I’ve been told I’m a snob. I don’t think I am one usually, but I went to Myrtle Beach earlier this week for a few days and I realized that yes, I am a snob about certain things.
John and I took the Wee Frat Boys down to Myrtle for a few days to break up the week of Spring Break. We normally go to the Charleston area because we prefer and it is closer, but finding an affordable place to stay just for a few days that has an indoor pool is tough down that way. So I booked a one bedroom suite for a decent price in a hotel in Myrtle Beach that boasted heated indoor pools and a lazy river. It also has a Starbucks in it, and any hotel with a Starbucks in it is on my Good List.
The view from our new-fangled high rise hotel of the old school Myrtle Beach hotels like the ones I stayed in when I was high school.
The hotel itself was good enough. Nothing fancy, but for the price I was happy with it. It was the clientele that shocked me a little bit.
I saw no less than three people swimming in their bras. Which were under their bathing suits. Now I know how tough it is to find a suit with good support and coverage when you have boobage of the larger variety. But never once have I considered wearing my bra under my suit. Not seriously at least. It must be the snob in me.
I saw two other people swimming in their clothing. Which didn’t look particularly clean. Again, snobby. I know.
I also saw people engaging in what I’m pretty sure was full-on penetration sex in the hot tub. I fear I now have chlamydia from being in the same room with them. And also athlete’s foot.
I still don’t get this look. Be a shirt or a skin. You have to choose.
We went to a pizza place nearby that had good yelp reviews, but they weren’t able to serve us because they were busy setting up for the official Myrtle Manor viewing party. I would’ve liked to have stayed because I have a problem with wanting to have my picture made with people who have been on reality shows, but they wouldn’t have had food ready for at least 30 minutes. The Wee Frat Boys wait for pizza from no man, so we moved on.
There was also the typical line up of teen boys sitting on benches and walls along the main drag, hollering at girls and fussing at them when they wouldn’t stop to talk to them. Those interactions were punctuated by boys in trucks with giant wheels cruising by with huge rebel flags flying off of the back of them. I’m not a fan of the whole “Heritage not Hate” mantra that many of these ignorant fools hiss, but the line of guys who were talking foolishness on the street to all of the passerby mostly happened to be black. Instead of starting a fight or screaming nasty things at the flag-bearers, one of them consistently yelled “WHITE POWER” in a pretty good Dave Chappelle impersonation. (If you aren’t familiar with the skit click on the video below for an education. NSFW or kids.)
When I told Andrea, who is one of my best friends from junior high and high school, about the silliness I witnessed and that I hoped we acted better when we were high school spring breakers, she responded, “Oh, I don’t think we did.”
Back in the day, my high school friends and I used to rent the shoddiest hotel rooms and beach houses we could find in the Cherry Grove area of North Myrtle. They were cheap, and when you pack 20 girls with limited spring break funds into two rooms meant to sleep 10 people, shenanigans ensued. Add most of the rest our classmates and much of the student bodies of other Charlotte high schools down there in similar housing situations, and there’s a week of drunk high school students wandering the streets and the beach, meandering from house party to house party. I also recall one evening where we committed grand theft auto by packing 10 girls into a convertible. I’d call it “borrowing,” but we took a car that didn’t belong to us without permission. We gave it back, though, so I guess we at least have that.
Don’t be jealous of my Nine West t-shirt.
I also recall several arrests (NOT ME), drunk crying over boys (possibly me), fighting among roommates (also me), drinking Everclear mixed with Gatorade (puke), and lots of drinking Zima and watching reruns of Saved by the Bell during daylight hours (definitely me). We were our nation’s future, taking a break to enjoy being just that.
It was so much fun.
But I’m still not going back to Myrtle Beach again. This snobby girl knows the days of the Sunny Ledfurd lifestyle (not that she ever really lived one) are over for her. She snobbily accepts it.