Given the proliferation of Florida pictures in my Facebook feed, it’s become apparent that it’s currently Spring Break season. In the words of the immortal Matt Foley, a la Chris Farley, “Whoop-deefrickin-doo!”
My apologies to those enjoying sunshine and relaxation, but until a mandatory Spring Break for working adults is implemented, I will continue to carry a slight chip on my shoulder.
Oh wait, that’s just part of a pita chip. I really shouldn’t eat those on the couch.
Anyway, my point is this got me thinking about Spring Breaks of the past. When I was in elementary school we often went down to Florida to visit my grandparents, and I’ve already recounted the tale of eight grade Abby and her best friend going down to stay with those grandparents at their condo for 10 days.
I was basically a child genius.
In case you don’t want to click over—although I would advise that you do if you want a good chuckle—we spent the trip riding three-wheeled bicycles to the community pool, narrowly avoided both food poisoning and elderly binge drinkers while dreaming of a trip to the beach that turned out to be less than expected.
But a couple years later I went back to Florida to spend Easter with my grandma, as it was the first Easter she would celebrate after my grandpa passed away.
Unlike the first trip, it rained almost every day and instead of spending time sunning myself at the pool, I made the 20 minute drive to the only mall within 100 miles to use a tanning bed so I could at least return home looking less miserable than I felt.
However, a large chuck of time was once again spent cleaning large Ziploc bags full of ketchup and mustard packets from various fast food establishments—“free condiments!”—out of the freezer, among other mysterious things.
Now if you’ve never spent time as the youngest person in a retirement community, I feel the need to prepare you for your adventure.
Geriatric Girls Gone Wild
Elderly women often marinate in perfume and get their thinning hair styled and set into old lady Afros once a week at the beauty shop, tipping “the young girl” of 55 at least $1 each time. Old men with shorts pulled up to their nipples will smell of flea market cologne and stylishly wear white socks with balls on the back with their sandals. If the temperatures dip below 60 degrees, all will be outfitted with earmuffs and gloves.
Yard decorations, a year-round staple, will take on a festive Easter feel, and passive aggressive signs of a dog pooping with a big “X” over said pile of crap will be replaced with trees decorated with massive plastic eggs, pastel lights and plastic flamingos wearing bunny years.
Dinner at the clubhouse will bring to mind memories of middle school in which the women gossip and men talk about their upcoming athletic pursuits, be it a shuffleboard tournament or landing a 7-lb fish. If you’re single, this will become the point of conversation and condemnation as each yenta tells you how perfect you are for their 60-year-old single Jewish son who has most of his hair and part of his hearing.
Members will make sure to eat their fill—they paid $10 for the meal, after all—and then stuff whatever they can into napkins to take back to their condos for later. This not only includes food, but often silverware, sugar packets and toothpicks.
Speaking of food, you might return back to the condo one blazing hot afternoon to find a picnic basket on the front porch—in the sun—from your grandma’s best friend down the street. This picnic basket might contain potato salad and leftover prime rib.
You might have a horrified look on your face as your grandma deems it her supper for later, as she believes once meat is cooked, it doesn’t need to be refrigerated and can left out until it’s either consumed or disintegrates.
You might just be lucky to make it out alive, older—but still the youngest around—and hopefully just a bit wiser.
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