SHIRTLESS IN KEY WEST
I couldn’t have been more confused when I woke up. It wasn’t the first time I’d opened my eyes to an unfamiliar scene, but that morning in Key West was one of the worst examples of an irresponsible hangover. Once I pieced everything together I panicked. My flight was definitely leaving any minute.
I jumped out of bed and did a clean sweep of the room stuffing everything into my roll-aboard. Clothes were squirting through the zippers and dragging the floor behind me as I wheeled into the common area of the condo. Bodies were scattered everywhere but the closest one was Napper, passed out face up on the cold linoleum of the kitchen.
I lobbed my moped keys in his direction and they floated through the air in slow motion – in my mind anyway – before landing flush on his bare chest. He didn’t move and the keys stayed fixed center-mass.
“Turn that in for me,” I mumbled without losing stride. I’m not sure who I was talking to, because it certainly wasn’t Napper.
I opened the door and the sunlight struck my face like a prize fighter punch. I had no car, I had no plan. My phone was dead, and I didn’t have any real idea where I was. I walked to the road and used the position of the sun to determine I needed to turn right and start walking. I stuck my thumb out and just trudged along rolling my clothes behind me. I was shocked when a good-looking blonde in an open-air Jeep pulled alongside me and stopped.
“I assume you’re headed to the airport? Hop in.”
I know this sounds like something out of Penthouse Forum, but that’s not the case. It did happen though, and it was like a mirage. Or maybe I was on Punk’d. Whatever…I didn’t have time to figure out what mystical forces were at play.
I threw my bag in the back and jumped in the passenger seat as she smashed the gas.
“Thank you so much for picking me up. I promise I’m not a psycho. Do you pick up hungover strangers on the road often?”
Her blonde locks danced wildly across her face blinding her at times as we rocketed toward the airport. She turned my way and asked, “You don’t remember me do you?”
Oh God. I froze.
Before I could apologize and feel horrible about not having a clue who this beautiful savior was, she let me off the hook.
“I was your bartender last night at Sloppy’s. You guys were on one.”
I wish I could say that things suddenly became clear for me, but I’d be lying if I did.
“Did we tip you well?”
“More than enough. Why do you think I stopped? If you stiffed me I just would have run you over instead of picking you up.”
This was a relief. I assumed we were headed to the airport, but she easily could have been taking me to some underground torture chamber she keeps for men that piss her off. Everyone in Key West has a kink. Hers could have been casual BDSM murder. Who really knew?
Any nerves were calmed when I started seeing airport signs. We pulled up to the curb, I dismounted the Jeep and pulled my engorged suitcase from the back seat. I thanked my bartender without even getting her name and turned to sprint into the departure terminal.
It was in the small containment room between the first set of automatic doors from the street and the second set of automatic doors leading to the terminal that I decided to take my first personal inventory of the day. I’m not sure why I picked that moment to give myself a “once-over”, but I’m sure glad I did.
I left the condo in such a rush, got flustered during my hitchhike experience and had so much anxiety about missing my flight that at no point did I even look at myself in the mirror.
Everything was pretty much in order, save for one small detail. I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I was standing in the Key West airport hungover and shirtless. How had I come that far without the subject even being broached? The bartender picked a shirtless man up on the side of the road. Big tipper or not, that’s a gamble.
