He rushed past us telling the security guard, “I know what happened, where’s the guy?” His accent was all Jersey, his barreled chest thrust out and at the ends of his tattooed arms were clinched fists. I look to my friend and say, “I think there’s been a fight.” Just then, we see a distressed woman sobbing and clutching a beach towel making her way around the sundeck of the Marriott’s pool. This is both a good and a bad thing. It’s good because we are contemplating crashing the hotel’s pool and this allows us the opportunity to see the hotel’s security at work. I know how callous this sounds, but we have been warned about the deadly rip current here and the frequent drownings of locals and tourists. To believe that I, an extremely poor swimmer, will risk my life for a little aquatic relief from the merciless sun is almost inconceivable. Unless I’m driven mad by the heat nothing higher than my ankle is getting wet. This distresses me to no end to be so close and yet so far from a cool dip, swim up bar and handsome cabana boys while I tan.
The plan was just to ask the hotel but that plan involves risk; the risk of being told no. I have learned that it is often preferable to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Somehow I feel that that Puerto Rico’s prisons are far too overcrowded to handle an influx of pool crashing weak swimmers. I think we are safe to slip in and use the facilities. Besides being curious about what made Jersey man fighting mad, throwing ourselves into the action offers valuable face time with the staff. If they recognize us as concerned guests we are less likely to be asked to show our room key or some other such nonsense. Familiarity beats shopping for the correct color beach towel distributed poolside to paying guests and it’s cost effective. Anyway the entire hubbub was about a peeping tom.
It appears that Mrs. New Jersey was in the ladies when there came a tapping on her stall door. She answered that the stall was occupied and the presumed knocker went to the stall next door and entered. Mrs. New Jersey was surprised or should I say horrified a moment later seeing the face of an Asian gentleman staring up at her from adjoining stall and watching her go potty. She proceeded to scream, “You sick bastard!” to the top of her lungs and began struggling with her clothing. Once semi attired she gave chase but sadly lost peeping Chan. She then alerted her spouse and began to sob with great vigor. When I hugged her and said, “Oh you poor thing” the blue mascara was running down her freckled nose. Hotel management, security and all sorts’ folks came forward to offer comfort and support. Mr. Jersey was yelling that they were checking out and the manager was trying to reason with him, to which he offered these words, “Tell me what you’re going to do for me, your very best, because and he looked at me when he said this, cause where I’m from we call that kinda guy a sexual predator.” You tell him Jersey because I’m sure they call perverts something totally different in Puerto Rico. The Mrs. began to cry as she recalled, “Our daughter used that bathroom three times today. I don’t want some sick bastard looking at my daughter.” Indeed. I asked the staff and security all kinds of questions like, what bathroom was it and do you think he was a guest (aghast) here at the hotel. Oh my goodness, are we safe here? After a little while we left the pool area and hit the casino for a few minutes. I think we are home free for pool time for the rest of our stay.
