I survived the Great White Shark.

And the French Canadian devil.

From all these years working in the restaurant business, I have become an expert on reading people.
By reading a person's body language and their style of conversation (or in some cases, lack thereof), you can adjust your own personal style to match theirs, in an attempt to have the most efficient verbal exchange possible. You can do this by thinking of yourself as a mirror. A small broken unlucky mirror.

Simply stated... youre nice to me; i am nice to you. you joke with me; i joke with you. youre a bitch to me; you better watch out while i get out my flying monkeys.

(wyman i feel bad for my semicolon key, because it doesnt get a whole lot of attention. so forgive me if i drop a few incorrect SC's. i am replenishing an ego here)

It all started at the continental breakfast at 730am. I had just driven two hours in a crowded van with a shoeless and smelly obese man. The road trip had only begun two hours after my last shot and a beer. I replayed vomit exploding from my mouth, and covering the fat dudes feet, like that would have made the two scents cancel out.

I put my stuff, ie bag, towel, and sunglasses on an open table in the dining room and got in line to get coffee. I glance back at my stuff, something every solo tourist does at least one million times a day, and its not on the table i put it on, but in some random lady's hands. She dragged my towel and dropped my sunglasses, and I am not sure if anyone noticed, but my sunglasses are smoking hot. To make matters worse, she tosses my stuff like a bag of trash in the corner of the dining room. Oh, and did I mention that every single other table in the dining room was open? This really grinds my gears.

Ok, so she is just one of THOSE ladies. (the ones you cant take anywhere, or murder) I feel bad for her husband. I get my stuff and take another table. No big deal. I am going to swim with sharks today, and i have always wanted to do that.

I drink my coffee and get in line for the buffet.

Guess who comes up behind me, doin' 50 in a 25, the Frog. She's a line creeper ( you know, those people that stand behind you in line and rub all up on you, standing SUPER close to you, thinking for some damn reason that that one inch will get them closer to the head of the line) , and a loud talker ( just a reminder, she is French Canadian, therefore is speaking really loud French). Two of my biggest pet peeves, line creepers, and anything involving France (except Goose).

Then she said, "jablahblahji do... American" and laughs hysterically. Not that i think she is talking about me, but after bitch moved my shit, knocked my elbow eighty five times, JAWAWAH'd French like a speakerphone in my ear, and all before 8am, I was beginning to lose it. I read her like a book and summons my inner witch.

I moved slower. And mentally noted the lack of mayo, and laughed at her kind in my head.

After breakfast, I waited in line for the bathroom. She sneak attacked me and somehow got behind me in line. My turn came, I went in, did my thing (number 1), bout to zipper my pants, and hear a knock at the door. Obvi, i say i will be right out.

I go to wash my hands. As i am drying them, I hear another knock (over the sound of the hand dryer). SERIOUSLY? what are you? five?

I swing open the door to the Frog tapping her foot. I asked her, "did you just knock on the door.... twice?" She looked at me with the, "so what if i did" look and didn't say anything.

I walk right back into the bathroom, closed the lid on the toilet, and sit there for the next ten minutes hoping Frog pees herself in front of all of her country club friends. Yes, I am five. You have a problem with that?

When i opened the door ten minutes later, she was gone. Victory.

I'd tell you about the sharks, but as soon as I got into the water, I just started to melt.