14th
I have to talk about the Tommy Bahama guy or I’m gonna explode! I have unshed tears in my eyes; this is so golden.
I know he’s supposed to look all louche and lifestyle-y, but all I see is a guy who lost his white collar job for inside trading and drinking on the clock. He probably flipped out, cashed out his 401K and spent it on rocks before checking into a resort to pull a Leaving Las Vegas.
I’m probably supposed to believe that this man smells of ocean, expensive leather, and a rare strain of night-blooming jasmine that he cultivated himself, but all I smell is coke sweat and the Polo Sport he splashed on to hide the fact that he hasn’t showered in days.
I can see him at the hotel bar, telling uninterested women his life story before passing out on the beach and doing it all again the next day.
The resort staff mostly tolerates him, and maybe there’s a maid who takes pity on him and checks every morning that he hasn’t choked on vomit in his sleep.
“What day is it, Consuelo?” he’ll say each morning when she brings him a coconut with a straw.
“Oh, Meester Bahama…it is Thursday…you sleep too much again!”
Then he tells Consuelo that if his assets don’t get seized, he wants her to come live with him, that she can bring her kids and her sick mother if she wants.
“Very good, Meester Bahama, very good.”
“Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame/but I know it’s my own damn fault…”
- Jimmy Buffett
