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You Know You're on Vacation When You Shampoo With "Pert" - Pensacola, Florida

You Know You're on Vacation When You Shampoo With "Pert"

Pensacola, Florida


Blow-out Weekend

Since our last trip to Charleston, South Carolina, life has been a hectic series of episodes in work, school, new jobs and family melodrama. Hence we were delighted when our neighbor offered us her condo that she never uses in Pensacola, Florida for the weekend. It was certainly time for us to spend a weekend away on the beach. And of course, we couldn't beat the price - free! We decided to go on Memorial Day weekend and asked our friends Chris and Jackie to come with us. Everything was set.

Friday rolled around and we were going to leave around 6 pm, after the girls got off work. Of course, that didn't happen and we actually left New Orleans around 8 pm. No matter, we thought, it's just a three-hour drive to Pensacola. Unless, of course, one of us gets a blowout in our tire, which is exactly what happened to Chris's truck just before Gulfport, Mississippi. I was following behind him and was fortunate not to crash into the back of his wildly swerving vehicle as he tried to pull off the road.

There we were, on the side of the fast lane of the I-10, trying to figure out in the dark what was going through the minds of the engineers at Nissan when they designed their bizarre spare tire assembly. After struggling for a while with the arcane machinery that actually reminded me of a medieval torture device, we got the little donut tire on and were back on the road. On the way, I contemplated just how white trash we were going to look pulling into the condo's parking lot with an old pickup truck on a spare tire and the medieval torture device machinery bumping around in the truck bed. Fortunately, Chris decided it wouldn't be a great idea to drive another hundred and fifty miles on the little donut, so we pulled off at the Gulfport exit to find a place to get a new tire. By this time it was 9:30 and I was unsure of our tire-buying prospects at that hour.

There was a Wal-Mart a little off the interstate and so we pulled around into the "Tire and Lube" shop. It was closed. We laughed at Chris as he pitifully knocked on the door trying to get the attention of "the little man" in there (as he described him). After a minute of shouting his plight through the door, the little man directed Chris to come through the store. We found a spot and placed the blown-out tire in a shopping basket. As the four of us walked in behind the cart filled with shredded tire, we no longer worried about if we were going to look like white trash. We were there.

A word about the Gulfport Wal-Mart. Some of my best friends live in Gulfport. I have dated several beautiful, sweet girls from there. But evidently there is nothing else to do in Gulfport at 9:30 on a Friday night, because it seemed the entire population of the town was there, doing whatever it is they do. And at least some of the local chapter of the Astute Observation Club must have their meetings there, because no fewer than three people, after having assessed the shredded tire in the basket on its way to the tire department, commented to us "Y'all have a flat?" But our eternal gratitude and praise goes to Jim, the tire department manager, who sold and mounted the tire for Chris, despite the fact that the department had closed two and a half hours earlier! I know for a fact that in some places you would have difficulty getting service during regular business hours, let alone so long after closing. Thank you, Jim!

After we put the tire back on (to yet more strains of "Y'all got a flat?") we met up with the girls. They had gotten groceries while we waited for the tire. They did a fine job buying fruit, bread and assorted Healthy Stuff. But not a single bottle of alcohol or can of beer! Chris and I rapidly corrected the oversight and headed back out onto the road. Grainne promptly fell asleep, leaving me to my own thoughts as we headed east. I could feel this article coming on.

As we got into Pensacola around 12:30 in the morning, Chris needed fuel. While Problem Child, as I had come to start calling Chris, filled up his truck, I studied my Mapquest map. Onward we went, trying to find the Regency Towers in the darkness. After only a minimum of searching, I broke down and asked for directions, my tiredness overwhelming my male instincts to never ask for directions. We found the place, maneuvered all our crap upstairs, and fell into bed.

Rainbow City

The next day, we all got up at the crack of ten, only to discover that we had no coffee filters. Or sugar. Of course. As the main caffeine addict, I took it upon myself to run to the Circle-K across the street. Please, please, please have filters. None. Nada. Zip. Of course. Or sugar. Calling upon all my survival instincts, I contemplated my coffee conundrum. It occurred to me that Circle-K has coffee brewing all the time! And they keep their filters in the cabinet beneath the coffee machine. And they generally have their sugar/Sweet'n'Low/Equal station well-stocked next to the coffee pot. This knowledge, drawn on from ten years spent working as a paramedic at all hours of the night, served me well. If you get my drift.

I waited in line to check out with a loaf of bread. As I waited, I could not help but notice that there seemed to be an inordinate quantity of obviously gay men and lesbian women in the store. Perplexed, I made my purchase and headed back across the street, dodging numerous rainbow-flag-draped vehicles as I crossed. I wondered if there was some sort of convention in town. The next day, I spotted a rack of t-shirts with a rainbow smiley face and the logo "Memorial Day Weekend 2002, Pensacola, Florida." It all became clear to me - this apparently was gay and lesbian Spring Break. To all gays and lesbians - Pensacola is the Place To Be! It looked like everybody was having a great time. Homophobes - steer clear on Memorial Day weekend.

Anyway, back to the condo. After brewing a pot of coffee that took about ten years, we decided it was time to go out onto the beach. And out we went, like something from a movie parody about Americans at the beach. I would one day love to go out onto a beach with nothing but a magazine and dollar bills in my pocket to tip the boy who brought me my piña coladas. Instead I usually find myself struggling with beach chairs, towels, a cooler and a panoply of inflatable beach toys as I did on this occasion. I was vaguely envious of the groups of gay guys on the beach, who managed to look infinitely cooler than I did. Of course, they work out more.

After frolicking on the beach for the day, we went inside to change and get ready to go out to eat. Miraculously, I managed to get into the shower first. As I showered, it occurred to me that nearly every time I have vacationed in the southeastern U.S., I have used Pert shampoo. I don't know why this is (I don't use it at home or bring it with me), but it always seems to be the case wherever I go. That was when I knew I was on vacation.

We headed out that night to find somewhere to eat. Our neighbor had given us a letter that she gives to all who use her condo, with information about what to do, where to go, etc. One of her recommendations was called Pegleg Pete's, a restaurant she describes in the letter as "tacky but tasty." We didn't go, but I thought her description of it amusing enough to share. By the way, the line at Pegleg Pete's was out the door.

Rather than the crowded places on Pensacola Beach, we opted to venture into the town of Pensacola to find something less institutionalized. We eventually settled on Tre Fratelli on Alcaniz Street. As we waited for a table, we had drinks at Hub Stacy's Bar and Grill across the street. Drinks at Hub Stacy's were very reasonably priced, and the menu looked attractive and cheap. In addition, there was a very decent band playing. We were tempted to forget about Tre Fratelli and eat there. But were glad we didn't, for the food at Tre Fratelli was excellent and not too expensive, ranging between $10 and $20 generally. Our waitress (who we found out was the manager) apologized for a couple of delays in our service by comping us a couple of pieces of superb cheesecake. We wanted to come back the next day just for more cheesecake! Tre Fratelli is a tiny place, with only about five or six tables inside, and another five or six outside which is where we sat. It was a beautiful night, spoiled only by the giant flying cockroaches that swooped around the tables like fighter jets. I hate 'roaches.

Read Part Two of You Know You're on Vacation