This is a work of non-fiction, sort of. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, sort of.
Ours or for that matter any family Mexican Adventure at an all inclusive resort can really be broken down into five parts:
The Check In
The Beach
The All Day Bus Trip
The Meals/Nightlife
The Departure
Part One – The Check In
If/when I finally take home father of the year in 2016, I will point to this exchange on January 1, 2016 as my start of my banner campaign.
All inclusive is 100% as it sounds, it means all inclusive both eating and drinking to epic proportions, it means putting Ancient Rome to shame. It’s a cruise ship on land without the listeria. There is one restriction. If it’s in the US and you’re even a week short of being 21, you’re not drinking. You’ll get to eat all your sorrows away, but there’s no beer, wine, vodka, rum, gin, I could go on but that’s mean. However in Mexico it’s 18, or I guess being pretty close to 18.
As you walk in, the first moment could spell doom, we however won the jackpot, no one else checking in. We had the run of the house, three agents ready to pounce.
“Would you like a welcome drink. It has alcohol in it.”
A bikini gal comes out of no where to offer us the first of unlimited drinks thrust your way. As no one says no, so she assumes yes and goes off, never to be seen again. I turn back to the counter, ready for anything.
“Are you sure everyone here is over 18?”
Well, almost anything. This was the moment of truth. The next few seconds would decide whether or not, not everyone would have a good time. I mean after all he was holding our passports, snatching them as soon as we walked in and now examining them as if ISIS had infiltrated the Jews of Rockland County, Nueva York and we in turn were the infidels, or was it that after a week of Christmas Jews he wanted to prepare for whatever complaint was coming his way. I know Felice was sweating it out, she was the only one who stood to lose. She had been complaining for weeks about the all inclusive resort and the fact that she was a month away from being able to drink legally. It was already bad enough that she had to miss three days of school because we had to go the week after New Years because it was half the price. Thus the resort, while beautiful, was also going through its post New Years rehab with a decidedly non-Jewish Christmas break clientele, which included us and a few other thrifty chosen people and about 95% Spanish speaking families with young kids. Young kids who screamed, young kids everywhere, young kids that quite frankly made you want to drink.
“So senior, are you sure everyone is 18”
Asking again, he knew the answer. He was trying to be cool. The only thing standing in the way was me. Would I follow through on my threat on the bus ride over, the same bus that was equipped with a motion sickness bag, that I would point out that she was just short of 18 and therefore didn’t qualify for the purple bracelet, instead settling for the red one, as in the color of Shirley temples.
“Yes, everyone is over 18.”
I figured there wasn’t enough booze at the place to make it worthwhile to answer that question any other way. He smiled and gave us all purple bracelets. I in turn avoided the first fight of the vacation, that wasn’t to come for at least another 30 minutes when, after getting up at 4am, we just wanted to sit down and stuff our faces at the buffet. From here you’re scooped up by the concierge.
“Hello, we need to pick your restaurant choices for the rest of your life. Here is the brochure, start choosing now.”
And then, without missing a beat.
“And don’t forget to check in with the transportation to let them know when you’re leaving.”
So I’m picking meals and already planning my departure and I haven’t even had the chance to stuff my face at the buffet or any of the other restaurants that I was now forced to choose. And to this day, we still didn’t get our drink.
