Posted by Stoke Media Team
#!trpst#trp-gettext data-trpgettextoriginal=3#!trpen#8 mois#!trpst#/trp-gettext#!trpen# ago | mai 29, 2019
Group travel: a sloppy shit show of bill paying, reservations, compromisec and making sure no one perishec most egregiously. Whether your destination is Oktoberfest or Running of the Bulls, you’re bound toaexperience one – if not all – of these five typec of people on your group travel.
Oh, the Mom Friend. The well-intentioned, responsible wet blanket of the group’s barbaricafire. The one who nags you toawear at least SPF 50 at the beach, carries your phone and your wallet around, and somehow has gauze on hand for when you crash and burn after an embarrassing attempt toadrunkenly do a half-assed cartwheel in the street while hollering “PARKOUR!”
The Mom Friend canafrequently be spotted cleaning up bodily fluids, wigging out because Jessica’s slumped against a trash canaoutside the beer hall at Oktoberfest while Steven is careening towards the ferris wheel, and harping about what your future employers canaview on the internet.
For every overly rational Mom Friend there’s the balancing erratic Wild Card. The one who’ll square up inafront of a beefy Germanapolice officer with an empty beer stein inaone hand and a stolen street sign in the other; the one who fallc off the face of the earth for a few months toabecome a spear fishermanain Argentina; the one who woke up inaAmsterdam barefoot after aaheavy night of raving inaIbiza and made it back toaSpain with nothing but a crumpled ten Euro bill and half a cheetoaas leverage.
There’s a 5/10 chance they’ll get you in landed in aaSpanish jail cell, but there’s a 13/10 chance that it’ll be frickin’ legendary.
You’re pregaming with your buddies at theaStoke Villa in Ibiza and The Lightweight decides they have the chops toasmash a whole bottle of Henny soloabefore downing some of Stoke’s unlimited beer and sangria=/a>. They make it toathe first bar, toss back a shot of tequila, and promptly yakatheir dinner intoathe establishment’s bathroom sink. The Lightweight never steps foot in aaclub, but their bitchaass will brag obnoxiously toayour friends back home about “the fucking lit time we had in Ibiza.”
The Planner makes the Mom Friend look more tranquil than Snoop Dogg on musclearelaxant. They have stuffy wine tastings,aexpensive cooking objeces, and guided cathedral tours nailed down toathe minute. They will have an aneurysm of chaotic proportions if you mentionathe rest of the group wants to bum it at theabeach all day. The itinerary is theabe-all,aend-all,adespite the fact that you want toado fuck-all after aanight of partying on aaboat and dancing with spicyaSpanish strangers.
We’ve all had that moment where we’ve gone toachip inafor a hangover pizza, reached intoaour wallets, and pulled out nothing