Firstly, if it's called a timeshare how come I have to buy it? Why won't they just share it with me?

So the wife and I were in Charleston a few weeks ago for the 1st anniversary, nice town. I loved the history and culture; but it was juxtiposed by a totally vapid, vacuous element: rich, lazy young people. Their parents ship them down there for college; driving the newest, brightest beamers and sporting Izod polo shirts with the collars uniformly popped. Oblivious to the depth of such a place, these kids wander the weekend streets getting bombed, throwing up on the cobbled streets, and generally acting like they own the place. That whole scene made me want to uniformly pop a cap in someone's ass.

We had a private place though, with a security lock on the premises; so when the crowds got annoying we'd had back to our joint and hang out by the pool in the peace and quiet. It was actually a really nice courtyard home with a goldfish pond and a wading/reflecting pool. Perfect for splitting a bottle of wine and enjoying the 80 degree sunshine.

Well, we come home on one such afternoon and there's 10 or so of these fucking debutante assholes partying in the courtyard. Just imagine how you would feel if you came back to your hotel room and the Delta Alpha Kappa boys had crashed your balcony for a fucking rush party. Seriously, there was all this horrible techno/club music playing, fucking dogs running around; I thought I was going to kick someone in the heart.

I just want to say, I'm pretty reticent to resort to violence; and it's something I've only ever done if I felt a real physical threat. I'm diplomatic by habit when it comes to conflict resolution; and The Wife is usually the one who flies off the handle first. Like I said, I thought I was going to have to kick someone in the heart; turns out it was The Wife, because she was ready to stomp a mudhole in someone's ass.

So we go inside and call up the management company. See, we were told that having pets or guests on the premises would result in immediate eviction, no refund, and possibly a fine. Let a lone the fact that these people had gotten through the keypaded gate (a code which was ingeniously the same as the code to the house itself) and were having a go at the entire joint. Fifteen minutes later, no one has called us back; so I call them up and say these few magic words and hang up: "If these people aren't out of here in 15 minutes, I'm expecting a full refund or I'll simply tell my credit card company to refuse the charges for services paid for and not delivered." There were two people there in a matter of minutes. It was as amazing as it was irritating.

The management company people (a hippie dude who I recognized as the pool guy from the day before, and some chick wearing stirrup pants and a baggie t-shirt) get the kids out of there in about another fifteen minutes. It was a completely laughable demonstration of authority. They come back inside and tell us these kids were friends of the owner, and that's how they got the code. Again, I felt the urge to kick someone in the heart.

I called the management company again on Monday when we got back. I gave them holy hell about how unsafe it was that this mob had the code to the door, the code to the house and all our belongings. Not only had they crashed the palce while we had paid to rent it, but if they had damaged something it would have been our asses. I tried really hard not to drop the F-bomb on this beardy cunt when she gave me some line about how the place was garanteed to b private. Next time I'll just stay at the fucking Days Inn. They offered me a thirty percent discount on our next visit. I asked her if she was on acid.

So if you ever want to go to Charleston, seriously send me an email. I can get you a thirty percent discount, or I can tell you how to sneak into a really posh place and soak up the sun next to goldfish ponds and your own pool.