Put-in-Bay trip brings drinking and debauchery

David Soler

Have you ever been to an island on a lake? And in a lake on an island on a lake? OK, the latter is laughable, but the former is true: Last weekend, I discovered Put-in-Bay, the Key West of Ohio.

I expected Put-in-Bay to be a kind of exclave paradise within the United States, but my wishes were dashed in a blaze. My hopes for unmonitored leisure and a relaxed-law environment were shattered by the conspicuous Federal eagerness to keep making money. Cops were ominously present, as usual, and an open container was still worth with a juicy $260 fine.

You might think the experience of going to an island has to be fun, but you’d be wrong. Of course, “having fun” may vary from person to person. For my American friends, the definition was clear: drinking beer and spending, if possible, the entire day drunk or napping.

Luckily, there were other attractions beyond the beer cans. I’m talking about the girls. For example, who can refuse being flashed by random women?

On Saturday night, one woman flashed us in the street, and we were speechless. Even with my camera on hand, all my motor functions were temporarily shut down. “Oh my God! What did we just see?” became our lasting motto for the rest of the night.

That type of I-don’t-give-a-damn behavior can only be found in America, but be honest: Do you really need to go to an island to get flashed? Also, the rationale for the island girls was the artificial bachelorette factor. This ingredient is a widespread tradition, and although we Europeans also have it, it is not nearly as “street-oriented.” When someone is scheduled to get married in America – even if reciprocally consented – it is synonymous with “my last days of freedom.” Carnal initiative might seem too much, but flashing and other naughty behaviors are OK.

In a nutshell, it seemed as if the way to have fun at Put-in-Bay had to be “the way to forget my messed-up life.” Apparently, rationalization is as absurd an idea, and the only solutions to life’s problems are scapeways, alcohol-induced unconsciousness and forced disruptions of reality.

David Soler is a biomedical sciences graduate student and a columnist for the Summer Kent Stater. Contact him at [email protected]