================================================ Subject: Re: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 2 From: To: Date: Mon 10 Dec 2001 01:06:00 EST ================================================ That's hilarious, Gina. I can't beleive that really happened to you. Jen In a message dated 12/9/2001 7:23:37 PM Central Standard Time, baronessbaby@JUNO.COM writes: << The next morning, we again didn't wash up or change. The house was just too dirty to even try to freshen up. We invited Barry out to breakfast with us, and he chose a small restaurant called the Tennessee Grill. My parents and I ordered small, light breakfasts, but Barry ordered steak and eggs, which was the most expensive thing on the menu. It took him forever to eat it. After breakfast, Barry drove us to our hotel. Unlike Barry had warned us, the Hilton Towers Hotel was not in the middle of "wine-o country." In fact, it was probably the nicest hotel I've ever stayed in. In the lobby there were beautiful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling as well as comfortable furniture. My mom checked us in, and after that we went up to our room. It was really clean, with two queen size beds against one wall and a TV, table, and two chairs against the opposite wall. There was also a large closet, and in the bathroom no rust, mold, or mildew took over the toilet and sink. I got to take my shower first. I let all the grime drip off of me and vanish down the drain in the bathtub. I felt so refreshed after I took that shower; after all I had not washed up nor changed my clothes for more than 24 hours. My parents took their showers and then we all took a long afternoon nap. The previous night's rest had been nothing but a defeated attempt to doze in the worst of situations. But the worst was still to come--my dad had agreed for us to go out to dinner and then to the island prison, Alcatraz, with Barry. At 3:30 P.M. we reluctantly woke up to get ready to go. As I finished changing into my sweater and jeans, the phone in our room rang. "Hello?" said my dad after he picked up the handset. "Uh-huh, yes…we know him…no, please don't send him up to the room…thanks." From listening to my dad's end of the conversation, my mom and I immediately knew that Barry was waiting for us downstairs in the lobby. Since we were all ready, we went to find Barry. My dad found him in the sports bar, with a glass of in hand. Barry was so drunk; my dad had to help him stand. He wobbled with us out of the hotel. The doorman hailed us a cab to Fisherman's Wharf, which is one of the biggest tourist attractions of San Francisco. It's a hodge-podge of eateries, docks, food stands, and shops, all right next to the bay. We got out of the cab at an Italian restaurant called Allioto's, that my parents and I had decided upon earlier in the day. It was a dressy-casual type of place with a more expensive menu. My mom, dad, and I looked perfectly fine, but Barry was another story. He was still wearing the same clothes from the previous day, and his drunkenness nearly prevented him from standing up. The maitre-d was so disgusted with Barry he refused to look at him in the face. When he asked if we wanted anything to drink, Barry, of course, ordered an expensive bottle of wine. "I ain't…uhh…drivin'," stated Barry, "So I ain't…uhh…gonna…uhh…worry about controllin' my…uhh…drinkin' tonight!" When the waiter arrived to take our orders, Barry ordered a whole crab. Again it was the most expensive thing on the menu. The bottle of wine arrived, and my parents took a glass each just to keep Barry from drinking it all himself. That didn't stop him though--he still drank all that my parents didn't. He did not act civilized one bit while we waited for our food--he kept belching loudly and saying, "Well brought up," each time. He also swore and cursed, probably thinking he was some sort of macho character. When our antipasto arrived, he took a piece of squid off the plate we were all sharing with his bare hands, tilted his head back, and dropped it in his mouth. He chewed loudly with his mouth open, smacking his lips while little bits of food ran down his chin. Our main courses arrived, but I could not enjoy my penne pasta with marinara sauce like I had planned. At least not while Barry was taking crab legs, banging them noisily on the edge of the table, and before eating them saying, "Here, crabby, crabby, crabby." It was just too much to bear. Meanwhile, the people sitting at the next table continually glared menacingly at Barry, and the customers at two other surrounding tables asked to sit elsewhere because of the disturbance. Before this day, I always would get annoyed with my mom for correcting my manners, but all of a sudden I understood why it was so important to have good etiquette. Finally the dreadful meal was over. It was time to go to Alcatraz. On the way to the dock where we would catch the boat to Alcatraz, mom and I made a point of walking 20 feet ahead of Barry and my dad. We didn't want anyone to know we were associated with this man. Despite the distance separating us, we could hear Barry talking to my dad--"I've lived in ol' Frisco Town for 30 years now and I ain't been to Alcatraz yet…" On the boat we sat on a totally separate deck. Unfortunately we were stuck in the same tour group on the island, but we still managed to avoid them. As we began walking with our tour guide from one stop to another, I turned just in time to see Barry fall all over a lady who was just ahead of him, clinging to her as if she were his property. The man with her, perhaps her husband or boyfriend, looked like he wanted to beat Barry to a pulp. My normally mild-tempered dad looked livid and humiliated as he helped Barry to his feet. I understood why he was sticking by Barry--after all, they had been friends for nearly 50 years. It was almost a brotherly protection. I could also understand his anger, because he had been looking forward to Alcatraz for quite awhile and he couldn't even enjoy it because he was stuck baby-sitting. Finally, the outdoor portion of the tour was over and we were allowed to wander freely around the inside of the prison. My mom and I separated from them immediately, after all, we didn't want to be humiliated by being seen with a man that could barely stand up and was wobbling around mumbling nonsense. As my mom and I looked at Al Capone and Birdface's cells, my dad was making sure Barry didn't get himself arrested or killed. While my mom and I looked across the bay at the lights of the city as the sun set, my dad was trapped with a derelict. At 9:30 we boarded the last boat of the day back to Fisherman's Wharf. My dad managed to slip away from Barry just long enough to inform my mom and I that we would not be spending any more time with him during the rest of our vacation. We still sat on a separate deck from my dad and Barry on the return trip. After we got off the boat, we tried to hail a cab but to no avail. Finally we realized that no cab would stop for us because of the way Barry looked and behaved. At that point he had wandered into the middle of the road. So we hopped on a streetcar and headed back to the hotel. About halfway back to the hotel, Barry decided to get off and get home on his own. He gave my dad a firm handshake and bid us farewell. It was the last time we would see him while on our trip. After that, we had a great time on our vacation. Barry called several times the next day, so often that my mom requested that no calls be put through to our room. Although we sympathized with Barry's sorry condition, we could not bear spending the rest of our vacation with him. The entire experience was definitely an eye-opener for me, because I got to see how alcoholism affects an individual: by turning the rest of the world, even your best friend, against you. I also witnessed people's reactions to someone who lacks hygiene and social skills. This trip showed me what mistakes not to make in life, and I am a better person today because of it. --THE END-- >> To unsubscribe or change your preferences for the Creed-Discuss list, visit: http://www.winduplist.com/ls/discuss/form.asp