Why they awarded the Olympics to Pomodoro, the capital of Tilapia, is a mystery to me. Me, being Barbara Moore, member of the US Women’s Swim team. I’m sure large bundles of cash passed to IOC members were a big part of the story. Nevertheless, when you spend hours in the pool every day training for much of your life, you go where the games are.
And what a games they were. I won 2 gold medals, one in the individual breaststroke and one as part of the relay team. My best friend and training partner, Priya Narayan, did great as well, winning a gold in the butterfly (first Indian American to win a swimming medal) and also sharing in one as part of the relay team.
And since our events were early in the games, we were left with little to do afterwards, except to relax, which was something neither one of us had done much of in the last few years, sandwiching swim practices in between college classes and assignments. We had become friendly with a couple of the other competitors, whom we had met around the pool, Aline Messa, a French freestyler, who had picked up a silver medal (coming second to Katy Ledecky is hardly shabby) and Eulalia Cross, a swimmer for the Scottish team (something to do with Brexit). Poor Eula had come away without a medal because some genius on the Scottish Olympic Committee had decided the swimmers should all wear kilts in the pool and the drag of the sodden wool was too much to overcome.
So when they suggested we go to the Hot Tomato Lounge in downtown Pomodoro for a party, we happily agreed. Supposedly Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt were going to be there, though we didn’t run into them.
Now, our coaches and the entire Olympic Committee had warned us that Tilapia had very strict laws, including caning for minor offenses and that they wouldn’t necessarily be able to help us if we fell afoul of them. But we were all of legal drinking age and we planned to just have a couple of drinks and have fun dancing for a couple of hours. Well, a couple of drinks turned into god knows how many and a couple of hours turned into 4 AM. Finally, the bar closed and we hailed a taxi to take us back to the Olympic Village.
Now, when you’ve had that much to drink, sometimes you just have to pee really, really badly. Like, can’t wait to get back to the Village badly. And, there by the road, was an all-night gas station, so we had the cabby pull over and we all went to use the Ladies. Well, with the high spirits from the successful competition, and the alcohol, things got a bit rowdy in there. Toilet paper was thrown, mirrors were soaped, doors were swung on until a couple broke (cheap Tilapian products, I’m sure). But no one was around, so who was to know, right?
So, when the cops showed up at the Village the next morning, we denied the whole thing. Not us, we said. must have been 4 other women. Who would have imagined a shitty place like Tilapia would have video cams at every gas station? They had us clear as anything going into the bathroom, with the place looking clean and coming out with the place looking like a hurricane had gone through it. Time stamps on the video and everything. So, they cuffed us and marched us down to the cop shop where they told us we were being charged with vandalism and lying to officers. Yikes!
Important author's note-Tilapia is NOT Trabbia. No resemblance whatsoever.
Does anyone want more of this shaggy dog story?
