Goya Ginger Beer

Winter sucks. You've decided that you've had enough of freezing your ass off at the bus stop every morning, of getting frostbite while shoveling the driveway, of having to wear layer after layer of clothes and still freezing only to have to get onto a hot subway train so that end up dripping from head to toe in sweat, and then head back outside and have your sweat freeze.

You're tired of public transit where everyone is sick, and phlegmy, syphilitic strangers sneeze on your face and neck. You're fed up with having to put on giant boots and still slip on the ice and sprain your ankles. The city never plows the streets on time. You can never find parking. You keep losing your scarves. Your lips are chapped. You keep loosing your chap stick. It's dark when you get to work. It's dark when you leave work. You spend more time salting your walkway then you do your nicoise salad.

You say "Fuck it". you've saved enough. You've bought one-ply toilet paper when you could afford two. You bought no name mustard and tooth paste. You've scrimped and saved for a rainy day. Well it might not be raining but it's cold as fuck. And let's call it straight, you deserve it.

You call your girlfriend (she's a hairdresser and rents her chair at a local shop, so she can make her own hours) and tell her to pack a bag. You tell her all she needs is a toothbrush and a bikini. You can hear the excitement in her voice, she suggestively mentions that maybe she won't even need the bikini. Blood pumps from your heart downwards. This trip is shaping up nicely already.

You set yourself down in front of your laptop and purchase two first class tickets to Jamaica. You smile, beaming with pride that you're going to enjoy the finer things for a change. This trip is going to be pineapple juice and rum, sleeping in til noon, massages on the beach. Anything you want, you're going to get. You'll go for broke. This will be the trip you always look back on fondly.

You get to the airport on the day of the trip. Your plane is delayed but you don't let it bother you, you and your sweetheart are about to spend seven days, six nights, in paradise.

On the flight you sit behind a couple who insists on fighting openly out loud, without any regard to how uncomfortable anyone feels. Loudly and obliviously, they pick each other apart, cursing at each. With every drink they order their abuse of one another escalates. You shrug it off, you're almost there. Nothing can bring you down.

After the plane touches down, the airline has lost your luggage. You stay to work something out and send your girlfriend ahead to the hotel/resort a few blocks away. You smile to yourself. You imagine she'll be waiting on the bed, naked from head to toe, eagerly anticipating your arrival.

The airline takes your cell number and assures you they'll call as soon as they information.

You grab a cab and head over to the hotel. The cabbie, upon recognizing that you're a tourist, charges you double. You threaten to call the authorities but soon realize you're in a foreign country and have no recourse. You reluctantly pay up and head to your room.

You hear moaning in the hall and assume someone is having a great old time on their vacation. You get closer to your room and realize that it's your girlfriend. For a half second you try to convince yourself she's preparing herself for you, but that thought is quickly dispelled when you hear the low guttural moan of a man engaged in sexual congress. Then another moan from another voice, noticeably male, an octave or so higher.

You thrust open the door to find your sweetheart banging the cleaning guy and two bros she met when they were on their way to rent jet skis. You drop your carry on and the jewelery box that holds the engagement ring you purchased only two days early spills out. One of the college guys pulls his wang out of your lady's poophole and feces cascades onto the freshly pressed linens. The cleaning guy freaks out and runs past you and you smell your woman's vagina perfume on his face and hands. The other two, cocky, from days of liquid courage, keep pumping away. They finish up and spit in your hair as they walk past you. As ejaculate spills from her every orifice, she gargles out "I've been fucking your boss for six months now, and you have a small dick". She leaves and you get billed for the sheets.


Sure this drink is nice in theory, but the journey is nicer than the destination.