Like apple pie and voting against your interests, getting wasted in a foreign city during spring break is an American tradition. Girls and boys descend on Cancun, Rome, and Panama Beach City, Florida, a.k.a. PBC. They think they will make happy memories and find love, but most of the time, they end up humiliated and/or have terrible sex. As a new crop of college students prepare for the horrific ritual, we asked some of our favorite writers and friends to share their worst spring break experiences.
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The Deadly Flower Urchin
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Read more: 'Umbrella' Was Originally Written for Britney SpearsMy junior year abroad I went backpacking with my friend Rosie*. After visiting London, Paris, and Berlin, we ended the trip in Rome. I had a lot of sex, but I wanted to meet a lover in Europe, like Lizzie McGuire did in The Lizzie McGuire Movie. One night, I walked around the city alone, looking for a homo on a moped. In the grocery store, I noticed a hot Italian looking at me through his Harry Potter glasses. When I walked outside, it started raining. The hot guy walked ahead of me, holding an umbrella. He stopped, turned, winked at me, and then kept on walking. Was he old school cruising me?I wondered. A few seconds later, he stopped again. He tilted his umbrella toward me and motioned for me to get under it. He was old school cruising me!I hurled toward him. He put his arm around me, licked my ear, and whispered in Italian. I loved it. I was Lizzie McGuire for a hot second. That is until he asked me to buy him a leather jacket.This was some rip-off tourist scheme! I told him to fuck off. I was just a college student looking for a romantic one night stand. I was way too broke to act like his sugar daddy. He apologized and then bought me an entire pizza and two bottles of wine and made out with me in an alley behind a Louis Vuitton store. In return, I agreed to let him fuck me the next night. After all, that is what I wanted to find in Rome.The following evening, I boarded the bus. As we headed towards his house, he received a phone call—from his American boyfriend. I realized he had an American fetish. I told him to forget about taking me home. I jumped out of the bus in front of the Leonardo Da Vinci museum. "You will not be fucking my American ass!" I yelled. He chased after me and ran his hand along my happy trail. "I don't fuck guys with boyfriends!" I yelled. "But when in Rome?" he argued. I sighed. I let him make out with me on the steps for a few minutes, but then my Catholic guilt kicked in. His poor boyfriend! I told him to screw himself and then scrammed. I haven't returned to Rome since.Read more at Broadly