We need to talk.
I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that something fishy is going on. You’ve recently spent late nights in the gym getting your buns in tip-top shape. You’ve been to the tanning salon several times this week to get something called a “base.” You’ve even conned some money out of your parents for a service trip to Nicaragua that for some reason has a six-day layover in Cancun.
It looks like it’s that time of the year again. A time when studying and underwear are actively discouraged and life becomes a series of hazy memories set to the latest Flo Rida track.
That’s right. It’s Spring Break.
Among the American traditions, Spring Break reigns supreme among the 18-22 demographic, and it’s easy to see why. It’s pretty much the opposite of Thanksgiving in all of the most delightful ways:
Way # 1: On Thanksgiving you have to give careful thought before you tell everyone what you’re thankful for, while on Spring Break you can shout “WOOOOOOO” and everyone will be more or less satisfied.
Way # 2: On Thanksgiving you’re surrounded by fat relatives in ugly sweaters, while on Spring Break you’re surrounded by hot strangers who are consistently half-naked.
Way # 3: The vast amount of food on Thanksgiving leaves you feeling bloated, while Spring Break encourages you to stick to a liquid diet.
Yes, one would have to be a Republican not to appreciate this annual celebration of sun, sand, and general debauchery. And I encourage you to have the time of your life.
But as you cruise down the highway to hot sun and fun, you might want to ease off the gas and put on the spring brakes. The difference between having fun and having too much fun is the difference between happy memories and painful regrets. Take a moment to hear the following tales of Spring Breaks turned Spring Broken and make sure this is a week you’ll want to remember, rather than forget.
Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…
The Tale of the One-Night Stand
Maya Mi, a junior at Pens-Tate University, had flown down to Florida for the week with a few of her biffles. They spent their days relaxing on the beach and soaking up the sun, a welcome change from the recent snow up at PTU. Their nights, however, were the kind of boozy mess that would likely be considered alcoholism after graduation.
One night, while Maya was out dancing with her friends at one of the hottest clubs in the city, she was approached by a gorgeous specimen wearing nothing but board shorts and a baseball cap. He asked her if she wanted to dance, and it wasn’t long before the two were bumping and grinding with all of the unrestrained passion of two Amish youths on Rumspringa.
After a while, their show on the dance floor was becoming too graphic for a public setting, so Maya asked him if he’d like to come back to her room to take things a little further. Characteristic of drunken men of his age group, he enthusiastically accepted.
I won’t go into too much detail about what happened next, but let’s just say that things were taken off, things were put in, but one very important thing wasn’t put on.
A few days later, Maya had a very uncomfortable feeling beneath her swim trunks. She wracked her brain to think of a possible reason. Perhaps the sand was irritating her ladyparts. Perhaps she’d gotten a sunburn in an unfortunate location. Perhaps she was having an allergic reaction to the bathing suit material.
“Perhaps,” said the doctor, “You have chlamydia.”
Lesson 1: Sex with a stranger? Make it a threesome – You, him, and the Trojan Man.
[pagebreak]
The Tale of the Aspiring Model
Callie F. had always been enamored with the world of modeling. She bought every issue of Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, and could even name the winner of each season of Top Model in order of most fierce to least fierce. And even though she had recently declared a major in Electrical and Computer Engineering, Miss Fornya always dreamed of one day walking the runways of Paris.
It was a dream come true when she was approached during Spring Break while lounging on the beach with her friends. A man claiming to be a model scout told her she had the look, slipped her his business card, and told her to give him a call before she left town. Callie was so excited she could hardly wait an hour before leaving a message on his cell phone.
The scout told her to drop by his office, and he would take some test shots to share with his bosses at the agency. When Callie showed up, the offices were a little dingier than she had expected, but the scout reassured her that this was a temporary space while their offices were undergoing renovations.
The scout had Callie take some shots in a few different bathing suits, allowing her to change in the bathroom between each outfit. At the end of the shoot, he asked her to sign a waiver that would allow the photographer to use her test shots in his portfolio. She happily signed.
A few weeks later, Callie hadn’t heard from the model scout. And to make her week worse, a number of boys would awkwardly stare at her as she walked around campus. She felt uncomfortable walking to class, and didn’t really understand why she had gained so much attention lately.
Her friend John enlightened her on the subject. While he was browsing for some, shall we say, “resources for a paper,” John had stumbled upon a website called Voyeurtastic Vixens. The website showcased adult videos of girls who didn’t know they were being taped.
Turns out the model scout had set up a camera in the bathroom while Callie changed.
Lesson 2: Don’t trust any guy who says you have model potential.
[pagebreak]
The Tale of Girl Who Got Burned
This final story is by far the most terrifying. It concerns a girl whose Spring Break went so horrifically, disturbingly wrong, that she was never the same. Take heed, my friend, and be certain that you don’t end up like this poor soul.
Sandy B. was an exceptional young girl from a college in the Midwest. For Spring Break, she had traveled down to Mexico with her two friends, Sloppy and Rott, and together the three of them had been having a marvelous time.
But Sandy had been a little careless since the beginning of the trip. Each day on the beach, Rott would offer to put sunscreen on Sandy’s back, but each day she refused.
“I don’t need sunscreen,” she would say. “I want to get a nice tan.”
“But Sandy,” Rott would plead, his devilishly handsome face contorting with worry, “Aren’t you worried about skin cancer? Or sunburn? Or that one day your skin will look so leathery that men will mistake you for a handbag?”
Sandy just laughed a haughty laugh and disregarded the noble efforts of her wise friend. But as she flaunted her bikini body and flirted with the bros, the intense rays of the unforgiving sun found no trouble in penetrating the depths of her supple young skin.
The next morning, Sandy was in agony. Her body was covered in painful burns from head to toe, except for the small areas her swimsuit had covered. Always a loyal friend, Rott bought several cases of aloe, filled up the bathtub in the hotel room, and carefully placed his friend in a pool of soothing relief.
Sandy spent the rest of the trip in the bathtub, while Sloppy and Rott enjoyed the Mexican sun.
Lesson 3: Rott Scosenfeld is always looking out for your best interest.
Lesson 4: Wear sunscreen.
With the music blasting, the half-naked men dancing, and the beautiful weather all around you, it’s easy to forget your troubles and let Spring Break have its way with you.
But just remember, the decisions you make can come back to haunt you. And if you contract a nasty STI or end up on a porn site, your parents might force you to spend next Spring Break with them.
And that, my friend, is the most terrifying tale of all.