A Summer Night in November

Just One of Those Nights

Let me set the scene. 

Los Cabos, Mexico, late November. It's pouring rain outside, and everyone's pretty bedraggled from rushing inside. 

If it were quiet, you'd be able to hear the pounding of the water on the roof. There are people packed into the lobby shoulder to shoulder, making the air hot and sticky.

7:00

We'd been watching a rendition of Grease when the rain started, and hadn't stopped. 

In order to appease the hundred surly resort guests who demanded "the show must go on", a friendly young concierge suggested we move all the chars into the lobby and finish the show there.

8:00

I'm sitting in the second row, with my 6 year old cousin sitting on my lap. He's falling asleep, and I'm trying not to move too much, because he's much easier to handle when he's not conscious.

The wonderfully adaptable cast breaks for intermission, and a boisterous man walks out on the "stage", fishing for ideas on how to entertain a waterlogged group of tourists who paid too much to settle.

8:30

We'd been playing Name That Tune for maybe 10 minutes, with 3 clear contestants. 

The first was a woman in her twenties, with sharp features and sharper eyes. 

3 points. 

The second was a burly man with thick eyebrows and an easy smile, wearing a Hawaiian shirt. His skin was the brown of a retired Californian. 

4 points. 

The third was a tall, muscular man with glasses. He had a southern accent and was holding the hand of the man beside him, who gazed adoringly over the entire time. 

4 points.

I wanted to get one, just one. As luck would have it, the jovial annoncer, with the volume on his microphone not adjusted for close range, informed us that the next song was the final song, and whoever got it won the entire game. I sat up straighter. 

He counted down from three, and my hand automatically shot up. I knew the song. I knew it! I made a big scene out of it too, bouncing around and shouting. And I got called on. 

Everyone cheered when I got it right, and the man came over and shook my hand. I couldn't stop smiling. He handed me a small certificate and asked if I was 18, to which I automatically nodded. 

I wasn't eighteen.

I don't remember the rest of the show, only that I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. 

After it was over, I convinced my aunt to accept my prize. I'd won a bottle of tequila. I danced that bottle all the way back to the room, skipping through the rain and laughing. 

I didn't drink a drop, but I'll always remember the story of how I somehow conned my way into winning a Name That Tune game I had no chance in, by guessing Hells Bells by ACDC, and winning a bottle of Tequila at a resort in Mexico when I was 15 years old.