Twenty-four years ago today, we arrived in Daytona Beach after a 24-hour bus ride from Geneseo, N.Y.
There were about 80 of us on two buses, a bunch of ideal-crazed college kids, a few years removed from the innocent immaturity of freshman year but not quite on the doorstep of entering the real world.
It was a fun eight days. Lots of sun, sand and beer. But my conclusion at the end of the trip was that spring break was overrated.
First of all, you're a broke college student with limited funds so your entertainment options are limited. We spent most of our evenings pooling money for a case of Busch beer and lounging by our hotel pool. In hindsight, I'm sure the regular guests hated us.
Second, you're white as a ghost, transitioning from a frosty white upstate New York winter to the tropical, white-sand playground of an endless summer. And with the ripped, tan boys who live on the beach year round, you're reserved to second-citizen status with the girls.
Believe me. The girls up north aren't going to Florida to hook up with the boys up north. There are a lot of native youthful Erik Estradas (hey, this was the early '80s) who wait all year for March, when the college girls come to town. And they shine those hubcaps on their low riders. Yeah, they have a car and you don't.
Third, you're sharing a hotel room with three or four guys, not exactly the privacy you'd like when you've had enough of the party.
But I'm glad I experienced spring break. It's nice to go where it's sunny, far away from the reading, writing and arithmetic. It's just not what you see on TV.
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