Wanderlust and Drip

As I sit here tonight, the warmth of the hot tub swirling around me and the familiar cadence of Frasier echoing from the TV, I found myself caught in a memory — one of those unexpected flashbacks that sneaks up on you when life slows down.

It was the early 2000s in South Texas — a humid October evening, and I was a young sailor living with two of my best friends. Back then, life revolved around the next adventure, the next laugh, and the next weekend off duty. Halloween was approaching, and like any group of early-twenties sailors with more enthusiasm than cash, we decided to find the cheapest costumes that would make the biggest impression.

I walked out of the store with a full-body banana suit.

My buddy Big Norm chose a penguin.

Together, we were chaos wrapped in polyester.

The plan was simple: win a few costume contests, hit the bars, and make some memories. But as the Navy often reminds you — the best-laid plans don’t mean much when Uncle Sam has other ideas. A last-minute “training exercise” popped up, and Halloween was canceled for us.

I was furious.

At the time, it felt like the end of the world — my golden debut as the world’s most charismatic banana was over before it began.

But with time (and a few years of perspective), I realize now that our Senior Chief — Steve — was doing us a favor. He knew exactly what kind of trouble a pack of overconfident, twenty-something sailors in costume could stir up. So thanks, Senior. You were right, as usual.

A year passed, a deployment came and went, and those costumes sat in the closet — reminders of a missed opportunity. Until one day, Norm looked at me and said,

“What’s the next best thing to Halloween?”

Spring Break.

And just like that, we were back in business.

Four 30-packs of Lone Star beer, two ridiculous costumes, and the open road to Padre Island. We arrived lean, tan, and already laughing at our own idiocy. Within an hour, the banana and penguin were out in full glory.

If you’ve never worn a banana costume to a beach party, I highly recommend it — once. We couldn’t go five feet without someone cheering, handing us a beer, or inviting us to the next party. By the second day, we were local celebrities. Somewhere between the bar hopping and beer pong, a “reporter” asked for an interview for the local paper.

We laughed, posed, and didn’t think much of it. After all, it was just a beach town story. No way Senior Chief Steve would ever see it.

You already know where this is going.

Monday morning, we strolled into the office — sunburned, exhausted, and smelling faintly of regret — only to see the newspaper sitting on Senior’s desk. There we were, front and center, headline blazing:

“Banana and Penguin Bring the Party to Padre.”

He didn’t yell. Didn’t even smile. Just looked up and said,

“I told you not to make the paper.”

And that was that. Lesson learned.

Looking back now, I can laugh. It’s one of those memories that makes you shake your head and smile — a snapshot of youth, freedom, and the kind of innocence you don’t recognize until it’s long gone.

I’ve traded cheap beer for Moscow mules, wild nights for quiet ones, and a banana suit for a tailored jacket. But that same spirit — that hunger for adventure and laughter — still lingers. Maybe that’s the lesson. The uniforms, jobs, and years change, but the stories stay with you.

And Senior Chief Steve? He was always right!!

Sincerely,

The Refined Wanderer