Not My Kind Of Town.

It was six o'clock on the morning when we pulled in to the Greek settlement down of Tarpon Springs, Florida. I sat in the passenger's seat of my dad's van holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee in my hands. My dad kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road but I saw him glance over at the town's welcome sign as we passed it.

"Well," he said. "We're here."

I turned around in my seat and looked in the back seat of the van and saw my best friend Logan and my brother Cy sleeping soundly. Logan was snoring. I stayed awake on the two plus hour trip from my Dad's house in Mount Dora so I could keep my dad company. We didn't talk much during the drive but we didn't have to - being awake was enough. We were there for a weekend-long art show that my dad was displaying his works in, that required artists to be there early in the morning to set up the show so it could open at eight AM. Usually when we went with my dad to an art show, we'd set up the night before to save waking up so early but we decided it would save us a night's fare in a hotel room if we just left the morning of. Seeing as it was six when we got into town, and we would probably need fifteen to twenty minutes to find the place we had to go (it was a public park), plus the forty-five minutes or so set-up time, I figured that my dad had done wisely dragging us out so early. This thought made me smile. I woke up Logan and Cy as we neared our destination.

The fishing town of Tarpon Springs was founded by Greeks. I am not sure if that statement is actually true but I believe it to be. The Greeks who came to Florida chose to settle there because of an abundant supply of sponges in the town's waters. I am more confident in saying this than the previous statement because it is what my dad told me and I generally believe that he knows everything. It's because he is Asian and has long hair that falls down his back and a humongous mustache with ends that hang down past the sides of his mouth. Both of those things correlate greatly with wisdom. The Greek heritage of the town became quickly apparent. After we had set up my dad's display he gave Logan, Cy, and me some money so we could go find some food.

"And look around. See what's in the area. Just don't get bored."

We walked around the now-just-opening art show and eventually found ourselves at it's food court. Now, every art show has a food court. So does any outdoor festivity involving tents. But this was such in Tarpon Springs. So while most food courts at such festivities host booths under which the menus include gringo-Chinese, Gran Arepa corn snacks, and day-old French fries, this particular array was undeniably Greek. There were big signs above each tent:
"GYROS!"
"GRILLED OCTOPUS!"
"GREEK SALAD!"
"ΣAT HERE!" ...none of which sounded particularly appetizing at such an early point in the day. Eventually though we all decided on a breakfast of gryos. The girl at the gyros tent who made our delicious array of flatbread, lettuce, tomato, yogurt sauce, and sliced lamb was stunningly beautiful but could hardly speak English. Both her beauty and the language barrier made it hard to order food. We jumbled our words and stuttered our sentences which made it harder for her to understand us. That was okay though. It just meant that we got to look at her that much longer, as she'd pause to say "What?" or "eh...please...not well English."

We sat down to eat at a plastic table surrounded by plastic chairs. It was mid-February and the weather was just right. Not too hot but not too cold either. While we were eating some guy came up to us and offered us a million dollars.

"Hey! You guys want a million dollars?"

I don't feel like I need to narrate what our answers were.

"Well alright kids!"

And he held up three obviously fake million dollar bills in his hand. No longer were we interested but he didn't catch that. Or maybe he did and tried to regain the interest that was lost.

"I'll give you each one of these if you can answer one question!"

He smiled like Joan Rivers on crack. None of us said anything.

"Okay! Are you ready? Now...what do you think happens when you die?"

I blinked. Logan's jaw dropped. Cy didn't do anything.

"Or rather...where do you think you go when you die?"

Logan was the only one with enough dick in him to say anything.

"A coffin. A nice wooden coffin nailed shut underground."

The man's once enthusiastic smile suddenly became fake. But then he talked.

"Well Buddy, you're wrong there! You see, God has a plan for all of us and -"

That was the point where we walked away.

We didn't realize then that that man was only the start of our troubles in Tarpon Springs.

