed, but it was father’s birthday, so there was no getting out of it.  In the end, fun was had. My vacation can be summarized as follows:

Day 1:  Hotel troubles, ate like a pig, slept well.

Day 2:  Vodka, ate like a pig, slept well.

Day 3: 1 Piña Colada with vodka, 1 1/2 Piña colada with whisky, vodka, ate like a pig, slept poorly.

Day 4: Vodka, more vodka, fish bit my right big toe, ate like a pig, slept very poorly.

Day 5: Whisky, flew back half drunk, hardcore hangover on arrival.

It’s been two days since I came back, and I still have the hangover of doom.

I haven’t enjoyed drinking for years because I truly dislike hangovers.  I guess my dislike for drinking took a vacation, too.  My liver just can’t handle alcohol.

Oh, well…

When you book a room on what claims to be a 5 stars hotel, there are certain expectations that should be met. Like a general sense of pretty, and good service.

When we arrived, we didn’t show up in the registry and the staff did nothing to solve our problem, living us tired and roomless for hours.  After many phone calls and The Wrath of Mom (very handy for this type of situations, although somewhat embarrassing), we were taken to our room that was subpar but decent enough not to have a second showdown with the hotel manager.  The next day, we were presented with a fruit platter, champagne, and an apology.  And from then on, all was good, especially with the food.  It was pure buffet style awesomeness.

I had pancakes and french toast for breakfast every day.  I hadn’t done that in years.  My soul is very grateful for that alone.

Then on our final day, some people we befriended told us that a giant rat swam out of their bedroom toilet, and our newly found positive opinion about the hotel went right where the rat came from.

The funny thing about this hotel situation is that it’s happened to us at least twice before.  Also, there have been times when I’ve gone to places alone and I’ve been treated well, then I’ve returned to those places with friends and we’ve been treated very poorly.  And I’ve been kicked out of hair salons many times, but that might have to do with my intimidating lionish mane.

Is it that some people simply bring out the worst in customer service types?