That One Time …
Tales of Epic Fails, Sex and Intrigue from Travels Overseas
mostly just epic fails, all true down to the last detail, presented in short-form stream of consciousness because why not…
That one time my high school Spanish failed me — my parents took us down to a Caribbean resort, we signed up for one of those free breakfast deals that was really a pitch to get us to buy into a timeshare, of course from the get-go we never intended to walk away with anything other than bellies full of bacon and eggs and maybe some queso blanco, my sister and I were in our everything-parents-do-is-embarrassing stage of life anyway and this wasn’t helping, we were tugging at their shirtsleeves to end our misery and sign up already — metaphorically speaking of course, it was the tropics and they were wearing short sleeves — but my parents were no pushovers despite the best efforts of the sales rep, well he caught on rather quickly but he had to play his part albeit begrudgingly, we did a mini tour of the grounds and facilities and passed one of the on-site restaurants, it was called Mano a Mano, he turns to me and says “your parents tell me you’re taking Spanish … do you know what this means?” I drew a complete blank, had one of those Gary Johnson 2016 world-leaders-what-world-leaders blanket-of-ignorance moments, I gave him a defeated look and said sheepishly “…man to man?”
That one time I broke etiquette at a Shanghai post office — it was the summer of 1997, the year I graduated college and the year Hong Kong was reunited with Mainland China, I joined a volunteer teaching group for a summer-long stint in Shanghai, we spent the first week roaming the streets, taking in the strange sights and sounds, recording these on postcards and letters — as wifi or web mail hadn’t become a thing yet — and walking to the local post office to mail said correspondence, on my first visit I had just finished stuffing an envelope and instinctively lifted it to my mouth to lick the top fold, this elicited quizzical looks from the local patrons, one gentleman’s expression broadened into a smile revealing amber and silver-capped teeth, with great amusement he directed my attention to a table with square containers full of thick glue and brushes to be used to apply the adhesive to the envelopes which were not, as I now realized, saliva-operated …
That one time I forgot what country I was in — I woke up in a hotel in a major European city on a business trip … I was on a road warrior stint on assignment during the tech boom of the early 2000’s, three countries a week, zig-zagging the old continent, rapid fire client visits from Scandinavia to the Iberian peninsula, from the Balkans to the British Isles, I staggered out of the elevator that morning into the modest lobby, looking for the complimentary breakfast and a shot of caffeine, the concierge gave me a pleasant smile and I hastily decided to engage her, saying “Good morning, would you have a map of downtown London?” Her smile diminished into a barely visible smirk, one eyebrow rose ever so slightly above the other, and she responded with a dumb-American-probably-flunked-geography look: “Sir, you do mean Dublin?”
That one time an Italian CEO tried to bribe me by offering me one, any one, of his employees, we are at the headquarters of a trendy dot-com in the industrial outskirts of a handsome medieval city in the Veneto region of Northern Italy, me the visiting consultant and product expert from across the Atlantic, the young and impeccably dressed CEO says to me “why don’t you come work for us”, then he leans in and whispers “the women here are very beautiful, yes?” — I nod and smile conspiratorially, but he isn’t done, he asks “do you like any of the girls here?” and now I begin to feel that I am running out of diplomatic options, I decide to indulge him and note that the girl behind the reception desk, let’s call her Francesca, is quite attractive, he does not take very long to respond, “maybe, I arrange something for you” … I respectfully decline the generous gesture — six months later I am happily married, and not to Francesca …
That one time I spent a night alone in an East Asian love motel, my flight got into Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport quite late, I missed the last bullet train departure down to Kaohsiung, the high speed rail would have gotten me to my destination in an hour and a half, but at this hour my only alternatives where a three hour overnight bus ride — sure those coaches have large comfy seats and wifi but still — or spending the night in the area, I decided on the latter, approached the gaggle of taxi drivers waiting for curbside clientele, asked them to recommend a hotel and they initially offered up the airport Novotel, I asked is there someplace cheaper, one enterprising gentleman mouth full of blood-red betelnut said he had just the place for me and signaled me to his cab, the place he drove me to was rather nondescript from the outside, with a discreet drive-thru reception, and garages large enough for two vehicles underneath each unit, turned out to be a local love motel with complimentary condoms and three channels of Japanese porn …
If you enjoyed the above, see my continuing adventures: “That Other Time …”
