Departing
the airport, I was awash in the sense of travel. A new place, a new smell of humid sea air
punching you in the face as the electric sliding doors of the baggage claim exit
whirred. It was about 10 pm local and
black as night out, I was immediately filled with sense of relaxation as I
asked a near by security which way the rental buses were....'over there brah,
they should come in a bit.' After a
short ride to the rental car agency, I walked in to the greeting of ALOHA! by
three attendants, they were happy and relaxed with a no hurry shuffle about
them. Of course I was asked to upgrade
to which I politely declined, then set off to the Airport after a few tips of
local bars from the attendants.
This
is where things get a bit weird, first Honolulu is apparently and alien nation devoid
of legible street signs and directions.
By the graces of GPS I was able to find my hotel after circling it like
an Indian tribe around western wagons I finally found a parking garage entrance. Pulling in to the garage a woman about twice
the size of me (Samoan) fumbled around like the jolly green giant passing me a
parking pass which looked like a postage stamp in her catcher mitt sized hands,
I was intimidated. Strolling in to the lobby,
I was reminded of the 1970s a bit of shaggish carpet decorated by Aloha wearing
security guards and clerks. Oh, crowding
the lobby was what I thought to be an evacuation of Japan at least 40 Japanese
tourists whom all seems to have some sort or another electric device surgically
implanted to their hands. After checking
and settling into a room that must have seemed like a lavish palace 40 years
ago, so much so it would never, ever need to be updated ever again. I decided to get out and get my bearings,
explore a few pubs at 11:30 on a Tuesday....genius idea! I walked for a bit and was shocked to see
ladies of the night, sirens of ocean, on almost every corner. Obliviously because of my good looks (or
non-hobo looking attire) I was asked if I wanted company/a date/a good time/a
life changing hour and such from about 4 women and 2 very manly looking women
(shims). I finally found a decent sounds
pub with a que, "Moose McKinneys Macrobarbery..." or something like
that, I hop in the que. Now understand
it's late, I'm not at the top of my game, so I don't immediately notice I'm
approximately a decade older than most patrons here...and am not sporting a
high and hooah (or marine Mohawk). I pay
the $10 cover (who has a cover any more!) and launch immediately up the stairs
to a packed house, I'm think sweet dear jesus a drink! After a short arm scratching, dying of thirst,
wait at the bar I'm happy to see it's Two Dollar Tuesdays....it was like a
present from the beer gods. So I grab a
drink and start to slowly squeeze my way through the room (it had more people
in it than I'm usually comfortable with) the dance floor was hopping and I was
a bit to sober to enjoy the tinny speakers blasting Gangnum style like it was
going out of style. Finally establishing
a perch like the English claiming an island, I'm able to survey things a bit
more. I felt like I was accidently led
on to a screening party for some flash trash shooting of Jersey
shore...Hawaiian style. Hawaiian style
for this place being not a single native, but a bunch of 21 year old women
swearing, grinding, and throwing themselves at marines/soldiers/jocks for a two
dollar beer. I don't mean to sound dour,
there are some nights when I enjoy places like this, (like a lion finding a
gaggle of sick and lame llamas) but this is not one of those nights. I just want a nice chill pub to relax away
the 18 hours of travel I've just endured (well really explored and drank
through), so I depart after 20 minutes squeezing past 90's babies with a
headache growing in each step....I felt old.
Wtf! I felt old, I'm
motherfreaking Peter Pan man, Banger-rang! I shouldn't feel old....let me
re-phrase that, I was in culture shock and much more classy then them. Now while there was an Irish pub across the
street it seemed to be a bit two packed for my tastes, and the puking girls
next to the hot dog stand kind of put me off.
So I decided to wander about a bit then head back to the room for a
short nap before making some calls.
There
are a few times I have let the words of a woman get to me in my life, the
following is one of them. While
wandering back to the hotel, I thought I'd dip my stinky (yes they did smell, I
was wearing shoes for a full day!) in to the ocean in hopes of killing a
shark. On a corner across from the beach
stood a small gaggle of prostituti (that's plural for prostitutes) where as one
asked if I'd like a date; why yes prostitute let me court you and share your
life of disease...no it's cool I support your work baby, I wouldn't mind you if
you keep working while we date it's an income right?...what a weird way to
phrase "would you like to pay me for use of my mouth." Another desolate lady of the lagoon stood
apart from the rest. Don't think of that
phrase as a romantic one, by any means, perhaps she was an outcast due to a bad
gas problem or had really bad halitosis?
She called out to me with a voice crisp and clear (devoid of the gruff
undertone of man) "Hey baby"....my reply "Yes?"..."Why
are you in paradise alone?" A quick
realization hit me, I'm 31 and alone in paradise for an undetermined amount of
time, this isn't a vacation. I honestly
couldn't even respond, and how could this seerer of ceiling cut so straight to
the heart of my life? I shuffled away
without response.
I'm
self sufficient, independent (through long years of lonely missions and
travels), and responsible to the point it might be a fault. I'm not too shabby looking and for what I
don't have in looks I make up in wit, intelligence, and humor....but I still
couldn't fathom a response to a prostitute as to how my life has lead me to
being alone. I know that my decisions
are my own and this is a choice of mine and mine alone, but why then does it
feel like there's an injustice? Am I
really hurting myself by holding out for someone that can provide more than
love to me....someone that I feel complete with and am able to lose myself in
love again? Screw you prostitute. After a brief moment of rest on the beach I
head back to the hotel for a night of restless sleep.
In my
most desolate moments I have always prevailed by picking out the best part of
my situation and holding it above all others as an....least this is cool. That object, my friends, the next morning was
a pineapple. Not just any pineapple, no
a pineapple of GOLD! Well gold color at
least, coolest lamp ever....a pineapple gold immlunator of the dark that has
probably seen more debauchery than a grandfather, stood glowing in the corner
of my tropical papered room. I will
return to steal said lamp before my journey concludes, hence I will not reveal
the name of this hotel until after it’s in my possession.
First
day of my working vacation was pretty chill, a lot of work in a lot of sun...I
left fully charged with vitamin D (if you live in a dark area i.e.
Europe...take a supplement trust me!) and a lobster colored tan glowing not
only my cheeks but nose as well. There
is so much turmoil and unexpected paths in my near future I'm trying to focus
my gold pineapple light on the small things so the bigger things seem
distant.....oh Jameson, will you help me?
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