The Worst Vacation Ever Part 3: The Surprise Guest

It was early in the evening, the workers and bulldozers had long gone the way of the setting sun, and we all sat down at the bar for a few cocktails. A pleasant ocean breeze swept across the deck and the lovely sound a whirring blender intermittently punctuated the laughter and conversation. There was a big bucket of fresh chilled peel and eat shrimp. We were drinking, talking and laughing off the unplanned for presence of bulldozers on our vacation. This vacation was still going to be great. Then we heard the doorbell ring.

Somebody left to go answer it. When they came back, they tried (and failed miserably) to keep a pleasant face while announcing that Gary and his family were here. At the time, I did not know Gary. But I couldn’t help but notice that those who did quickly blanched, their jaws dropped and they all turned to face my father in law, giving him an accusing look that said, “ What did you do?!”

Being completely in the dark, I could only think, “Who the fuck is Gary and is that really his name?” I instinctively knew it couldn’t be good though. I have never known a Gary that I liked. I had a neighbor named Gary once, and he was a dick. Based on the reactions of those that knew this Gary, I wasn’t expecting to be pleasantly surprised.

I later learned that this particular incarnation of Gary, while of no biological relation, was my father in law’s stepson from his 1st marriage. There must have been a rift or an estrangement between the two some time in the past. Gary had moved away to Florida after this, and it had been several years since anyone had seen or even spoken to him. In my father in law’s mind, it was past time for a reconciliation. So my father in law had taken it upon himself to invite Gary and his family to spend some time with us. Since this decision was not shared with the family, and since the house while big, was quite full with paying guests, not too many people were excited. Not mention those that apparently knew Gary weren’t real excited to see him under any circumstances, let alone what was supposed to be a relaxing family vacation.

Regardless of my extreme prejudice against all Gary’s big and small, and not withstanding the overwhelming lack of enthusiasm his arrival had generated amongst those that knew him, there stood Gary in the doorway. He was carrying an open 12 pack of Naty Lite, several cans light, one in his hand. A slight, wiry man with a sun-weathered unshaven face, dirty yellowed eyeglasses and trucker cap that wasn’t intended to be ironic. He bore no resemblance in any way to anyone else I had ever met in the family. He had two adorable children, a little girl with tangled blond hair and a smaller girl still in diapers. He wife stood slightly behind him, a cigarette perched between her fingers, sending a steady plume of smoke in the air. There was a collective moment of silence before we gathered ourselves and welcomed them into the house.

Kids are always seem to better in awkward social situations than adults. It was seconds before their children were playing and running through the house with the rest of the kids. On the adult side, there was stilted conversation and introductions, some minor chit chat. One of Gary’s kids, not doubt too excited to stop playing, accidentally wet herself. His wife promptly removed the wet clothes and hung them on the porch rail, not bothering to rinse them. Gary shrugged as if to say, “What are you gonna do? Kids gotta pee…” then graciously took off his shirt and gave it to his daughter to wear. Gary shirtless and stripped down to his awkwardly short jean shorts was as much a treat for me as it was all the ladies in the house. He did the legacy of his name proud. It was about then we collectively decided to move to the bar, some of us faster than others. I sprinted.

It couldn’t have been much past 9:00, the once bubbly pre-guest conversation flattened out and began to drag. Soon yawns started filling mouths, and I knew something had to be done. If it was one thing this evening was going to need, it was cocktails, and lots of them. My wife, our friends and I are all ex bar-tenders and we had a very well stocked and equipped bar established. I was determined not to loose a night, especially if I had to dodge bulldozers by day. We would all have fun by God! Little did I know I was throwing gas on the fire. I stepped behind the bar and fired up the blender, not yet aware of what I was getting myself into.

It was quickly apparent to me as I worked behind the bar making drink after drink after drink, that whoever the hell they were, the one thing Gary and the Missus could do was put a serious hurtin’ on a bar. The slurping of straws in empty glasses gives me flashbacks of denim and hairy skin to this day. The Naty Light was gone and forgotten and the rum was disappearing fast. Gary had long since entered the bleary eyed, slurring, clumsy stage and was working on the belligerent, falling down stage. He wasn’t even bothering to peel the shrimp any more. His wife was weaving in her chair, eyes half closed still holding a cigarette, which was about to burn her fingers. She could have tumbled from her stool at any minute. We had all dealt with drunks before but there was no protocol for cutting off drunken house guests, who were somehow related to everyone here. Plus it seemed mean to keep drinking in front of them, which I most certainly would have done.

Thankfully my father in law interceded and quietly asked us to close the bar, and take all the booze with us. We locked it in our bedroom and waiting for the next step. There was no way Gary and family were driving anywhere that night. They would have to stay with us. To further complicate things, their children were still running around the house like wild Indians. How would we get the kids to bed? Where were the diapers and pajamas? Where would they all sleep? Every room in the house was taken. We all started to argue about where to put them. I knew one thing, in his condition, there was no way Gary could help me blow up an air mattress. Besides we were already doubled up with our friends. Plus we were the Booze Alamo. I was half concerned he might try to break in at any moment. Our room was off the table.

After much whispered arguing, we made room for the kids on the floor of the bunk room and Gary and his chain-smoking wife were directed to the couch. We all silently prayed we wouldn’t see or hear them doing it in the middle of the night. But I admit to being curious if his wife could have sex and smoke a cigarette at the same time…while being drunk. I bet she could.

They stayed the next morning long enough for breakfast, after which Mrs. Gary put the little girl in the now dried clothes from the night before. They never had been washed. Gary put back on his shirt and they left. I have heard his name mentioned once since then.