So as I sat there in the jacuzzi watching the drunks, everything became clear. They weren't on vacation like everyone else; they were from Florida, part of a construction crew there to put in the floor of a new hotel. Chris had bought the night's beer and was glad to share it with his friends, but when Nick took the last one, choice words were had. Dominique said it wasn't the first time, and that he nearly fought with Nick the previous night over something similar. They were funny to watch, but I was glad I was between them and John. He and Sam weren't used to that type of language being used so profusely, and I was constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure Mark wasn't coming. When the argument got a little rowdier, the men were asked to leave, by Dominique. The little nine-year-old boy thanked him profusely for this. Before the two were completely drunk, and the last beer was taken, we had been having a good time. The large, bald, heavily tatooed guy across from me, whose name I never caught, was something of the ring leader. He, too, was with the construction crew, and was originally from Ohio. Whenever someone new came to the hot tub, he was the one to spark conversation. Sandy and Frank, a couple in their 50's from Pennsylvania, liked to hunt, and a lively discussion was had on the matter. She was in shipping, and had a muscular physique that made us all question her age; he had been in the military, and had a smoking habit that had aged him well beyond his wife. Then there came an old man with only one eye and a story he was probably tired of telling. No one asked; our assumption was that it was from the War, or possibly he was a pirate. Two boys came in and, because of their hair cuts and attire, they were asked if they were 'surfer dudes.' They were from southern Ohio, and rarely saw an ocean. Nick said they ought to have said yes to the question, for the purpose of impressing the young ladies who had come with me. Twins from Tennesse came with their older brother, who did not appreciate Nick's inappropriate comments toward them. In addition to his flirting, they talked about the local nightlife, and concluded that there were no good clubs in the area. Shortly after the brother left, the girls' father came to moniter the goings on. This did not impede the inebriated fool, and the girls were escorted away. At this point the comment was made that nowadays, it's hard to tell when you see a hot girl if she's 13 or 35, so it's best to make sure you have all the information you need before attempting anything fresh. A couple of recent high school graduates from South Carolina joined us, and we discussed college, and how much Nick had hated his schooling. A man of 22 came to the party, and shared his cigarettes with some of the others. I didn't catch his name or anything else, but his calm demeanor was a pleasant contrast to Nick's drunken antics. Later, two foreign-sounding gentlemen came in. I could tell they were some kind of French from their accents, and it turns out they were from Quebec, so I didn't do bad on that call. There wasn't too much conversation outside of Nick and Chris's little fight, but we were all thoroughly entertained by it, even several people on their balconies just above us. Those two came back about an hour later, more drunk and still arguing, but we were present to witness the end of the fight. They did not wish to jeopardize their friendship over something so petty, and they wanted to enjoy their last evening at the beach, which had just that day become their vacation.
Now why did I just tell you all of that? Surely I wouldn't tell you the details of my own pathetic life just for the entertainment value. I could have been watching the convention. I don't know what the convention has to do with anything, and frankly I don't care. We were just a dozen ex-strangers having a good time trading stories and watching two drunks fight.
It's time to ask yourself what matters more. Or does any of it matter at all?
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