Samantha: A Tragedy
Originally Written - June 2007
Last Edit - September 2010
Not long after arriving in Nice, France, I meet this girl named Samantha that's on another group tour by the same company as the one I was also on. Nice was our third stop on the trip, so it was fairly early on. I stumble into Samantha in my hotel lobby and think she looks like a cross between Zooey Deschanel and Fairuza Balk. This is good. She seems fun and we talk only briefly, but I do manage to discover that her group's schedule through Europe is almost exactly identical to ours. We part ways and I expect to run into her again, which, at the time I count as a good thing.
At our next stop - Florence, Italy - I run into her again. We're at this club called Mykonos (or some such shit) that was obviously organized by our mutual travel company for both our groups to be at. I'm already inebriated when our paths cross, so I dance with her a bit and more than likely make a total ass out of myself. Mostly because I’m the whitest human being alive and you can often hear children weep when I attempt to dance. Anywho, soon enough we’re making out and eventually we go back to my hotel room. That night nothing too serious happens and we both fall asleep. The next day, we spend the day walking around Florence, going to museums, shopping, and other such touristy activities. Just had fun and relaxed and she was a relatively cool girl to hang around. So far, so good.
That night, she decides to attend some other bar that has a mixture of kids from her group and my group. I stay back because I'm old and my body will not allow me getting drunk and sleeping for 5 hours more than one night at a time.
It’s also at this point in time when this entire relationship goes to complete and utter shit.
Sometime around midnight, Samantha calls me. (My cell phone is functional all throughout Europe. She has a phone card so she can make calls using pay phones, but obviously can’t receive any) So she's drunk and with the only other guy in my group who wasn't a complete spazz - Jason. I'm not sure of exactly what's going on, but I'm picking up that she was in some altercation at the club. Jason saw what happened and took her back to her hotel to hang out and smoke her weed. On the phone, she tells me she wants to stop by and say hi. I say sure, whatever.
About an hour and a half later, she finally shows up. Mind you, she was “on her way in 5 minutes” when she called me earlier. Though after her arrival, I do finally discover what had actually happened at the club. Apparently, some guy told her she smelled bad. Her reaction? She poured her drink on his head. Classy. He then retaliated by repeating her action and pouring his drink on her. Next? She punched him in the jaw.
Holy fuck, I thought. Maybe there’s something to this a girl a little more foul than I realize. I mean, pouring a drink on a guy's head is one thing. Jacking him in the face is a quite another. But she's drunk and I let the incident slide.
Samantha then promptly passes out in my bed mumbling "I really wanted to see you again" and “I really missed you.” My suspicions then deepen. I've only really started talking to this girl 24 hours ago and only parted ways with her 6 hours earlier. She really wanted to see me again already? And missed me? Crap, I begin to think. This is going poorly.
In the morning, Samantha does a fucking amazing walk of shame through her entire tour group and back to her hotel. They were literally all walking down the street as she passed through them still wearing her clothes from the night before. I got a lot of high fives that morning. If only they knew what was to come. So, she’s getting her shit together and I get ready to leave for Rome. That night, in Rome, I see her briefly, but I have to be up at around 6:30am to go to the Vatican so our time together is quite short. She again hints at how much she likes me and how amazing and different I am from all other guys, but I try to glaze over and ignore it. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be working. As I leave, I start thinking that I need to figure out how to end this. Gently.
The next day is my birthday. When I had first met her in Florence, I had told her to come along with me and my friends to wherever we decide to go. Since then, I had sort of changed my mind. I got lucky though because by 9:30 at night I still haven't heard from her. I leave my phone at home (cause I don't want to lose it in a drunken stupor) and take off to find this pub crawl I thought sounded fun. For the full story of what transpired that night, please refer to the next tale. As for the continuing ballad of Captain Crazy Face…
When I return home, I see that she had tried calling me twice around 10pm and midnight. I promptly fall asleep and snore loudly throughout the night. She calls me the next day upset that she missed my bday. I tell her it's fine cause I'm seriously glad she wasn't there. She's with a friend of hers (not on the trip) that also happens to be in Rome right now but says she might stop by later tonight after she goes out. I tell her to call me cause I don't know how late I'll be up. My phone then cuts out and she doesn't call back. I shrug my shoulders and go on with my day.
