iViva Mexico! Not necessarily the message here, but attention grabbing nonetheless. Fitting as I shall recount the tales of my Spring Break Gig in Mexico, with a bonus lesson to be learned. My "Mexican moral," if you will. That is not an oxymoron. You are a moron.

I worked for a Spring Break Travel Company down in Mexico. My job entailed picking up "los spring breakers" from the airport. Freshly flown in from their mid-west Universities and Communities’ colleges, they were exhausted, frustrated, and hot (as in temperature and ornot.com). I would greet them in my best Mexican accent, get them on the bus, and entertain them for the twenty minute bus ride to their hotels.

"Welcome, estudentos. We have very much fun en the Spring Break. Some drinking, some dancing, some fun times." The accent diffused the otherwise boring list of important reminders. Don’t drink the water, have a Corona instead. Wear sunscreen, as we are a little further south than the Dakotas. No sex on the beach, unless you want to be arrested. There was always someone who wouldn’t listen that ended up sunburn red, like a lobster, sitting on the bowl in a Mexican prison. But hey, I warned ‘em!

After the debriefing I would do some material, shell out some ice cold Dos Equises, and finally admit that I grew up in New York and was a Wisconsin Badger. A real hell gig I tell you, and I killed!

For a month straight I was always on call - always on duty. When drunken fraternity men dislocated their shoulders in the ocean, I took them via golf-cart-taxi to the Ameri-med Medical center. When drunken GDI ladies fell off the bar and split their heads, it was off to Ameri-med again. When a gal sat alone at a party "not having such a good time," you gotta go dance with her. That is your job. "EVERYONE has a good time," said my boss. And I did. All after midnight…

By day my job was to walk the beaches, hotel pools, and malls distributing hundreds of party flyers; the more people at our party, the more money in our pockets. We covered miles of beaches in the hot sun and got kicked out of many hotels. It was a true test of endurance, sleep deprivation, and tolerance.

Through the constant hours there were some great moments. Telling the Hawaiian Tropic girls that I wasn’t impressed with their tans was quite enjoyable, coming from the whitest man on the beach. I knew all my hard work paid off when a certain Canadian cowgirl said to me, "I’m only 18. Is that OK?"

One evening fellow staffer Miguel and I boarded a bus packed with locals. Not a single English speaker there. In fact, no one spoke at all. It was eerily quiet.

Miguel leaned over to me and whispered, "Great.... the party bus." I just shrugged and looked around. We had a long ride ahead of us.

I struck up a little conversational Spanish with the family next to me. Effectively saying (translated for the readers), "Spring Break gives me money," (my orange STAFF shirt wasn’t a give away) adding, "Sweat balls to my leg stick."

"Tu hablas bien espanol!" they replied.

I performed my Spanish rap song and the next thing you know, out from their bag comes a bottle of tequila! They told me to drink, so I drank. The bus cheered and sang. And as we sang, and we drank, and I held the family’s baby girl in my arms, I realized that we were on the party bus!

"Yosh! Yosh! Yosh!" they exclaimed. That’s how Mexicans say Josh.

The lesson learned is a simple one. If you don’t get on the party bus, make it one. Hope you don’t need a chaser. iViva Mexico!

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