May 16, 2005

The Greatest Vacation Story Of All Time

During freshman year of high school, my father was working for a company called Starwood Hotels and Resorts.  This company is the owner of many chains of hotels, such as the Sheraton and Westin chains.  Starwood also owned a slew of five-star resorts, some classy-ass shit.  During the February break of that year, my father managed to get our family a reservation at such a place, a resort named The Phoenician in Scottsdale, Arizona.  As a fringe benefit, he was able to get a $500 double room for less than $80, so needless to say, we were not the typical guests of the resort. This, however promising it may seem, is irrelevant in the scope of our experience.

The Phoenician was at the foot of a considerably large hill, Camelback Mountain.  Towards the end of our trip, while eating lunch, my family decided that it would be cool to climb the mountain at night.  We asked one of the concierge members if the mountain was open to the public at night. She said that it was a public park and was open.  That night, we took our rental car to the foot of the mountain and began climbing.  About half of the way to the top, my brother, being a whiny bitch, said that he was tired of climbing, and he and my mother went back down the mountain to wait for us in the car.  My father and I proceeded to climb the mountain to its summit. After reaching the top, we turned back to go back down.  Shortly after turning around, we heard the distinct propellor of a helicopter. Intrigued, we turned around.  We saw a helicopter flying no more than 50 feet above the mountain with a search light.  The helicopter focused the light on my father and I and we heard through a loudspeaker, "Descend immediately.  The park is closed." (For those wondering, the search helicopter was not sent out to find us, but was looking for a missing child and happened to stumble upon us.)  So my father and I obediently follow the directions given to us.  While descending the mountain, however, my father became very distressed, and apparently felt the need to relieve himself.  So he tells me that he recommends looking away, and proceeds to pull down his pants, sit over a rock, and do his business.  I am at the time disgusted, yet fairly amused at the situation because we are potentially being watched by police.  As we continued down the mountain, my father relieved himself in a similar manner twice more, meaning that he had thrice defacated on public land.  When we finally returned to the base of the mountain, there was a police car waiting with its spotlight shining on us, and my mother was hysterically crying.  The officer told us that the park was closed, which we clearly already knew (I guess he just wanted to feel important), and then we left.  Once my mother had recovered her sanity, she told us what the officer told her while they were waiting for us.  He had let us off with a warning because we were given false information by the fuckheads at the concierge department, but he said that it could have been far worse.  He normally would have issued us a summons to state court, and since we would not have been able to attend due to our impending departure for the delighful weather of New York in February, a warrant for our arrests would have been issued the next time we entered the state of Arizona.


Don't believe me? Well first of all, fuck you and your lack of confidence in the honor system, and secondly, to quote Charlie Murphy, "Who the fuck could make up that shit?"

1 comment:

The Token Female said...

I never thought I'd ever find the words "thrice" and "fuckface" in the same story...now if I ever meet your dad this is all I will be thinking about, and although the situation should be embarassing to him, he'll be unaware. bwuahahaha