As with any town that is predominately one culture, there are certain aspects of that culture that don't always mesh well visitors. In this case, the aspect that did not mesh was religion. Tarpon Springs, not surprisingly, was largely Greek Orthodox Christian. Me, Cy, and Logan were all decidedly Atheist if not a little agnostic. The man with the millions wasn't our only encounter with religion that weekend, oh no. After we got up and away from him we decided to leave the art show and check out the town on foot. We knew that we were very close to a downtown area and decided that would be our best bet for finding something to do. As we were leaving the art show we were approached by a young woman who also asked us if we wanted a million dollars. We quickly shouted "NO!" and ran away.

The downtown area that we walked to was not too exciting. There were some Greek restaurants and a really interesting thrift shop where I bought a hat, and there was a little head shop that was selling Marijuana under some other name. But as we walked and explored, we noticed billboards, posters, and all types of propaganda that promoted the word of the good lord. It was a bit overwhelming. One billboard even read "Stressed? Need Help? Call the Talk To God Hotline" and gave some number that we called and hung up on because the girl who picked up sounded really cute.

Somehow we ended up in a pawn shop that seemed more out of place than the head shop. The people running it looked and talked more white trash than My Big Fat Greek Wedding and were very obviously not enthused to have darker skin in their store. As we browsed all the knick-knack and doo-dads they kept a watchful eye on us. I told Logan, him being the Aryan one of us, to buy something that would make us seem like we belonged there. Or maybe just me. Cy was white-looking enough, but I on the other hand took after my very Asian dad. So after some browsing Logan found a pocketknife with a Nazi eagle and a swastika engraved on the handle. We all agreed that this would change their opinions on us and make them proud to have us in their store so Logan bought it with my brother and I on each side of him. We just smiled really big as the transaction was made.

"Ya'll have a great day now and use that thing wisely," said the hick at the cash register as we left.

"Oh I will," Logan said, and we left wondering why the hell we had done what we just did.

After we left the pawn shop we walked back to the art show and cut through a neighborhood as we did. It was a nice, normal looking neighborhood except for the crucifix that someone had carved into an oak tree along with the words "HE LIVES."

When we got back to the art show we were approached by a woman holding fake million dollar bills.

"Hey! Guys! Would -"

"No."

And we went to see what my dad was up to.

My dad, it turned out, had made arrangements for us to all appear at a party that night that a friend he had was hosting. I didn't know my dad had friends in Tarpon Springs but I wasn't surprised because my dad knew people everywhere. He told us that his friend would be coming by the art show soon to pick us up and help her buy groceries for the party. I thought it was weird, him sending us off with someone we hadn't even met to go buy groceries. He assured us though, that we'd be fine and we had, in fact, met this "friend" before.

He was right. We had met this friend before, at an art show in Tampa. Her name was Emily and she was a very strange woman. I say this because when we met her she had described her daughter to us as a "hot piece of ass" and that we should all "hook up with her". To a fifteen year old virginal boy this is probably one of the most wonderful and most terrifying things to hear a mom say about her own daughter, especially because she had not only told me this but my brother and my best friend too. She was very happy to see us again and said that her daughter was looking forward to meeting us at the party, and that we better "prepare ourselves for that ass". There was no right way to take that. So we shopped for groceries while she continued to go on about her daughter who she was obviously very proud of.

"Yeah. She takes after me. Real sex appeal, you know?"

or

"She's really into Asians. She's got this one cousin, by marriage, who's Asian and she thinks he it H-O-T HOT."

At one point Logan leaned over and whispered into my ear "Dibs" and I punched him in the stomach. I didn't know whether I was feeling excited or disgusted but I knew that I wanted to be away from this woman.

When we were done she dropped us off right outside the art show and said she'd see us later.

"See ya later, cuties!"

I really hoped not.

As we walked back to my Dad's display there was a man bending fixing a sign in the ground. He wore tan cargo shorts and right over his asshole there was a little brown, wet stain that had obviously seeped through from the inside. We all saw it and started running to prevent the man from hearing us laugh at him. Then we waited for the art show to end for the day.

Six o'clock rolled around and we found ourselves at the much-anticipated party. It was a lot of familiar faces, friends of my dad's, other artists, and a few of their kids. And of course Emily's "hot piece of ass" daughter who wasn't that hot but had an ass like her mother's. Which was big. Logan, Cy and I basically just sat on a couch talking to whoever would talk to us. We weren't having fun. Everyone was too old. And everyone was getting drunk. At one point some woman started drawing on my jeans with a purple marker. By the time I realized what she was doing it was too late and the fucking bitch had drawn what looked like a firework explosion on my thigh. Then she ran away giggling. I got up and looked at Logan and Cy.

"Let's go outside."

Logan got up but Cy decided to stay where he was and rest; he was tired.

Then Logan said "You go on outside. I'll be right out. I gotta do something."

So I went outside and waited in the driveway in the dark for Logan. Outside, it was quiet and it was nice. I liked it. I heard a door open and close and then a few seconds later Logan appeared next to me. He had his hands under his jacket like he was hiding something.

"What you got?" I asked.

"Beer," he said.

I gasped.

"No way."

"Yeah."

He pulled out two bottles of Corona and handed one too me. I had never held my own bottle of beer before. I felt mighty. Here I was, fifteen years old with my best friend about to drink my first beer. I didn't realize it then but I was a fucking tool.

"Let's walk down the street to drink these," I said.

We walked down the street a block or two and found a curb to sit on and drink our beers. I tried twisting off the cap but it wouldn't budge. I looked at Logan. Logan tried to twist off his and he looked at me.

"Fuck."

It was obvious that we'd need a bottle opener if we wanted to drink our beers. We suddenly became very depressed.

"Fuck."

We pried at the bottle tops for minutes trying to get them off, and we finally found a solution using the edge of a stop sign a few feet away.

Then I drank my first beer really fast. And burped.

"WHOA. THAT TASTES LIKE PISS."

"Yeah," Logan said. "Good, huh?"

"FUCK YES."

"Want another?"

"HELL YEAH!"

Logan finished his and then left the bottle on the ground. I did the same.

We went back to the party only to find my dad outside looking serious. We were pretty sure we were fucked.

But we weren't.

"Hey guys. Cy's in the car. He's tired, so let's go check in to our hotel and get out of here, okay?"

Logan and I hung our heads in disappointment but couldn't say no.

On the way to the hotel Cy sat sleeping in the passenger’s seat and Logan and I sat in the back. And idea popped into my head.

“Hey. Logan. You know what would be really awesome?”

“What?”

“If this hotel had a hot tub.”

“Oh, yeah bro. That would be great.”

Since the sun had gone down it was just cold enough to want to be surrounded by heat. And it would have been a great way to end our strange day.

We arrived at the hotel and my dad parked the van and got out and went inside to check in. I really wanted that hot tub, now.

“I swear,” I told Logan. “I swear if they don’t have a fucking hot tub I am going to fill up the bathtub with hot water and sit in it in my swim trunks and you are going to join me.”

At the time, I was only half joking.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Logan said.

My dad came back to the van and woke Cy up and handed me a key.

“I’m going to go get a drink. I’ll be back later. Here’s the room key.”

We unloaded our stuff and walked up to our room on the second floor and Cy went to sleep immediately and Logan and I knew what we had to do. We had to see if there was a hot tub at this hotel. I had definitely seen a pool on the other side of the hotel, but I hadn’t looked well enough to see if a hot tub was or was not indeed present. So we left the room, locking the door behind us and went down to the pool.

There was no hot tub.

“Well. We could go swimming,” Logan said.

“Too cold.”

“Or we could do what you said…”

So we did what I said. We went back up to the room and filled up the bathtub with hot water. I put on my swim trunks and Logan…had forgotten his. So instead of wearing swim trunks he wore his readily available bright, shiny red boxers. We got in the bathtub and just sat there. Then Logan said,

“This is really…”

“…homosexual…”

And then we both started laughing hysterically. It was genuine laughter, the kind of laughter that goes along with a state of true happiness like you find when you’re six years old and with your best friend at the beach building sand castles or playing in the water. It had been a strange day in Tarpon Springs, and although we didn’t find a hot tub or get drunk or get “a hot piece of ass”, we were finally enjoying ourselves.

Even if we were just two half naked guys in a bathtub.