The strange creatures that hide in the jungle take unsuspecting guests by surprise, and drag them into the underbrush.
When I die and go down a long tunnel, I hope it's this one:
I might be able to swipe a few chocolates off the maid's cart as I pass to my reward.
I don’t think I said anything about Thursday, because there was nothing to say. In a way, that signifies a good vacation day: when perfection is ordinary, you’re living well.
Oh! Thanksgiving dinner. I forgot.
It was absolutely acceptable, given the cultural gap. There was a pen of paper-machine-and-balloon turkeys bobbing around in a pen:
Not sure about the a la carte lung disease, though.
FRIDAY.
Beach, then the last trip to Poseidon.
Let’s go to the gym!
Hmm, wonder if I can get a treadmill.
Yes, I can get a treadmill.
But none of them work properly. You can tap at the screen all you like, and nothing happens. There’s a button that just starts the damned thing, a physical button, so that works, but until you realize that most of the screens are immune to the ministrations of the human touch, you have to go from machine to machine. I cannot enter my weight; it thinks I am 165 pounds and will not accept any input to the contrary. I cannot change the view, so I’m stuck with whatever cycles next. This means there’s a chance I will not see the Haunted Man of the Empty Mountain Plain.
Ah well. Just crank it up and start thudding. I listen, as is my wont, to one of the five-part Johnny Dollars. It’s one I don’t like, because Johnny does some uncharacteristic things. He lies to policemen and withholds evidence, and it’s a bright note of betrayal. Just the same, I don’t remember how it ends, so we’re good. After half an hour it’s time for the weights and machines. There are some dilettantes who spend most of their time looking at their phone, one of those bald short heavy-lifters who looks like a bowling ball placed on top of a large iron beachball, and of course the attendant, who has nothing to do but fold towels. The number of towels greatly exceeds the number of users, so it’s possible he folds them all then unfolds them, just to make the hours pass. He also has to make sure there are lots of bananas.
Perhaps everyone comes in the morning. They open at 6 AM, after all, which says something about the clientele. The hard-chargers up with the dawn who can’t shake that world-beater attitude. The very idea of getting up at 7 AM would be anathema. It might be several themas. Why, people will get a march on you. Calls will go to voice mail. Deals will go undealt. Get on the treadmill and bark orders to the Dubai office! Hone your deltoids while considering that offer from the London bureau!
Eh.
Well. I’m more concerned with hitting the 30lbs daily, which was not possible the last trip. Check myself in the mirror, take the picture, compare to last year: stasis maintained, decrepitude foiled. The desserts - and there are so very many - have no accumulated. Yet.
I give the place one last look as I leave, and think well yes, I'll be back. Then I walk back to the room, and it's amusing what I think: okay, we've gone through the basics, breakfast beach Poseidon gym. Now I can knock off and relax. Nothing left to do for a few hours until we get back to work for dinner.
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