(PCM) I sip my water on ice as I scan the crowd at a popular Jersey shore hot spot. The entire outdoor space is packed to the nines. Despite being herded into the section under the tiki huts, I can still see signs of typical Jersey shore life that seem to stand out like a sore “Fred Flinstone” toe.
I see the drunken couple to my right making out in the middle of the bar directly under the brightest lights. The girl leans on the guy displaying not an act of endearment but the need for a crutch to support her inebriation.
To my left, I see guys with heavily gelled hair swarm around innocent females like lions to a carcass. Comments like, “so where you guys from? anyone want a drink? or so do you guys come here often?” have probably broken the ice.
Straight ahead, I see a female yelling at her boyfriend for talking to another girl, loud enough to announce a fight, but not louder than the pounding beats coming from the stereo system.
The overall trend is that everyone wears the same uniform. At the casual shore bars girls wear flip flops donning the same design or jewels with some nice flowing shirt or summery dress. At the “Snooki-like” bars, high heels are no shorter than 3 inches, skirts are tighter than a sausage casing, and see-through shirts are the new thing.
And trends also follow through for the houses that people rent for the summer. My friend’s place packs in about 20 men, all who come at various times throughout the season. The lack of men at one time does not help prevent stains from seeping into the carpets, shirts from being torn up, throw up all over the floors, and rust developing everywhere in their temporary “home.”
A smell of mildew and leftover beer infiltrates your nostrils when you come through the front door, and the abandoned rooms are left with sheet-less mattresses and broken lights. And what do people pay for this? $2,000 each for an entire summer’s worth of vacation. No thanks. I happily drive to the shore for the day and retire in my clean home as I put that money towards my student loans, which will bring me that much closer to a beautiful new home one day.
Recently, I spent one night at the shore; and I came to a realization. I am mentally done with the shore. At 24-years-old, I really am (as Sammi Sweetheart says) so “done.” It was great while it lasted, but now that I am getting older, it seems I get immature when I go there.
To reference a previous article, the shore is Neverland where the “Peters” of the world go to never grow up. And, I realized this weekend that they pretty much get what they ask for.
I can say from personal experience that I have spent one too many nights getting pushed by drunken girls in crowded bars, being hit on by unwelcome men, getting teary eyed over stupid drama or trying to comfort those whose hearts were broken, going deaf from pounding bass beats, starving myself to squeeze into that tight black dress only to binge unhealthfully on late night fried food then with breakfast bacon egg and cheeses.
So, I will continue to enjoy the company of my friends when I travel there. But, from now on I will strive to venture off to the City for a variety of sightseeing, culture, and more comfortable skirts.