The scene opens with the camera panned over clear, yet blue-ish, water. The sun shining above illuminates the slight ripples moving the water west to east, north to south. Kids on the nearby beach can be seen trying to skip seashells across the water, but to no avail, with the seashells simply plopping on top of the water and then sinking to the sea floor. Guppies swerve and dart towards the edge before quickly changing course, looking for food, but only finding human feet ready to crush them.

We're in a beautiful sea resort on the island of Koh Samui, which is an hour's flight south of Bangkok, Thailand. Specifically, we're at the beautiful beach resort, the Banana Fan:



The weather is verging towards 90 degrees, but with very little humidity, which is a godsend when you're in Thailand. Let's put it this way: Sit down and try to enjoy a drink outside on any normal day in Thailand: Winter, Fall, Summer, Spring... it doesn't matter. You will instantly feel the sweat emanating from your pores the moment you lift the glass to your mouth.

Anyways, the sun is shining, little kids are laughing as they evade sand mites looking for a quick beach meal, and young couples can be seen enjoying their respective honeymoons or escapes from the doldrums of daily life. In the distance, a very overweight, and very pale, man can be seen walking the beach, Singha beer in hand, his arms already as red as two hot chili peppers. The sun is not this man's friend, and sunscreen simply can't help him.

The camera pans sideways, and a young Thai woman with a beige Banana Fan polo shirt can be seen walking over, two piña coladas in hand. She confidently strides towards the camera, not missing a beat as a beach ball nearly knocks her in the head and children run under and around her. She approaches the camera, and what are two beach chairs laid out under an umbrella.

Thai Woman: Hello, sir. Your drinks.

She lays the drinks down on a table nestled between the two chairs. Tony Santos is sitting in one chair, a black Singha beer hat covering his thinning hair from the sun, a hat he purchased for the equivalent of $5 at a local stand, and black elephant pants covering his pale legs. The pants were also roughly $5 USD, purchased mainly by tourists looking to enter Buddhist temples, where shorts and low cut sleeves are forbidden.

Beads of sweat drip from Tony's forehead, and to be honest, he looks a little too pale, almost emaciated. Tony hadn't been taking his doctor's recommendation to watch out for suspect street food vendors, and, while it hasn't confirmed, looks like he hadn't been taking those diarrhea pills the doctor told him would keep him from, in his doc's words... "pooping to death." Yup, being an American in Thailand means your body isn't used to things like contaminated dog meat, dirty tap water, and infection from literally any type of bite or cut you could imagine.

Despite his potential ailment, Tony flashes a slight smile as he thanks the Thai woman...

Santos: Kob khun krup.

Literally one of three phrases Tony knew was "thank you." He even managed to not butcher it!

The Thai woman bows in response (called a "wai"), takes a few steps back, and turns to head back to the bar. Tony grabs his tall, thin glass. He brings the straw towards his mouth, his tongue not so elegantly attempting to latch on to the straw. After a few seconds of struggling, Tony cups his lips around the straw and takes a very... thorough... gulp. The piña colada takes very... syrupy, and not at all like the piña colada he'd had out of a coconut just a few nights before. He grimaces as he takes in what he's tasted.

Santos: Does this thing even have booze in it??

The truth was, it did, and actually had quite a lot of booze in it, thanks to Tony asking for triple the rum. Hell, paying extra for anything in a country as cheap as Thailand meant an extra few dollars and a generous tip of... also a few dollars. Tony was living like a king in this country. This resort, a top of the line beach resort on one of the most beautiful parts of Thailand, cost Tony $90 per night. In the States, this resort would easily go for $400 or more.

However, none of this seemed to satisfy Tony. The not-so-boozeless drink would very soon get him drunker than he could ever imagine, which, with a mean, full body sunburn, would take him down for the count for at least the next day. But, for now, Tony was completely capable of complaining.

A large pineapple slice is latched to the glass, a garnish for the piña colada. Tony pulls the slice from the glass, dips it into the drink, and wolfs down the entire slice, sans skin, in one bite. A loud yell can be heard to his side.

Jenny: Tony, no!

It was too late. Jenny, Tony's new squeeze, who had stuck with him after an atrocious date in a tiki bar in San Francisco, who had paid for his bill as he was kicked from the bar in his drunken stupor, had still managed to take a liking to this man.



That man.

Maybe it was his very obvious flaws. Maybe there was the nurturing aspect to managing Tony, or the "project" it could be to turn Tony into an upstanding partner. Maybe.

Jenny: You never eat the garnish, Tony! Now you're going to get sick... again.

Jenny, a small West Coast woman, had grown up fairly fortunate. Born and raised in Bellevue, Washington, a wealthy suburb of Seattle, Jenny Palmer had been raised by a restaurant tycoon father and a mother who was a successful tax attorney. Her father was born in Chicago, but moved to Seattle as a young boy, and her mother was a Seattle lifer. Jenny grew up as semi-royalty in the Bellevue community, and thus, had been set up at an early age to date young, similarly rich, and very boring, Seattle men.

Into her 20s, Jenny was being groomed to take over her father's chain of American-style restaurants. Jenny did everything from busing tables, to managing the bar (at a very illegal 15 years old), to serving food, to cooking food, and then, as she grew older, handing the business side of things. The pressure mounted as she moved into her late 20s, with her dad pushing harder for a clear succession plan, and Jenny realizing she wasn't sure if this was the right fit.

