My final year of high school, I wanted to have the best spring break possible. My closest friends growing up decided they all wanted to go to Cancun and I told them I was definitely in. It sounded too good to be true except for the fact that my parents weren’t on-board with the idea. They told me it was too dangerous and since I’m a pitiful girl who cannot fend for herself, my parents offered to take my best friend and me to the Bahamas, land of the reefer.

Back to the chase-- the parents, my friend (we will call her “Sara”) and I got on the plane and took off for Atlantis, where screaming children, hot men who are married and still looking, and women whose skin is so leather-like you could make a Louis Vuitton purse out of it awaited us.

Once we arrived to the resort, Sara and I did all we could to keep our desired wild spring break in-check, but the hotel bars and lobby lounges just weren’t cutting it anymore. We had had enough of receiving bizarre, creepy looks from 60-year-old men chewing on their stogies and drinking their scotch, so we decided one night that we wanted to go inland for some real fun. My parents were skeptical about what happened on the “big island” and told us to never venture outside of Atlantis so we didn’t inform them of this what-seemed-to-be amazing decision at the time. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen movie, “Holiday in the Sun,” but they snuck out of the Atlantis so we thought, if they can do it so can we.

We took a cab to Nassau to this allegedly “posh club” called Waterloo (really it looked like a large bathroom at your local 7-11) and for about the first hour we were at this club, we stood around a pool located in the center of a massive crowd of people and chain-smoked cigarettes while staring at strangers and not knowing what we had gotten ourselves into. Naturally, due to our high levels of discomfort, we collectively decided we wanted to get waste-faced and be bad asses. Because a 17-year-old is so knowledgeable about alcohol, I ordered one shot of Bacardi and no chaser; please keep in mind I did not know Bacardi is rum and I also did not know there is more than one type (strength). So the bartender handed over a shot and provided a chaser of Sprite. Being the hardcore bitch that I was and still am, I refused the chaser (“Man, I don’t need a chaser” I believe was my phrase of choice) and downed the shot with a strong attempt to show no pain in my facial expression. Immediately I looked at the bartender who is laughing and yelled “What the hell was that!” Obviously I took the chaser. So I was 17 years old at the time, could get hammered off three Solo cups of beer, and the bartender gave me a shot of 151.

I proceeded to run to the fence that enclosed this so-called posh club and felt insanely nauseous where I found myself standing next to this ultimate frat star jamming his fist down his throat and puking his brains out. Sara ran to get me water and came back to my rescue while I seriously contemplated vomiting and perhaps doing a somersault over the balcony to numb my body from the alcohol-induced sting. Once my frat friend finished his puking marathon, he looked at me and extended the same fist that was just in his throat to introduce himself. Then he extended his fist to Sara and we both reluctantly shook it because his friend was hot and we thought for some reason one of us just might have a chance to hook it with him. But where would we hook it? The room we were staying in which was adjoining to my parents room? We didn’t exactly have our thoughts in order but we sure did look pretty.

So we went inside to break it down to Busta Rhymes’ latest jams where this homeless-looking stranger of a guy was poll dancing and staring at Sara like he was going to take some serious advantage of her. Keep in mind his limbs were moving like normal humans limbs just do not move. Perhaps his bones were made of play-do or elastic; either way, Sara was not feeling the groove with this iPod commercial wanna-be. Oh, and the fact that we were dressed like the biggest prudes ever with large chunky wedge shoes and matching floral outfits from Express probably wasn’t helping out our game and only attracting the uppermost status of pedophiles. To avoid this oddly behaving character, she sprinted up the stairs to request a song from the DJ; meanwhile, on about the fourth step, she slipped and landed straight on her back and completely ate it. Her legs were covered in this bathroom floor-like black dusty substance, she was hobbling around because she probably had just broken her tail bone, and it was at that moment that we decided it was in our best interest to leave.

We took a cab back to Atlantis where my father was waiting by the casino, more pissed off than I have ever seen him. He asked us where we were and we blatantly lied and said we were outside; meanwhile, there were janitors running around everywhere with vacuums so loud we couldn’t hear ourselves talk, or probably form sentences for that matter. “The casino closed over an hour ago and there is no one up besides the people who work here,” my dad said to us as he took a full bottled water and chucked it across the hallway. He knew we were not telling the truth but we didn’t want to ruin the rest of our spring break gone wild experience so Sara and I stuck to our guns and lied until it was forgotten.