Tragedy at MoJo's

It was after several happy hour beers and a celebratory round of Jager shots when it finally happened.

My sun glasses broke.

I did nothing wrong here and I wish I had a cool, snappy nickname for the glasses but I don't. As we were leaving MoJo's, I grabbed the shades to put them on my face and one of the arms (is that what they're called?) snapped off.

In response, I took the glasses and slammed them down on the pavement in a over-the-top display. The whole ordeal had cruise boat tourists slowly pulling their purses and wallets closer to their bodies and had locals rolling their eyes. I then started to stomp on the shattered shades with my foot like it owed me money.

Beer tears almost started to form in my blood-shot eyes.

The bartender received a decent tip so he didn't care about my exploits. Then my friend Frank picked up one of the heavy, wooden bar stools and finished the job by smashing the shades to pieces.

Then we left. What an exit.

Those shades stuck out in my mind because they've lasted me during my entire stint on St. Thomas thus far. I remember buying them for $8 at some stupid retail store during a blizzard that paralyzed the entire state of Maryland in 2010.

The check-out lady made some sly remark like why I would buy cheap sun glasses during one of the worst snow storms to ever come across the state. I told her that I was moving to the Caribbean in a few days and that she should mind her own business.

After reflecting about our relationship -- the one between me and the late shades -- I realized that it lasted longer than any other in my life. I was a lifeguard for seven summers in a row and hit the ski slopes for four of those years. All along, I needed sun glasses to survive and never held a single pair for longer than a month or two.

I remember one summer at the Outer Banks, when I waited tables and had way too much cash burning a hole in my cargo pockets. My friend Jeff B. and I went out and purchased very expensive Arnette polarized sun glasses. Before the summer was over, they had fallen into life's abyssal lost-and-found container and were never seen again.

To make things worse, we retired back to Frank's house for a quick session after the bar. While sitting on a bar stool near his kitchen counter, I accidentally broke a glass fixture he had received as a gift. It fell to the hard floor and shattered right before our eyes.

I guess I was just into breaking cherished artifacts that day, for whatever reason. These things come in threes so I drove home from Frank's house later that night like I was taking my driving test and the instructor was sitting shotgun. Hands on 2 and 10. Turning blinkers are over the place.

So I guess I'm in the market for new sun glasses. Maybe I will hit up K-Mart after work.

Unlike my college years, I no longer have cash billowing out of my pockets thanks to yuppie tourists. Now, I just try to avoid them while I run the streets of St. Thomas and snicker at their painful sun burns.