After many fights, Jenny fled for Berkeley, California, where she quickly assimilated, fitting in with the hippie liberal culture of this college town, while slowing down and working at a small grocery store, manning the cash register, stocking shelves, cleaning floors, and baking the homemade bread. It had been an oddly satisfying transition for Jenny, leaving the pressure of running a small empire behind, and living paycheck to paycheck, but with no oversight of underpaid employees, and no pressure to ensure people with families to feed were taken care of.

Nope, Jenny had a much more simple existence, and it suited her just fine. But she needed a little chaos, and that's where Tony Santos came along.

Santos: Oh, it's fine. It's just a freaking piece of fruit! Why would they put it there if you can't eat it??

Jenny: Tony, you never eat raw fruit or vegetables here. They're either contaminated or have been sitting out for hours, with flies filled with dengue freaking fever sucking on them.

Tony smiles as he licks the inside of the skin. Jenny frowns as he she throws her pineapple slice into the sand.

Jenny: What's your deal, anyway? We've known each other for all of two months, and you buy me a $1,300 ticket to Thailand?

Santos: Why not?

Jenny: Oh, I don't know, because you've told me you have no money? On our first date, you couldn't even pay the bill because you "conveniently" forgot your wallet.

Santos: I genuinely forgot it. I think it fell through my pants pocket...

Jenny: ExACTly my point. Whose wallet falls through their pants pocket?

Santos: People who are attached to their old pairs of pants, that's who. It's not like I couldn't buy new pants if I wanted to. I just... choose not to. I'm a wrestling star now, baby! I got that big ol' paycheck after taking down two scrubs and a bearded pig to get my title shot, you know! They paid me with a real check this time!

Jenny: Because your last paycheck wasn't...?

Santos: Well, my last paycheck mainly went to the IRS for some old taxes I owed, so they kind of just gave me the rest in Bi-Rite coupons. The man just does that to you, you know. Kick you when you're down, and squeeze you when you're on your way up. Fucking government, man. But you wouldn't know that.

Jenny's face turns red at that comment, appalled that Tony is playing the wealth card. She turns to Tony, lifts her arm, straightens her index finger, and pierces Tony's sunburnt shoulder as hard as she can.

Jenny: How DARE you talk about me like that! Because I've never been in debt, you're somehow better than me? What in the blue hell are you even talking about? I've taken care of my money, and I don't regularly max out my credit cards, so that makes me beneath you? Don't preach at me because I've figured things out in life!

Tony lets out a hearty laugh, as beads of sweat roll down his forehead in greater frequency. His stomach gurgles, his tongue getting dry with spots of white.

Santos: Heh, you're right, you're right. You've got it all figured out. Mommy and Daddy have made that pretty darn easy.

Jenny's face turns an even brighter shade of red. Jenny doesn't normally have a temper. She's a West Coast girl after all... mellow is her vibe. However, Tony was easily tapping into her biggest insecurity: The accusation that she hasn't earned her keep in life. It's strange how being a child of wealth can make you feel like you have it all, but having it all doesn't seem like quite enough.

Jenny: Again, don't you dare. Bringing my parents into this is damn near crossing the line. I guess it was my mistake to even tell you anything about me to begin with. You haven't told me a thing about you. Who are you? Why do you wrestle for pennies in foreign cities?

What about your family? Who are your parents? Past lovers? I know nothing about you, but have exposed everything.

Tony's head is soaked. Sweat continues to stream down his increasingly white face. His cheeks are flushed, his stomach gurgling at a greater and greater frequency. Is the sun getting to him? That sunburn does look pretty bad, after all.

Jenny: Tony? Are you alright?

Tony attempts to stand up, but as he does, his eyes glaze over slightly, stars filling his vision. Tony rolls into the table, knocking both piña coladas over. Jenny rolls backwards to avoid the collateral damage, flopping into the sand. As she starts to regain her footing to check on Tony, Tony has already made his way to the water. Stumbling from side to side, sweat streaming down his face and into his eyes, sunscreen stinging his eyes. He attempts to stand straight up to grab deeper breaths, but instead topples forward, falling on his hands and knees.

Jenny panics, feeling so close, yet so far away from Tony's emaciated frame. She yells towards Tony, trying to get his attention.

Jenny: Tony! Get some water! Tony! Tony...!!!

Sweat continues to pour from his face, now dripping into the water. Drop after drop making small ripples in the swirling water. Drop after drop, as Tony's eyes droop further and further. Breaths become fewer and far between, his head fading. Just then, Tony's knee slips and Tony hits his head against the ground, but with a peculiar thud, almost like he hit... porcelain?

The scene shifts to...



...Tony's bathroom at the Banana Fan resort. There's no Jenny, no fancy drinks, and no beautiful beach. Instead it's just Tony's face firmly planted into a toilet bowl, food poisoning having reached its peak. The moment Tony checked into the resort two days ago, he'd been heaving, losing a solid five pounds in the process.

Tony's wallet is splayed on the ground, a picture of Jenny that Tony crudely printed from her OkCupid profile sitting inside. Tony hadn't garnered the courage to talk to her since that fateful San Francisco date, but man, did he wish he had. He was feeling how totally helpless he was by his lonesome for the first time in his life. Previously, he'd felt shackled by the constraints of lovers and friends, but right in this moment, as he dry heaved into a toilet in a foreign country?

He needed support and care. He needed someone to help him... guide him on the right path. His solo adventures and drunken debauchery had been fun, but ultimately held him back, he just hadn't realized it until he felt close to death in a tiny, humid bathroom.

Tony looks at Jenny, saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth. His stomach gurgles, the next round of vomit ready to unleash itself. He lets out a breath.

Santos: Help.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion