Luxuries fit for a king…but not good enough for me

For our honeymoon, The Wife wanted to go to go to an exclusive, fancy, hoity-toity tropical hotel where she could drink margaritas on the beach and fall asleep while listening to the waves crash. When I told her it sounded like she wanted to be in a Corona commercial, I ended up with an unwanted finger rammed up my nose.

One of the keys to her dream honeymoon was to be able to eat at an all-inclusive hotel. We knew we’d probably end up paying a little more compared to if we purchased everything à la cart, but we didn’t care. By our nature, The Wife and I tend to be, uh, very careful with our money. We knew that if we had to fork over ten bucks for every margarita we drank, we’d end up margarita-less and as sober as David Crosby (he’s clean now). But by going to an all-inclusive hotel, not only would we downing cocktails like Barney Gumble, we’d also buy drinks for anyone who asked. So we settled for a fancy resort on the Yucatan pennisulia that cost more per day than I could every dream to make.

The restaurants at the hotel were so classy the food looks more like art than chow. Personally, I’m a cheeseburger and 2 a.m. taco kinda guy–but my amore loves food that’s properly arrange with various colors and decorations. The restaurants we ate at contained food I never heard of made from animals I can’t pronounce (in my eyes, the best garnish will always be a ketchup packet).

When you eat classy not only do you get exotic food, you also get exotic service. The maître d’ pulled out chairs for us when we sat down. They put napkins on our laps. They opened doors for us. Called us Sir and Ma’am. Sit down and we’ll get you anything you want.

The service was beyond what any human being deserves. Some people might think it’s fancy, but for me it’s too much. I hate being waited on. I’m better than no one. I believe I’m smarter than everyone else and most people are bumbling idiots–but I don’t think I’m better than anyone. I’m not entitled to any more than anyone else. I don’t enjoy being waited on. I don’t like having people do for me what I’m perfectly capable of doing for myself.

I felt bad for the staff. Even though it was their job, I didn’t feel comfortable with the pampering. They were told to treat us like kings. We were royalty and they were second-class citizens. If I ordered a drink for myself at the bar, they insisted I sit down and they’d bring it to me. If I wanted to carry my own luggage or open my own door, it was unallowed because kings don’t involve themselves with trivial tasks. I know that was their job and that’s what they got paid for–I was just very uncomfortable with it (they might’ve been Mexicans but that didn’t make them peons).

Luxury is a lifestyle I simply will never understand. I will never get off or enjoy treating another person like an animal. No one was put on this earth to service me. I believe in treating people fairly and with respect (at least until they do something to piss me off). That’s probably why I’ll never succeed in life–I’m not cutthroat enough. It might not be much, but at least I can feel comfortable with myself.