Thursday, May 4, 2017

I Suck at Vacations

When we go on family vacations, everybody has a job.

My father makes plane and hotel reservations.  My brother finds things for the family to do.  My mother anticipates problems and solves them before they happen.  My wife packs.

I complain.

I've never liked vacations.  I never "got" them.  I don't get why you'd spend money on a vacation.  I don't get why you'd go through all the effort to pack your clothes up and wake up early to fly somewhere and stay in a hotel.

Most of all, I don't get what's so great about the places people go.

Why do people like to beaches?  Is it the sand?  I can buy it in bags and spread it around on the back porch?  Is it the water?  We have a bathtub.  Is it the miles of screaming kids and overweight guys in tiny swimsuits?  I'll put on my Speedo and sit next to you and make annoying noises.

Why do people like camping?  Nobody actually chops down trees to make firewood, fishes for dinner, and shoots a bear for a blanket to keep warm at night.  You know what you do camping?  You sit.  You don't cut down trees for firewood.  Heck, you can't even collect fallen branches; there are signs everywhere that say not to.  You can't fish for food, because that's bad for the environment (and time consuming).  You can't shoot a bear because they get mad.  And, again, you're surrounded by fat guys not wearing enough clothes.

If I'm going to be forced to go on vacations, at least I want to do something.  Go on a ride on a submarine, see rare snakes, plot the downfall of fascism, rescue an ancient artifact, shoot a guy with a sword, steal a Nazi uniform.

Okay, that's Indiana Jones, but at least he would take me on a fun trip.  Also, there's only one fat guy and at least he doesn't wear a Speedo.


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