Originally, I had planned to spend spring break with my friends in Savannah, enjoying the beach. Plans change, however, and I ended up coming home to spend the week with my parents. I had thought that this switch guaranteed that no naked spring break adventures would ensue. I was wrong.
My experience began with this fun fact: mixing bleach and vinegar produces chlorine gas. About half the people I relate this to act as if this is common knowledge. The other half is completely unaware of the fact. This latter group, until just recently, included my parents. When trying to clear up a particularly bad stain, they first used some vinegar water. When that failed, they used some watered down bleach. As mentioned above, this produced chlorine gas, which, understandably, produced adverse affects on my parents (they used chlorine gas in World War I, donchaknow. It’s bad stuff.)
My parents knew something was up. Unfortunately, they did not yet know it was chlorine gas. They thought it was some sort of super mold. In a valiant effort to defeat the super mold, they sprayed the whole house down with vinegar water. When that failed, they added on some watered down bleach. In their defense, this problem accumulated over the course of two weeks during which they were being poisoned by chlorine gas. They were not thinking straight.
Due to some fairly sharp minded googling and a hospital trip my parents eventually did figure out the problem was chlorine gas. At this point, the stuff permeated the house. Which is when I came home. The house could be salvaged by spraying every surface multiple times with water to dilute the gas. The house was so rank with the miasma, however, that whatever I wore while cleaning became poisonous and had to be immediately thrown out, directly leading to the next problem: throwing out the newly accumulated trash. Whatever I wore to take out the trash became infected and had to be immediately had to be thrown out.
This, inevitably, led to me taking out the trash nude. The first time, I was fairly self conscious. I ran back and forth to the trash can in a dash that would have made even my perennially unsatisfied middle school gym teacher proud. But each successive run saw me a little less shy. The final time, I practically strutted the garbage to the can, in what I think is, perhaps, the purest expression of white trash.
The event culminated when I had to erase my parent’s computer. It too had become hopelessly chlorine infected and I was designated with the job of wiping the computer of any and all data. Naturally, I couldn’t do it inside. That would be entirely too easy. As it turns out, the fan just blew the chlorine gas around the house. No. I had to try and wipe the computer outside, in the middle of the night with it being a bit above freezing, in nothing but my underwear (which I would subsequently throw out before taking out the garbage), with a space bar and down button that didn’t work due to the computer having been doused with, you guessed it, vinegar and bleach. As anyone who’s tried to use a boot menu knows, erasing a computer without a down key is pretty much impossible. It was one of the more frustrating experiences of my life.
The second half of my spring break, at least, was fairly normal, all things considered. But the first half has given me a new way to feel better about life. When I’m starting to get stressed, I remember the plaintive Quinn freezing with just his underwear on in the back yard trying to erase a computer with only half the keys. And life doesn’t seem so bad anymore.
I now shudder whenever anyone mentions spring break plans that at all involve being only partially clothed. I don’t think I could take another naked spring break adventure.