"It's a leap year tomorrow," Jim said as he cracked open a beer.
"Oh?" It was hard to believe that much time had passed. "Do you even remember the last?" i asked as our tins clicked and we sipped in the heavy morning heat. His eyes glazed in memory as i leaned back into the thick textile of my hammock, and searched my own. "i remember it being being pretty shit"
He concurred. The last long February had definitely sucked. We commiserated over our suds, racing to the bottom of the cans before our drinks warmed and the beers soured. We spoke of what was to come the following day, and how we might mend the past by fixing our future. No ideas came to mind and we concluded that at best we could hunker down and try to avoid the day being another absolute shitshow.
The Twenty-Ninth arrived hot and fast that night, and i struggled to sleep. Tossed and turned in the jungle heat under my single sheet. Unsure why i was so preoccupied with the seemingly insignificant day. It wasn't that i was trying to commemorate the Leap Year so much as i was looking for retribution on behalf of Jim and i. The date was a rarity, a curious, globally agreed upon shift. There was something sweet about it falling on the shortest month, and that its additional day did nothing to equalize it amongst the others.
There had to be a way to celebrate.
Ideas came and went, all incinerated with but a dash of scrutiny. My determination was insatiable, it felt imperative that we have fun, and make the day memorable. The island was quiet this time of week and the hotel/hostel we were running was a little less than half full. Regardless of occupancy, we still housed the most popular bar this side of the mainland. There would be a party, no matter the number of guests, that was obvious. But beyond that i came to no conclusions before i slipped to a restless sleep.
First to rise, i set up the coffee, opened the till, and played some quiet morning music to greet the sun while i prepared for the first guests to arrive for breakfast. As i reviewed our logbook my thoughts kept returning to the date. We had to do something.
An idea sprang all at once. The only reasonable association i had with Leap Years was the children's game (if you could call it that) LeapFrog (and yes, for no reason more than sharing the same word in their titles). i found a fresh page and started drafting. Kids played by hopping over each other in a line. One crouches and the other vaults themselves over using their hands on their friend's back for leverage. They land, tuck down, and their friend continues the pattern as they move forward in a line.
A few taps of my pen against my teeth was all it took to rush the thoughts in. We would race. i strode around the floor and reviewed the sandy grounds envisioning a course. With a few tables moved we'd have a perfect runway from one end to the other. Teams of two could "leap" across the bar in time trials. The idea had merit, though somehow fell short, it was still a bit too childish. A game of leap frog amongst adults would hardly serve to make the Twenty-Ninth a memorable occasion.
As if on cue, Jim entered the chat. He grabbed a coffee and i set off to explain the race. Despite his initial enthusiasm, i could see the light dim in his eyes as i neared the end of my idea. "But here's the catch," the words tumbled out before i knew the direction they were going, "each time you jump over the other person, you have to take a shot."
"That," he paused as the idea digested, "is fucking awesome. We'll all get hammered, and everybody wins!'
"Right! Then party on, and drown away the memories of past leap years."
We began to discuss. It was clear a shot of rum for every jump would absolutely annihilate us. Not wanting to make any hospital trips we needed a fix. Jim was fast with the cocktails, and threw out an idea for shooting a potent punch. It would be cheaper to provide, and no one would die- another win for our plan. He suggested we chuck energy drinks into the mix, i threw the name Go-Go Juice into the ring, we high-fived and moved on as we crafted our monster of an idea.
"We should charge people an entrance fee to join so we don’t go further into debt. Winners could receive a litre bottle of beer each."
"But we're competing," Jim butt in, horrified that i'd excluded us.
"Oh we're definitely competing. And we'll probably win. So in the event that happens, we pass the prize down to second place."
The day progressed and so did our ideas. In the meantime we rallied and recruited as many people as we could into our madness. We even managed to entice a few guests to stay an extra day to celebrate the rare date. Jim created a giant scoreboard with the rules, rows and columns for teams, and race times. Hilarious team names were mandatory. We christened ourselves The Get Up and Get Downs and seized the opportunity for honours of first to sign up.
In one of our party costume boxes, Jim found a referee jersey. Not only did he look phenomenal, and the outfit add validity to our event, but it gave me another idea. "Aren't there a ton of dresses upstairs?" i asked.
"Oh heaps."
i grabbed a shammy, and wiped off the event name. Above our board i rebranded the night: The Drag Races. "New rule, everyone has to cross dress."
"That feels so right."
Rather than muscle cars drag racing in the streets we could perform in drag as we ripped across the bar. Each gender swapping to the other for a little novelty. Armed with timed races, costumes, implied puns, it looked like we had a fighting chance to honour the added calendar date.
