So, my best friend and I have this running inside joke about the time I blamed something on Jesus. Poor Jesus! He always gets my wrath in the end, or at least that is the way it was. But really, I was talking about our Bell Boy in the Riviera Maya, named Jesus.


Jesus and Liz. Jesus is giving my best friend the thumbs up and that was GOOD NEWS!

I used to always curse Jesus and blame him for everything that went wrong in my life before this trip. At this point in my life, I had not quite yet discovered the Art of Free Will nor the art of Gratitude, so someone had to be blamed for my misfortunes. And my best friend knew this and witnessed this on more than one occasion in my life. Although, this time was a tad ridiculous and shall I even venture to say, the ultimate showcase of snobbery.

We had just arrived at a luxury resort in Mexico and were whisked off to our hotel room. Now, I worked for a Vacation Company at the time that specialized in All-Inclusive trips to the Caribbean and Mexico, and I was told that the red carpet would be rolled out for me. I expected the world and then some.


Not the case. We were brought to our ocean front room that overlooked the Caribbean sea in all its azure glory. Palms swaying, our own balcony, and tip top service at every turn. To my horror, the room was a regular room! The shame! How dare they! I expected a suite, with literal red carpet mind you.

We kindly bit our tongues and sent the Bell Boy off on his way with a generous tip. I was so upset, I was in tears. I called my boss and couldn’t get through. I called my parents to reach my boss, but they couldn’t help. This is how desperate I was to get out of this room, when the only thing wrong with it was the fact that the floors were marble and not red carpet, and the dryer fell off the wall. Once that happened, I immediately lost it.

“Let’s get out of here before I blame this on Jesus!”, I exclaimed to my best friend while snapping my fingers in air, motioning her out of the room at once! We both died of laughter in the irony of that statement.

I had a plan. I would go to the head of the resort and explain my dire predicament. I was promised a suite and I wasn’t going to stop at anything to get one.

We rushed to the front desk that was in the beautiful Hacienda-style lobby. It was stunning. Open Air and the breeze from the ocean wafted in, skirting over luxurious mexican decor and fresh champagne glasses, given to guests upon arrival.

I called on the main man at the time and he came running. I explained to him about my coworker who was working for the resort chain and I told him that I was promised a suite and to be treated like a queen. Yes, even I can’t believe those words came rolling off my tongue.

Exacerbated, he took out his walkie talkie to communicate with the hotel staff. There was one suite left that was somewhat under construction, but he assured me he would make it work. We just had to go to the beach and enjoy some down time by the beach bar with swings, while we waited for the crew to spruce up the place.

He called on us after about three hours or so and said our room was ready. It did not disappoint. It was above the main lobby looking over the rotunda and hacienda-style balconies, with spiral staircases. I even had my own name plastered on the side of the door. A touch they did to make us feel right at home.


My own personal Hacienda

The room was superb! It was two rooms actually and had it’s very own lobby, decorated with old mexican art and flowers. Walk in closets, french doors leading out to the stretched balcony that overlooked the sea and the quaint church where I was going shortly there after to repent for my not-so-distant sins.


It had a jacuzzi tub with a separate shower that had a rain shower head on it. The floors were hard wood, and smelled of the sweetest incense. Aroma therapy vents wafted the latest essential oils throughout the room and there was an iPod playing soft mexican music for our pleasure. The bed was enormous and rod iron with stunning art hanging over head. We had our own personal bath robes and slippers for morning and evening jaunts on the patios. We were greeted with fresh exotic fruits and our own personal bottles of tequila. A enormous, giant-sized parakeet cage with 50 or more birds, lay right outside our windows.


My best friend revealing our daily breakfast and cappuccinos on the balcony.

We had arrived. In heaven.

Until karma came to bite me on my ass. We took a tour of the luxury hallways and read hacienda names on doors. We came across the Presidential Suite and to my horror, whose name was written on it? The owner and CEO of my company! He was there for inspections but was sure to get an ear full from the head manager there about my little temper tantrum.


Jesus performing his miracles. Fire dancing practice.

Lesson learned. I was young. I was stupid. I was blantantly rude and unappreciative. I was new to the company and I had expected the finest of the finest. Little did I know that I would repay the company for my behavior with ten years worth of my creative time. I wised up after that trip, that is for sure and never pulled a stunt like that again. I check my attitude at the door and fully appreciate all that is bestowed upon me.

Every trip since that time, I behaved as if the President of the Company was in my presence. Oh who am I kidding? With an endless supply of alcohol at every turn and on every trip? That’s so not true. But I tried.


Oh, btw, it was Halloween at the time so here is our little lime pumpkin, carved by Jesus himself – The Master Carver. 


2 Comments Add yours

  1. Reblogged this on Humorous and commented:
    Poor Jesus.Thumbs up to being nice to Jesus,

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