Two days ago, I returned home from paradise. Nikki and I
spent a truly divine couple of days in the Dominican Republic, sleeping on the
beach, drinking bottomless pina coladas and mojitos, eating whenever, and
laughing. We went because I’m going to die, but more than that, we went so we
both can live.
The people there were so nice. Kind. Helpful. Except for this one vacationer who just made us stop in our tracks to wonder where all of her negativity came from and appreciating that she was the single blight on an otherwise perfect vacation.
It was the second night. Nikki and I were parked at our favorite bar, deep in conversation about … something. She came up to the bar and started fuming about a fight she had gotten into while riding on the resort trolley. She had told some black girls that her nickname for herself is Lucretia. They told her that they thought it sounded racist. She was highly offended by the implication, saying that she’s allowed to have different nicknames for the different sides of her personality. She also sometimes goes by LuLu. Several more minutes ensued of her fanning herself and complaining that she had gotten “attacked” by them. We tried to listen politely, while wondering if her nickname wasn’t slightly racist. But we also tried to continue our conversation that required us to look up some information on Nikki's phone. She asked us if we were Googling her name – we weren’t.
A few moments of peace while she ordered a drink, then her voice broke in once again: “Do you have cancer?”
I turned to her and nodded, as I heard her say, “I’m not a doctor; I’m just curious.”
And I turned away again, not particularly wanting to talk about it with her.
“Is it breast cancer?”
“Yes, it is colon cancer.”
“I’m sure that will go away.”
“No, unfortunately, it’s terminal.”
“Well, everything goes away eventually.”
As Nikki and I once again resumed what we had been talking about, I half heard Lucy complaining to the bartenders that they were the only people who hadn’t been hostile to her all evening. She tipped them and continued to grumble about how terribly she had been treated.
As she turned to leave, I said, “I’m sorry you’re having a hard night; I hope it gets better.”
Walking away, she had a good suggestion for me: “You should try being nicer. Especially since you’re DYING.
Yep. She really said that. Nikki confirmed what I couldn’t believe I had just heard.
So let’s all give some thought to the advice that Lucy/LuLu/Lucretia offered to me. Let’s try being nicer. Especially since we’re dying. And let’s all put some extra kind vibes out this week to make up for all the negativity coming from others, shall we?
Miky and Jose, the best bartenders in Punta Cana.