Hot Tub Encounter
January 31st, 2022.
Earlier today, I snuck into a random hotel down the street from the place I’m staying in Orlando, Florida, because I wanted to use their pool and hot tub. As soon as I got there, I noticed someone was in the hot tub, and their ass was showing.
As soon as I got in, she started reading my energy and telling my what sort of frequencies I gave off (positive things, I’ll have you know) . She wasn’t shy, and she had a lot to say. You know the type of person who only talks about themselves 100% of the time? Like, the person who will interrupt what you’re saying to say something about themselves and you can never get a word in? Well, she was one of those, but I tolerated it because I found all the shit she was spitting to be interesting. Also her floss-thin bikini was piss poor at its job and her nipples were completely out, and would remain completely out for the entirety of this story. The coolest part is she seemed to know it, and just didn’t care.
We sat there talking for nearly four hours. She’s a fashion model from the Bronx and her family is involved in the Colombian cartel. She was maybe 5”1 and 75 pounds and anywhere from 21 to 38. She wasn’t just a fashion model but a fashion designer, a playwright, a screenwriter, a painter, a novelist, a calligrapher, a personal trainer, and an aesthetician. She claimed to speak at least 8 different languages, she told stories of drag racing in the streets of New York and riding horses in Colombia.
I taught her how to swim and how to do a handstand in the pool, and she taught me the different meanings to bird species, how to sketch for fashion, and about the 13 families who control the world. She read me an excerpt from the play she wrote, a re-imagining of Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliette. It was really bad, but at least she did it, you know? That’s more than a lot of us can say. And she’s nearly finished on a sequel, too.
What she was doing at a hotel in Orlando, I’m not quite sure. At one point, after mentioning that I’m from Montreal, she said she has family in Canada, but she couldn’t tell me where for safety reasons. She talked vaguely about how she used to “do bad things” and told several stories of fistfights and trap houses. When I joked about “putting a bullet by” the girl who accidentally knocked her stuff off of the lawn chair, she spat up her blended mango drink. I never quite caught her name, but at one point she said that her friends call her Mini, so I called her that.
She seemed reluctant to give away much personal information, which I totally get, so I didn’t prod. Probably something to do with her family back in Colombia. Or maybe another reason. I was definitely picking up kind of a “I’m gonna make some money off this John” vibe, but I didn’t care. She had interesting things to say and I was making a cool friend. I also haven’t been exposed to too many public interactions over the past two years, so my radar for these kinds of things is way off, but the lack of personal information mixed with the amount of heavy flirting with a stranger at a hotel (where she thought I was staying), coupled with the amount of seemingly intentional bathing suit malfunctions, had me wondering. I hope I didn’t waste her time and she had fun today as well.
Before I left, we smoked a joint in the parking lot. I told her about a painting I’m working on called “Eating Spaghetti in the Bathroom Mirror”, that she wanted me to send to her. I didn’t have my phone on me, so I gave her my number and told her to text me, then left, and she didn’t text me. Classic Mini.
