National Lampoon Beach Vacation

Since leaving home at the age of 17, I have taken vacations with my family many, many times. Most of these trips remind me of the movie, National Lampoon Vacation. The summer 2008 beach trip was no exception; in fact, it was probably the most entertaining family vacation to date.

In July, I rode down to Perdido Key with my parents, my sister, and her four year old son, Brody. The whole gang was invited, but scheduling conflicts kept my brothers and their families from going along with us. This was my last full week of summer vacation, and I figured that I could squeeze in one more visit to the coast. Dad had rented a condo right on the water, and even though I had never stayed in this particular city before, I was looking forward to it.

The drive down was most uneventful, for the most part. My dear old dad drives like a Indy 500 racer, blissfully ignorant of his tendency to nauseate everyone on board with his abrupt stops and starts. Vivian and I were trying to play gin rummy in the backseat, but the card stack slid off into the floorboard so many times that we finally gave up. By the time we had stopped at the Super Wal-Mart (a ritual stop en route to the beach), I had grown quite weary and wanted nothing more than the ground underneath my feet, the sound of the waves in the distance, and a long drag off of a cigarette.

Some big Nascar race was coming on TV that evening and my dad was hell-bent on getting to the condo, unpacking his things, and settling in for the evening by the time the race began. Fine by me. I convinced him to take Brody and mom up to the room and chill. Vivian and I would find a luggage cart, unpack the Tahoe, and bring everything up to the room. This rationale actually meant chain smoke until our blood pressure spiked so high that we got dizzy from the rush.

Vivian and I snagged a cart from the lobby, rode the elevator down to the underground parking deck and proceeded to unload. Just as we were piling the last of the stuff on the cart, the fire alarm began to wail. Viv looked at me kinda nervous, but I blew it off. I was certain some kid had pulled the alarm as a prank. We finished up, rolled the heavy cart over to the elevator and pressed the up button. When the big metal doors slid open, an elderly woman walked out and told us not to get on the elevator because of the fire. (Yes, she had just exited the elevator during the fire alarm, herself.) Vivian looked at me with this expression of panic, yelled “My baby”, and took off running toward the stair case. The little old lady walked to her car, and I was all alone in this dark, spooky parking deck balancing two hundred pounds of swimsuits, sand buckets, and grocery bags on a luggage cart! Even though the doors to the elevator had not reopened, I was still convinced there was no fire. I had to wheel my cart up and out of this parking deck. I had no other options. It was 350 degrees and I don’t like the dark. I did fine until I had to push that big heavy sucker up the ramp to reach ground level.

As soon as I reached daylight, I saw them. Firetrucks. Lots of them. Huge yellow hoses lying across the ground level parking lot. Lots of them. I couldn’t get to the covered porch at the lobby because of the stupid hose pipes lying around every which way. I was blocking traffic from entering the underground deck – not that anyone would choose to park with all the sirens, lights and chaos ongoing at the moment. I pushed my cart toward the street and used the bicycle lane of Perdido Beach Blvd. to bypass the firetrucks and get to the lobby with the hordes of other condo residents. On my trip down bicycle lane, I saw a fireman. Usually, I am able to resist the temptation to verbalize those stupid, random thoughts that enter my mind from time to time, but I was unsuccessful on this particular occasion.

The fireman was straightening a hose pipe, and I ask him: “Is there a fire?” As soon as the words were out, I wished so badly that I could take them back. The guy was a good sport, though. He just pointed toward the building, and said, “look”. Water was gushing from the 15 floor, and I could see the smoke from the beach side balcony. I talked to fireman for just a minute and learned that everyone on the 12th floor and higher had been evacuated.

Since I had learned the hard way not to verbalize thoughts, I did NOT say this out loud. I figured that I would be able to get in the elevator and get to my room unscathed, since we were staying on the 10th floor. Forging on down ....P B Blvd....., I saw his name on the back of his jacket. Vowell. I thought that was a funny name for a fireman, but I digress..


Then, I waged war with the crowd of folks anxiously waiting to get back to their vacation. I could have weaseled through the crowd pretty easily by myself, but this stinkin’ cart was really putting a hitch in my get-along! Finally, I make it to the elevator, push the up button and wait. I sneak inside like a burglar, nervous that somebody might call me out or try to stop me. The doors close and I am safely inside. The elevator starts to move. I am home free!! Then there is a big jolt and the elevator doors open. I am on the ground floor exactly where I started, but this time four firemen were standing there looking at me. One said, “Ma’am, you are going to have to exit the elevator”. Guess which one? Yep. The same one…..Vowell. I was mortified. This man must think that I am a raving lunatic. First, I am the blond pushing a luggage cart down a fourlane highway in 100 degree heat, then I ask a fireman if there is a fire AS he is unrolling his hose, now, I am in the elevator in a hotel where I know there is a fire. Lunatic...raving lunatic!


I sat on the curb outside the condo with my hand wrapped around the pole of that blasted luggage cart for the next three hours. I saw the ABC fireman several times throughout the evening. One time, I could have sworn we made eye contact but there were all the flashing lights around, so I could have been mistaken. He was the one who announced to the few remaining tenants that we could return to our rooms. (Most folks had simply gotten into their vehicles and left to go eat dinner.) Ordinarily, after the crowd had thinned out a bit, I would have talked to him because he was awfully good-lookin. I am not scared to call it like I see it. This time, though, I couldn’t find the courage. I had asked him if there was a fire as he was unrolling the fire hose. THEN, I had entered an elevator during an alarm and HE caught me red-handed. I just couldn’t do it.


I finally made it inside where my family was kicked back enjoying the races. I was so pissed. I had simply wanted a cigarette and had gotten trapped outside for hours!! I grabbed a piece of key lime pie (my favorite) and walked out onto the street side balcony to watch the clean up festivities. They looked like little ants down there walking all around and over each other, rolling up their stuff. I saw him; he was looking up. He waved. I was sure that someone must have been standing on the balcony directly above me. Surely, he wasn’t waving at me.


The next morning our crew was walking through the lobby on the way to the beach. The man behind the desk called me over to him. He asked if I was on the 10th floor. He asked if I had been trapped in the parking lot during the fire the night before. He asked if I had been wearing a blue skirt and an orange shirt. When I answered yes to these questions, he explained that a fireman had asked about me, but the desk clerk had no way of finding my name or room number.


I am infamous for my approach to men, but the one time that I should have been audacious, I chickened out. Ahhh….just another day in the life.