At some time around 2am, she lets herself into my hotel room (which I'm sharing with 3 other people, luckily, only 1 of which is home and asleep). And I don’t even know how she fucking knew which one was mine. Piss drunk, she comes over to my bed and wakes me up. She then goes into this long, bat-shit insane, 15-minute monologue telling me how I'm like no one she's ever met before and how much she likes me and how I'm amazing and perfect and so on and so forth. Inside my head, I'm weeping and thinking Holy fuck, I'm getting entirely too old for this kind of shit.
Now, some of you might be thinking, “But Joe, she seemed like a cool girl. Maybe she just really liked you.” No. No no no no no. Need I remind you that I had spent all of about twenty, real hours with this girl. Half of them involved alcohol. This girl was ready for me to put a ring on her finger. I wanted to say to her "Seriously, I'm not that good looking or charming. Or rich. You're scaring me."
Anyway, during her tirade, she does manage to figure out that my feelings for her are not exactly the same. This is when she switches modes and breaks into another 20-minute long session, this time of alternately crying and yelling at me.
"You're a fucking asshole! I wish I had never met you! You were just gonna fuck me and then never talk to me again!"
*sob sob sob*
"I mean, am I not good enough for you?! Fuck you! I'm hot! I can fuck anyone I want to!"
*sob sob sob*
"You didn't even want to hang out with me on your birthday..." she says at one point.
"What?! You didn't call me until almost 10 and I had already left!" I reply justifiably.
"Whatever. You could have called me."
"How?! You don't have a phone!"
"Still...."
*sob sob sob*
Really, you see where I’m going with this. It got very, very dark.
At long last, she finally leaves. I lay awake for about a half hour in honest to God fear that she was going to come back in at any moment and stab me in the eye with a pen or smash my face in with a vase. I found out later that my one other roommate who was home shared my fear. Her tirade had apparently woken him.
God, I wish this was the end of this story.
A few days later, we're on an overnight ferry to Greece. It was called a ferry, but it was really like a mini-cruise ship. But with no pool. And horrible food. Regardless, I get settled into my room and open the door to the hallway. Guess who is opening the door to the room across the hall with the intent to populate it for the night? Yup, you guessed it. My immediate thought was Oh, of all the fucking rooms on this goddamn ship.....
So we talk for a couple minutes. She apologizes. I give her a hug and tell her not to worry about it. “Everything's cool,” I say. She sheepishly ducks into her room. “Thank God, that's over,” I whisper to myself.
BWHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
An hour or so later, I'm in this short, empty hallway near my room and she walks up to me. She puts her arms around my neck and goes to kiss me.
"Whoa, that's not a good idea," I say. She looks at me confused.
Apparently, Samantha has figured that by apologizing, she has magically erased her demented and insane drunken fit from the other night. Seriously. I tell her I can't just forget about something like that and it's pretty much over. Her reaction? Plea with me for the next 15 to 20 minutes about why I should just sleep with her for the next 3 days and then I'll never have to see her again. Two or three times I tell her it's probably not going to happen and she's blown it. Each time, she almost starts to cry.
Twenty hours. I knew this girl twenty hours.
At long last, I finally get her away by saying, "Well, maybe. We'll see how the night goes." She goes back into her room and I go into mine. I proceed to drink rum. A lot of it.
Thankfully, I never speak to her after that for the rest of the trip. I spotted her from afar a couple times, but made it a point to keep at least a 10 meter distance at all times. I can only assume she is now back home torturing other poor, unsuspecting men.
Thus ends my tale of the one and only girl I kissed while in Europe.
How fucking sad is that?