By the end of our dinner service we had the entire board filled with teams. Jim and i went to the kitchen and concocted our fuel. Go-Go Juice. A cocktail of energy drinks, copious cheap rum, Fanta, and a splash of orange juice. Potent, and delicious-ish. The price of our potion, and the prize for winners was about a twelfth of the amount of money we'd gathered from entrance fees. Our stupid stunt would take a dent digging us out of the red from the slow season. The game hadn't even begun and we were already winning.
After a five minute warning to our patrons Jim and i prepared the room, shifting our giant, hand crafted wooden furniture to the side. Gorgeous, uncomfortable, heavy, the chairs and tables were the bane of the bar. With some grunts, and few helpful guests we created a massive corridor across the space and a gallery to spectate from.
Together Jim and i corralled the guests around us, many standing up on the furniture, and got the event rolling. First we demonstrated the proper way to jump and how to take a shot off your teammates back, from there we explained the rules. If you dropped the cup, you have to play through, pick it up and try again, regardless if it fell into the sand (we did provide a small wash basin but those seconds would cost time). Jim the Ref would hold the bottle of Go-Go Juice on the team's behalf but you had to pour the shots yourself. If a step was done incorrect, or a leap cheated, you had to do it over. No steps were allowed before the clock started. From there a clean shot poured and taken, the jump up and over, the shot glass passed back, and over again until the finish line was crossed.
Jim did one last round of drink orders while the teams strategized, and i cued the music. That afternoon i had set aside a little time and curated an insane playlist of the heaviest music i knew. Relentless favourites of mine from Converge, Pantera, Botch, Refused, Death Grips, Slayer, as well as a few less brutal, though still intense, distorted grooves by Rage Against the Machine, Death From Above 1979, and the Wipers.
When the drinks and tunes were ready we set up our first racers behind the starting line. The first person crouched like a sprinter, their jumper behind them shot glass in hand, eager to grab the bottle from Jim. i watched for Jim to adjust his cap, and referee jersey, and flash a thumbs up. We were good to go.
Like a circus ringleader i boomed from the centre, reminding everyone to get loud, then rallied them to join me in communal countdown. In unison we started from five, our voices rattling the rafters. After "One!" we screamed "Go!" the timer started, metal pummelled, the first sip poured, shot, and flyer took flight. We were off.
The whole scene felt like belonged in Fight Club, not real life. Primal, animalistic howling cheers of encouragement, loud groans at the falls, unhinged vomiting, uninhibited laughter, high fives, toasts- it was madness. Jim was ruthless as a referee. Catching illegal step overs instead of jumps, faked out shot glass fills, he was a man of the people and stickler for fairness. Even when, by no exaggeration, the biggest tarantula i've ever seen during my time in the tropics, crawled across the sand from beneath the pool table and stopped in the middle of our raceway, Jim made the teams play through. "Its par for the course, jump further for points, and drink for courage."
With every round the fans, and participants got louder and drunker. Some asked for a second attempt, feeling that they could outdo their previous time. Considering that it was their liver, and that we had plenty of Go-Go Juice to spare we kept the party going. We even served complimentary shots to the fans to keep the energy up all around.
From there, i can't say i remember all that much. The bills reflected an enormous night of drinking, and i have a vague memory of giving a pair of well deserving Canadian firefighters the winning beers. Of course no one could compete with the Get Up and Get Downs. Regardless that it was our first time leap frogging, Jim and i were fuelled with a profound unwillingness to lose at our own creation. The next morning i woke up glowing, the remnants of a good time captured with a grin engraved on my face. i don't remember all the team names, but i remember the camaraderie. i remember the smiles, and hysterical laughter. i remember what happened when we looked into the till as the fortunes accumulated.
The next day Jim and i had the pleasure of informing the other staff members what they'd missed on their vacation. It was in their reaction that we realized we'd birthed a new creation. Whether it became a monthly, weekly, bi weekly event or simply when we needed a boost filling the tills and felt like raising a little hell, the games would resume. The Nicaraguan Drag Races were here to stay. Aside from investing in better dresses for our contestants, and adding a shotgunned beer after you crossed the finish line to make things a little spicier on the course, the event remained the same.
The joy of play and silliness, friendly competition, barbaric blood curdling chanting, laughing at each other's ridiculous costumes and hilarious team names, boldness, and bravery still echoes today. Those nights like the scenery outside a speeding car's windows are nothing but blurs. i've come to accept that some of the best nights of my life i'll never, ever, remember.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write