Semi-Charmed Kind of Life: The Eyewear Edition

I live a charmed life. Or at least I like to tell people I live a charmed life. Being unable to find a full-time job and having a wife in her 30s seems to disprove that theory. Nevertheless, I like to tell people I live a charmed life because it feels like I never lose–only, that’s not quite right. I usually end up coming out a little ahead. When I feel like something bad happens to me, it’s only a matter of time before something good happens to me to make it all better. I’m the kind of person who will go to Jack and the Box while leaving my coupons at home only to find an extra taco in my order because someone screwed up. My cell phone breaks and T-Mobile replaces it with something better. One time I bought something at Target that didn’t work. Target refused to give me a refund, so I called the manufacture. Not only did they mail me a refund, they also sent me coupons for other free stuff “for my troubles.” When life gives me lemons, it also gives me a pitcher of water, a cup of sugar, and a crystal cup to drink out of.

So what happened in Vegas last month isn’t really out of the ordinary–why, I just might be the first person who walked away from Vegas a winner. The latest in aquatics entertainment is something called a lazy river. A bit of misnomer if you ask me because there’s nothing lazy about it. For the uninformed (which was me about a year ago), a lazy river is an artificial pool that’s built like a track around a soccer field. The pool has artificial current that sends the water around the path in a circular motion. Why do I think it’s poorly named? It’s a pain the ass unless you’re sitting on top an inner tube. The current is so strong it’s pretty impossible to stand up. It takes significant effort to do anything but walk around the pool in the direction the water is flowing. And if you shoot past your exit–which is bound to happen since you’re traveling about as fast Justin Beiber in a rental car–you gotta go around the entire pool until you come upon you exit again. Last I check “lazy” implied minimal effort–not frequent trips around a water track while desperately fighting an undertow so strong it could drown an octopus.^*

I was in the “lazy” river, desperately trying to remain afloat when kid–a genuine water bug–decided to have a little fun. Kids–in their curious nature with the world–thought it would be fun to swim under the waterfall (oh yeah, did I mention the waterfall?–this lazy river had two for patrons to swim through if they wanted gallons of water dumped on their head). So this amateur Michael Phelps dove underwater sometime around the point when I was about to swim be dragged through the waterfall. The kid swam through my legs and flipped me over right as I was about to navigate struggle my way past the waterfall. At least I hopped to go past the waterfall. Instead, he took out my legs in such a fashion that any member of the Kobra Kai Dojo would be proud. I went underwater and slammed my head into the bottom of the pool. After being dragged across the bottom, desperately fighting the current and breathing mouthfuls of water, I managed to regain my footing and emerge from the water–only to do so directly under the second waterfall. Once again, I was immediately submerged underwater. By the time I finally- was able to stand up and breathe (air–not water), I noticed my sunglasses were gone. That’s right–gone. Completely vanished. Like a magic trick–in Vegas. Or a Malaysian flight over the South Pacific

I did a couple laps around the pool, but wasn’t able to find my missing shades. I knew I wouldn’t (this wasn’t the first time I lost sunglasses in a lazy river–you might say I’m two for two in losing sunglasses in a lazy river). The inside track of the lazy river is like the public lost and found. No pool-goers can sit there or access it. It was littered with goggles, floatation devices, bikini tops, and other items that are separated from their owner thanks to the powerful current of the lazy river. I saw many things in this pseudo lost and found. There was a cold, painful sting when I saw Oakley sunglasses–a painful reminder that I would be spending the next two days in Las Vegas without sunglasses. It took four trips around the lazy river for me to accept that my sunglasses were gone.

I exited the pool and tried to “relax” in the sun, but not-so secretly I was stewing inside (The Wife tried consoling me with candy, but the sweet sugary goodness of Sour Patch Kids were not enough to ease my disappointment). I was a really bummed out because I had just bought the sunglasses two days prior. I liked them because they had a good, light build and spring hinges. I thought they looked pretty hip too (my brother said they we’re cool if this was the late 90s and I wanted to look like Morpheus from “The Matrix”). Losing something is always disappointing–especially when you just bought. And I knew the odds of me finding the same exact sunglasses at the 99 Cents Store again was pretty much impossible–so that was a buck I’d never see again.

“I think I found your sunglasses,” friend yelled from inside the lazy river. I reluctantly jumped back into the river because my need for eye protection was far greater than my fear of the river (not to mention my cell phone and wallet were back in the hotel room: outside of my swim trunks, I had nothing else for the pool to take).

“Are those your sunglasses over there,” she asked as we approached the abandoned Oakleys.

At that point, it just made sense. As far as I could tell, they had been sitting there for 20 minutes. I personally passed them quite a few times. If the owner had been looking for them in the pool like I had been looking for mine, surely he would have seen them by now. Heck, for all I know–he might have found my sunglasses and was wearing them. If I didn’t take them someone else would. And why should I be sunglasses-less for the entire Vegas trip when whichever staff member ends up cleaning out the lost and found would just end up pocketing them anyway? Part of me felt bad for the gentleman who lost his $100 eyewear, but I had to my own problems to deal with. Plus anyone who was that careless something so expensive didn’t deserve to keep it anyway.

“Yes, yes they are,” I said.

And that’s what I mean about a charmed life. Lose sunglasses; find sunglasses. Wife turns 30; girlfriend turns 18. Electric bill goes up; state of California offers a credit for conservative users. I might not have much in life–but at least I feel like I don’t lose.

^* I have no idea if octopuses can drown–it just sounded funny