© J.E. Tobal 2007/2010
Last Edit - September 2010
Not long after arriving in Nice, France, I meet this girl named Samantha that's on another group tour by the same company as the one I was also on. Nice was our third stop on the trip, so it was fairly early on. I stumble into Samantha in my hotel lobby and think she looks like a cross between Zooey Deschanel and Fairuza Balk. This is good. She seems fun and we talk only briefly, but I do manage to discover that her group's schedule through Europe is almost exactly identical to ours. We part ways and I expect to run into her again, which, at the time I count as a good thing.
At our next stop - Florence, Italy - I run into her again. We're at this club called Mykonos (or some such shit) that was obviously organized by our mutual travel company for both our groups to be at. I'm already inebriated when our paths cross, so I dance with her a bit and more than likely make a total ass out of myself. Mostly because I’m the whitest human being alive and you can often hear children weep when I attempt to dance. Anywho, soon enough we’re making out and eventually we go back to my hotel room. That night nothing too serious happens and we both fall asleep. The next day, we spend the day walking around Florence, going to museums, shopping, and other such touristy activities. Just had fun and relaxed and she was a relatively cool girl to hang around. So far, so good.
That night, she decides to attend some other bar that has a mixture of kids from her group and my group. I stay back because I'm old and my body will not allow me getting drunk and sleeping for 5 hours more than one night at a time.
It’s also at this point in time when this entire relationship goes to complete and utter shit.
Sometime around midnight, Samantha calls me. (My cell phone is functional all throughout Europe. She has a phone card so she can make calls using pay phones, but obviously can’t receive any) So she's drunk and with the only other guy in my group who wasn't a complete spazz - Jason. I'm not sure of exactly what's going on, but I'm picking up that she was in some altercation at the club. Jason saw what happened and took her back to her hotel to hang out and smoke her weed. On the phone, she tells me she wants to stop by and say hi. I say sure, whatever.
About an hour and a half later, she finally shows up. Mind you, she was “on her way in 5 minutes” when she called me earlier. Though after her arrival, I do finally discover what had actually happened at the club. Apparently, some guy told her she smelled bad. Her reaction? She poured her drink on his head. Classy. He then retaliated by repeating her action and pouring his drink on her. Next? She punched him in the jaw.
Holy fuck, I thought. Maybe there’s something to this a girl a little more foul than I realize. I mean, pouring a drink on a guy's head is one thing. Jacking him in the face is a quite another. But she's drunk and I let the incident slide.
Samantha then promptly passes out in my bed mumbling "I really wanted to see you again" and “I really missed you.” My suspicions then deepen. I've only really started talking to this girl 24 hours ago and only parted ways with her 6 hours earlier. She really wanted to see me again already? And missed me? Crap, I begin to think. This is going poorly.
In the morning, Samantha does a fucking amazing walk of shame through her entire tour group and back to her hotel. They were literally all walking down the street as she passed through them still wearing her clothes from the night before. I got a lot of high fives that morning. If only they knew what was to come. So, she’s getting her shit together and I get ready to leave for Rome. That night, in Rome, I see her briefly, but I have to be up at around 6:30am to go to the Vatican so our time together is quite short. She again hints at how much she likes me and how amazing and different I am from all other guys, but I try to glaze over and ignore it. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be working. As I leave, I start thinking that I need to figure out how to end this. Gently.
The next day is my birthday. When I had first met her in Florence, I had told her to come along with me and my friends to wherever we decide to go. Since then, I had sort of changed my mind. I got lucky though because by 9:30 at night I still haven't heard from her. I leave my phone at home (cause I don't want to lose it in a drunken stupor) and take off to find this pub crawl I thought sounded fun. For the full story of what transpired that night, please refer to the next tale. As for the continuing ballad of Captain Crazy Face…
When I return home, I see that she had tried calling me twice around 10pm and midnight. I promptly fall asleep and snore loudly throughout the night. She calls me the next day upset that she missed my bday. I tell her it's fine cause I'm seriously glad she wasn't there. She's with a friend of hers (not on the trip) that also happens to be in Rome right now but says she might stop by later tonight after she goes out. I tell her to call me cause I don't know how late I'll be up. My phone then cuts out and she doesn't call back. I shrug my shoulders and go on with my day.
