8. Annoying native emcee: You know, the guy who shouts in his microphone looking for volunteers for yet another wet T-shirt contest. By day four of the trip he becomes more tiresome and obnoxious than Carrot Top in those AT&T ads.
7. The front desk: This failsafe bastion of generosity refuses to give you more than three towels per day, despite the fact that you have six people living in your room, all of whom desperately need a shower after a day in the spring break pool.
6. The spring break pool: A festering cesspool of human filth. You can always set the over-under on venereal diseases inhabiting this sludge at 5.
5. The State School Steak Heads: These muscle-bound athlete wannabes spend 51 weeks of the year in the gym preparing diligently for the opportunity to lather themselves in tanning oil and sport nauseating tattoos around their biceps and down their back for these seven days. Hair gel is a must, as is a cheesy smile and "I know you wanna f@$% me" eyes.
4. Jewelry venders: You protect your wallet with one hand while at the same time fending off the adorable little children (whom you suspect deep down to be midget pick-pockets) with the other, all the time wondering how every single vender along the street managed to acquire the same crappy inventory. You also wish you had a violent taser that would add an exclamation point to your fourth "No, gracias."
3. Sunburn: Melanoma schmelanoma. You are determined to get a tan. You'll do whatever it takes--even if it means using that new product that contains chemicals which actually block the body's natural ability to fend off damaging UV rays. This is negative SPF, people. Those who get a little aggressive with the tanning oil can look forward to a good deal of limping around with legs and arms spread away from the body, like a bad Cowboy cartoon sketch with aloe vera in the holsters and a wet washcloth as a bandanna.
2. Food: If you got one of those all-inclusive packages, I hope you like rice. The first day you eat the strange meat in the brown sauce and it doesn't seem that bad. By day three you would rather be eating the tacos they sell out of the back of those little push carts that hide their urine bottles just out of sight, next to the hot sauce. Of course, you can always pay $15 for a lukewarm five-hour-old Domino's pizza off the back of a moped, which spews unfiltered fumes all over your face as you consume the now congealed and crumbly cheese atop the grease drenched spongy crust. Mmmmm.
1. Montezuma's revenge/flesh eating stomach virus: Whether your problem be diarrheal in nature or of the vomit variety, you all of a sudden become Michael Johnson ten minutes after each meal and the all out race against the clock begins. I can imagine nothing worse than hurtling out of your chair, thrusting the unsuspecting mariachi out of your path, knocking over trays of margaritas and sizzling fajitas, eyes watering, lips trembling, butt on the very brink of exploding, and running smack into a six person line at the unisex single bathroom, which by the way, is out of toilet paper and doesn't flush. Viva Mexico!
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