What else could we do to amuse ourselves on the 8 hour drive down to Panama city beach but make up a steadily escalating lie to the girls in the other car? It started innocuously enough with Digger telling one of them that we had messed up our car rental and booked it for the wrong week. It ended with them believing that Chris Martin (not from Coldplay) had supposedly booked a $1000 flight in order to get there, Frankie-Two-Salads had inconsiderately bailed on us and jumped in a car with some other friends, our Spanish friend somehow had ended up in Augusta playing a round of golf with a stranger and I, left with the heartbreaking decision, had opted to fly as well leaving Digger to spend spring break with some fraternity boys he’d never met in Daytona beach. It also resulted in some tears from the poor considerate girls but lets not speak about that.
The beauty of the lie was in its depth, the story in its twists and turns. Each character had a well orchestrated narrative arc, heroes became villains, fuck ups became sob stories (literally) and tension steadily mounted as the group fractured. Acting performances on the phone were stellar as Digger and Chris depicted Frankie-Two as the worst man alive for leaving us only for him to call them immediately after pretending to be drunk and obnoxiously not caring a jot. A quick debate about how to make it sound like he was in a car ended with one of us pointing out that he was, in fact, in a car.
The big reveal was somewhat ruined by the girls all being in dressing gowns having decided not to go out on account of their depression. But we had a laugh so…
Oh and Panama City Beach was crazy! Detailed Post to follow.