At some time around 2am, she lets herself into my hotel room (which I'm sharing with 3 other people, luckily, only 1 of which is home and asleep). And I don’t even know how she fucking knew which one was mine. Piss drunk, she comes over to my bed and wakes me up. She then goes into this long, bat-shit insane, 15-minute monologue telling me how I'm like no one she's ever met before and how much she likes me and how I'm amazing and perfect and so on and so forth. Inside my head, I'm weeping and thinking Holy fuck, I'm getting entirely too old for this kind of shit.
Now, some of you might be thinking, “But Joe, she seemed like a cool girl. Maybe she just really liked you.” No. No no no no no. Need I remind you that I had spent all of about twenty, real hours with this girl. Half of them involved alcohol. This girl was ready for me to put a ring on her finger. I wanted to say to her "Seriously, I'm not that good looking or charming. Or rich. You're scaring me."
Anyway, during her tirade, she does manage to figure out that my feelings for her are not exactly the same. This is when she switches modes and breaks into another 20-minute long session, this time of alternately crying and yelling at me.
"You're a fucking asshole! I wish I had never met you! You were just gonna fuck me and then never talk to me again!"
*sob sob sob*
"I mean, am I not good enough for you?! Fuck you! I'm hot! I can fuck anyone I want to!"
*sob sob sob*
"You didn't even want to hang out with me on your birthday..." she says at one point.
"What?! You didn't call me until almost 10 and I had already left!" I reply justifiably.
"Whatever. You could have called me."
"How?! You don't have a phone!"
"Still...."
*sob sob sob*
Really, you see where I’m going with this. It got very, very dark.
At long last, she finally leaves. I lay awake for about a half hour in honest to God fear that she was going to come back in at any moment and stab me in the eye with a pen or smash my face in with a vase. I found out later that my one other roommate who was home shared my fear. Her tirade had apparently woken him.
God, I wish this was the end of this story.
A few days later, we're on an overnight ferry to Greece. It was called a ferry, but it was really like a mini-cruise ship. But with no pool. And horrible food. Regardless, I get settled into my room and open the door to the hallway. Guess who is opening the door to the room across the hall with the intent to populate it for the night? Yup, you guessed it. My immediate thought was Oh, of all the fucking rooms on this goddamn ship.....
So we talk for a couple minutes. She apologizes. I give her a hug and tell her not to worry about it. “Everything's cool,” I say. She sheepishly ducks into her room. “Thank God, that's over,” I whisper to myself.
BWHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
An hour or so later, I'm in this short, empty hallway near my room and she walks up to me. She puts her arms around my neck and goes to kiss me.
"Whoa, that's not a good idea," I say. She looks at me confused.
Apparently, Samantha has figured that by apologizing, she has magically erased her demented and insane drunken fit from the other night. Seriously. I tell her I can't just forget about something like that and it's pretty much over. Her reaction? Plea with me for the next 15 to 20 minutes about why I should just sleep with her for the next 3 days and then I'll never have to see her again. Two or three times I tell her it's probably not going to happen and she's blown it. Each time, she almost starts to cry.
Twenty hours. I knew this girl twenty hours.
At long last, I finally get her away by saying, "Well, maybe. We'll see how the night goes." She goes back into her room and I go into mine. I proceed to drink rum. A lot of it.
Thankfully, I never speak to her after that for the rest of the trip. I spotted her from afar a couple times, but made it a point to keep at least a 10 meter distance at all times. I can only assume she is now back home torturing other poor, unsuspecting men.
Thus ends my tale of the one and only girl I kissed while in Europe.
How fucking sad is that?
© J.E. Tobal 2007/2010
