SEPTEMBER 20, 2007
MICKEY SLIPPER

In Miami, I rarely find the perfect beach spot – maximum sun with a great breeze, peacefully away from the year-round spring-breakers. There is only so much one can take of the high-pitched screaming, annoying catch phrases, and gabbing over who has hooked up or broken up with whom.

About 20 minutes into my book on explosive engineering, a young girl parked her blanket next to mine. I thought of relocating – but it was just one girl, sipping a pina colada with a mini radio blaring a horrid song about lip-gloss. A few lyrics in, I began to pack up. It was then I noticed a young man approaching her, walking like he owned the beach. I paused in my packing – the rejection that was surely going to play out would at least be amusing. I was rooting for her to get so annoyed that she would leave my vicinity – with her radio. But unbeknownst to her, the man nonchalantly dropped something into her pina colada. This guy wasn't going to take rejection.

Thinking quickly, I sprung up and assumed the role of the girl's older sister. I frantically reminded my "sister" that it was past noon – we were supposed to meet our parents for lunch an hour ago. The guy immediately backed off and began jogging down the beach. The girl looked confused, but was starting to feel groggy. I got her to stand up and stumble away with me. I left the radio behind – the lip-gloss song was over, but now a song about an umbrella was destroying my ears.

I locked the girl safely in a room at a nearby hotel, leaving a note explaining what had happened. I decided it was necessary for some retaliation. Back at the beach I scanned for young solo girls on beach blankets, locating the mickey-slipper right away. I grabbed a Frisbee I saw half-buried in the sand and with stunning accuracy, even surprising myself, nailed him straight in the back of his head. He turned around angrily, but perked up when he saw me. I walked over, apologetic and flirty, and sat down with him on his blanket.

He was too busy trying to impress me with his knowledge of cars and the South Beach hot spots he frequents to notice me reaching into his backpack and grabbing the drugs. He also didn't notice when I slipped his own medicine into his beer. However, he did notice when I stood over him 20 minutes later; Mickey-slipper was now barely able to move or speak. He looked up at me, pleading with his eyes for me to help him.

So I let him pass out in the sand. Amount of drugs I'd put in his drink, I figured he'd be unconsicous 'til after dark. He'd wake up with one hell of a nasty sunburn, but he might think twice before trying his act on the beach again.