By: Pretty Little Vacationer
I still remember the moment when the trouble began. I just wanted to take it easy this summer and relax at home. Maybe pick up a few extra shifts at work and earn some cash. However, at some point during exam season, my friends got to talking about their summer plans, and one of them asked me, “You’re definitely up to something interesting this summer, aren’t you?” Well, geez, of course I’m interesting and definitely not planning to just hermit away.
At that moment, I couldn’t just say that I was going to do nothing. That would make me . . . shudder . . . ordinary. So, caught in the moment, I said the safest vacation destination I could think of! “I’m actually going on holiday to . . . Toronto, yeah.”
Sara, my too-curious-for-her-own-good pal said, “That’s great! You have to show us all the places you’ll go.” Then, John asked for souvenirs. Then and there, I knew I had messed up big time. But what to do? My people-pleasing tendencies were already hard at work. I thought, “If I don’t go on this fake vacation, I will literally let John down. I would have to fess up to the big lie I told my friends. I could never let my friends down — nor John.” I knew I would need an airtight alibi. So, I got to thinking, and came up with a plan.
First things first, the itinerary. I looked at weather forecasts, special event days, particular locations, and travel times. If I was going to fake it, I was going to be precise. I was going to get bougie gifts and form opinions about the local sushi. I scoped out tourist-y spots and places that felt more gritty and lived-in for the authentic fake vacationing experience. With that, I had an idea of what I was supposed to do during my trip, and when I’d be doing it. Then, I contacted some friends in the city, asking for their help. They were gracious enough to act as “agents” of my plan, although not without ribbing at me for coming up with such an elaborate deception for something so ridiculous.
When the time of the trip arrived, I put things into action. Every day, I got my agents to take pictures of where they went, trying to imagine the most touristy point of view I could think of. I asked questions about the things around them, because I wanted to have as many details to work with as possible. I got them to visit Michelin Star restaurants, hole-in-the-wall cafés, Graffiti Alley, Legoland, the Toronto Islands, and of course, the CN Tower. I paid for all of those as necessary because it was only fair. Whenever an opportunity for souvenirs came up, either at a tourist attraction or from a shop selling trinkets, I’d have them buy things, then pay for shipping materials to get them back to me.
At some point, I realized I was having fun with the whole thing. Directing my agents to do tasks was incredibly entertaining, and seeing them enjoy themselves made me happy too. I combined my original itinerary, their experiences, and our collective observations into a narrative for the trip. Best of all, I was doing this from the comfort of my own home, where I could sit around and eat all the snacks I wanted. The experience was one of true bliss. It turns out the best trip is the one you fake taking!
With the “trip” complete, I could finally relax at home in peace. The souvenirs all arrived in good shape, and it seemed possible to make it past all this with my dignity among everyone who knew me intact. Honestly, I felt like a genius. Was this what Shakespeare felt like when he wrote King Lear? How Sir Isaac Newton felt when he figured out the laws of motion? Surely none had concocted such a perfect fake vacation before me!
That all lasted until my credit card bill arrived. All the entry fees for attractions and expensive souvenirs and shipping materials added up, sending my balance up from usual by hundreds of dollars. With that much money, I probably could have made a nice short trip for myself, saving all the hassle. I promised myself to make sure not another soul would know about this . . . ever.
