Sitting poolside at an unnamed St. Augustine hotel.
Nearby is what the hotel calls a tiki bar. It sells hot dogs, hamburgers and an impressive array of mixed drinks.
Next to the bar, a well-amplified guitarist, a skinny guy in a white T-shirt, plays Jimmy Buffett tunes. I wish I could say they are mellowing me, but the fact is that this hotel is not quite what I had bargained for.
The first sign was the sign -- it was missing some letters. Next was the color. The entire place is painted egg-yolk yellow.
I had booked over the Internet, like the five unhappy people waiting in line in ahead of me at the front desk. The lobby was sweltering. A fly buzzed in along with paint fumes from an open door being spray-painted.
Two people behind me in line waited 20 minutes to explain that their room cards wouldn't open the door. Another stomped in loudly complaining of mold in the bathroom. A man was speaking rather strongly on the phone to his wife, who had made their reservation. A couple left in a huff while I was waiting.
But we're here. Me and the children, that is. My husband and our friends had to go back to Atlanta. Poor them.
The pool has filled with people. The musician, who looks like he's led a hard life, has switched to a loud, up-tempo version of "Layla." All of us, staff and hotel guests alike, appear to be seeking all the trappings of a beach vacation -- with some desperation.
My 15-year-old comes up. Seems she had passed by a long-haired man in cut-offs having what she called a nervous breakdown. He was wringing his hands.
"I can't do it," he was saying. "I just can't. I can't play guitar in a band."
"Sure you can, man," his friend reassured him.
Upon hearing this story, we women in earshot giggled -- rather meanly.
A few minutes later, however, this same man was spotted near the pool. He appeared to be chatting up my 10-year-old daughter. "Hey, small girl, you're a good little swimmer," he was saying.
Whoa, there.
This vacation may take more energy than I had thought. It also brings to mind one of those existential questions that, from time to time, plague the human race: Who brought me here and left me in this place?
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