Spring break 2003 started for some students in late January, when MTV conducted a casting call for a reality-based movie centered on a Mexican spring break. After watching other MTV reality series, those who showed up likely had a past as colorful as a Teletubbies episode.

Passed over for this particular honor, my spring break this year was not in Mexico or Colorado or Baghdad, but what is likely the most popular destination for college students: Florida.

I came away with several lessons learned:

Southern Hospitality and Culture: Man somewhere in the middle of Georgia: ” Yíall liss’n here. Ma pappy always tol’ me that there best waffle in town gone did found theyself in the waffle trailer in the town center, if ya cain’t find it down that-a-ways, go look yourself in the di-rection of east for that there Sonny bar-b-cue, it got good pulled pork. Ya reckon?”

Translation: My dad said the Waffle House has good waffles, but if you can’t find it, go east to Sonny’s barbecue.

The Waffle House disappointed, as it lacked both good waffles and good cinnamon-raisin-bread toast. The grits looked like frosted bacteria and tasted like moldy ice cream.

The Snow Birds: After several rather inane conversations with the elderly, I concluded the only use for old people is four-month vacations and bridge tournaments. Most of the seasoned citizens I encountered were either in month number two or three of multi-month excursions. We spring breakers were in day number two or three of one-week getaways.

Southern food, particularly seafood, is also great (not at a Waffle House): One night at a restaurant called Sea Critters, our seating arrangement found us outside on docks, and in the waters below were thousands of catfish. The waiters told us to throw bread in, and we did, only to see the catfish swarm the bread like positive energy around Richard Simmons.

Later on, a small child fell in; come to think about it, I never saw the kid again.

* * * * *

As the trip wore on, when we weren’t puking at the Waffle House or pulling pork at Sonny’s, we were usually on the road, on a beach, or at some club. Typical spring break, and all in good fun.

It was one night when we were all returning from a club that we also learned a lesson much more important than the art of deciphering Southern dialect or avoiding grits: Do not drink and drive.

After departing from a club in Daytona Beach, where admission and drinks were free for ladies and not-so-free for guys, we witnessed the consequences of jumping behind the wheel after a few too many.

The night before we left, we had some car difficulties. One of the spring breakers, in an attempt to avoid bringing a massive bungle of keys, mistakenly brought only the ignition key and not the keys to the car door. Thanks to that, we had a three-hour layover, and I had an encounter with a 15-year-old begging for cigarette money, but that is another story. Not to anyone’s surprise, she was from Illinois.

The event we witnessed was the most common effect of drinking and driving: car wrecks. Y’all lissen’ up now. After noticing a car swerving back and forth between lanes, we decided to keep our distance. The car swerved off the road and in an attempt to correct itself, overcorrected and flew across the median into two lanes of oncoming traffic and into the woods. The car wasn’t traveling at 10 or 20 miles per hour but was keeping pace with our 75. I immediately unlocked the door so we could get out and run over there.

When we arrived, the car was smoking, the windows shattered, but nobody was in the car. Then we heard two people run off and down the highway. We started to run after them, but gave up. The police and ambulance arrived only six minutes after the wreck, and this is at a section of the highway 12 miles from any city.

First of all, I’d have to say those people were lucky to be able to get up and run away from the accident. Second of all, I’d have to say, flat out, those guys were dumbasses. On my way in to the car, I cut my foot on palm ferns and had glass lodged into my toes, which I only found upon my return to Wisconsin. Also, my sandals were muddied, as well as my $1.99 shirt from the Gap. How those people were able to escape a 75-mile-per-hour car wreck and be able to run is a question to me.

However, even more than the idiocy of my spring break companion who couldn’t get over the connection between pubic hair and the grocery store named Publix, the risks are clear: Drinking and driving is not worth the extra few minutes to get back to Holiday Inn. But the few extra minutes of driving to avoid the Waffle House and that there waffle concoction in favor of Old Country Buffet is.

Derek Montgomery ([email protected]) is a sophomore majoring in political science and journalism.