Another Goddamn Vacation

Whoopee, Sun Country has another sale! And I got to do all the work!

I just took a shower and sat down to read the latest ESPN The Magazine when Mother ordered me to go downstairs. Of course, My Fucking Father wanted me to help him book a ticket to Las Vegas for him and mom, "work" being booking the ticket for his lazy ass because, for things like this, he don't speak ze English.

Then My Mother gets into the act and recommends I call Sun Country to figure out why the fuck I can't get the sale price for the parents who made me do this. These are the times I wonder why the fuck I couldn't be born white. Then, in the middle of my conversation with the very nice reservations agent, she says, "Hey, why don't you and me got to San Francisco?"

What was I supposed to do, say no? Why would I say no -- I have a job? I had to say yes. Which means, fucking Christ, I had to do all the goddamn footwork in setting up a vacation -- "you hap to book a hotel before you buy the tickets" she said in that condescending voice she only got from him. She called me her little travel agent. Yippee.

It took me the whole goddamn night to bone up on the city of San Francisco. I've been there once -- back in '96. Where were all the bad parts of town? How much can you get a hotel? Where does public transportation go? The question I wrestled with all night was what kind of hotel to get. Priceline was fruitless, so what I was sitting on for a long time was a Hotwire offer of a 2-star hotel in Nob Hill (just out of reach of a sketchy part of town) for $62 per night. So I go into the master bedroom and ask how long should I look before taking this deal. I tried to listen to her, but My Fucking Father wouldn't stay out of it, instead giving advice while I was trying to listen to her, and saying his bullshit in that tone of voice he always uses that always pisses me off. Like he knows San Francisco. He even said to me, "You're a big boy." What the fuck has that got to do with the conversation I'm trying to have with my mother? Are you saying that I'm a child for asking questions to the person whom I going to take this vacation with? Because if you are, you're an idiot, and you are an idiot.

They were asleep when I finally had to make my decision to which hotel I was going to book. I couldn't reserve airline tickets until I got the hotel. I saw on Hotwire that there was another hotel, 3-star, in Fisherman's Wharf for $79. I agonized -- do I charge on my mother's credit card an extra $17 for a hotel that may not be that much of an upgrade over this cheaper option and is farther away from the public transportation we would need to get around the city and the airport?

I decided to go with the more expensive option for two reasons: I can ensure that we would be staying in the touristy and much-safer Fisherman's Wharf area without lengthening any distance to get to Chinatown, where I know we'll be spending the vast majority of our time; and even though it's a site that tracks successful bids from Priceline, the site Bidding For Travel made it look like that hotels with 3 stars are name-brand hotels but ones with 2 stars are not. Now I know these independent hotels have to be safe, but I cannot and will not stand for any bitchin' and moanin' from my mom for not finding a hotel she's heard of. Well, she damn well have better heard of the Holiday Inn, 'cause that's where we're staying. I haven't yet thought of an answer if she asks me why I made her pay $80 a night for a hotel. Geez, $80 a night for a hotel -- it's about as much as the combined airfare for our vacation, which, I have to add, I had to run upstairs to get my American Express card for, because she gave me her Discover and for some odd fucked-up reason Sun Country doesn't take Discover and Mother was already sleeping.

The thing that so irks me about this is the fucking suddeness of it all. I like going on vacations alone because I can go to, well, strip clubs, but also because I'm not beholden to the whims and trepidations of anybody I'm going with. I'll go where I want to go, and I won't go where I don't want to go, and that's that. I've taken many trips to casinos with one of my parents, and by the end of the trip I'm so happy I won't be tied up with them for a weekend. And as a side bonus to that, I can plan a trip on my own, at my own pace. Mom sprang this shit on me. Yeah, it's a hell of a deal, and if they weren't going to go anywhere I would have a hell of a hard time not going somewhere. But make no mistake -- this is her vacation. She's the one getting all giddy over this fuckin' trip, not me, especially since I had to do all the fucking work for her while she got to dictate like the little dictator she is.

Shouldn't I be more grateful for this trip, especially because she's paying for it all. Permit me to be a little standoffish, but with all the shit she's given me all my life, especially when I was young, do you mind if I look forward to this vacation with dread?