Sunday, April 11, 2010

Living in Paradise

Its Sunday. Normally this is my day to chill. I sleep in (yes!) and decide this is gonna be one of those days when I move my pillows and sheet from the bed to the couch, n then eventually back to the bed again.

I move my stuff. I barely have a chance to sit down when Mo announces she is going out for the day. This means that I will have the house all to myself (not that her presence was bothering me). It also means I will have no car for the rest of the day, and that if I decide at some point that Id like to go somewhere, I will either have to cab it (extremely expensive on this damn island) or walk the 7 minutes or so to the main road to catch a safari (the island version of Syria's "service" or Kenya's "matatu"... here, its basically a truck with several benches where the bed of the truck used to be, that transports up to 20 people at a time from Point A to Point B for a dollar or two around the island. Unless the driver thinks you're a tourist, at which point they will try to get you for $4 or $6, depending on how naive you are). Its a nice, cheap mode of transport, however; the walk, the wait and the frequent stops always make me think twice.

I look at the little fan of window panes at the top of the front door. Its sunny. Looks like itll be a beautiful day out. It looks like a day I should be outside doing something. It looks like Ill regret my decision if I decide to stay at home n lime all day... So I throw on a bikini n a sundress n figure Ill drop Mo where ever she needs to go, n keep the car and find something to do with myself. Tho theres really not a damn thing I can think of that I want to do on this Isand besides lay on the couch n do nothing all day.

As we are headed up Raphune Hill, the car starts to stall. Mo is driving, Im on the phone with a family member who is testing my patience at the moment. The car stops and Mo manages to get it to start again after waiting it out a couple minutes.

"I say we turn back and park it somewhere, or head up to the nearest lot. But to be honest, I dont think its gonna make it up any more hills..."

We drive on. We are trying to make our way up the hill. The car is making some very odd noises we have never heard it make before. I am still on the phone. My patience is nearing its breaking point, btw. The car starts to stall again. There is traffic behind us (of course there's traffic; you'd be surprised how much there is for such a small place).

"Pls dont stop on the hill, pls dont stop on the hill...", I intone while raising my eyes to the heavens.

It stops on the hill. This wouldnt be my life if it didnt.

At this point I am mad as hell. I have kind of just yelled at and abruptly hung up the phone on my family member, who I am now mad at. I am also mad at a man, I am mad at the car, I am mad at St Thomas, Im mad my day is gonna be ruined. I decide I hate everybody.

After waving several cars ahead of us, since we are just sitting in the middle of the lane on an uphill slope with our hazards on, we manage to get the car to a shoulder and park it there. I leave a note sloppily written on an empty envelope I find in my purse, basically informing whichever cop or tow truck decides to pass by that this lovely 1993 piece-of-crap Mazda is overheating and that we will pick it up later tonight. Basically, an unvoiced plea to please not tow our damn car bc that would make me even madder.

Is "madder" a real word? Probably not.

We catch a cab to Red Hook, which is the touristy area of St Thomas, and part ways. I go to a restaurant/bar with the word "Saloon" in it, order a rum punch, light on the rum, and a salad that I have a sneaking suspicion will not be as good as I want it to be.

I am right. I eat half of it, wait 15 minutes while I read a book that I cant concentrate on bc by now, I am just wishing that I had stayed my ass home, and order some mozzarella sticks. Devour those. Still wishing I was at home, and by God, the house is all the way on the other end of the Island, dammit. And I have no car. Home never seemed so far away. I settle my bill and tip the bartender extra bc I was being a pain in his ass, the type of customer I hate to serve.

I head out, and yes, its raining. Still, I figure getting a safari back shouldnt be too hard. I see one. The driver is waiting for passengers and it looks like its gonna take about 37 years for her to fill her truck up, so I keep walking. One, two, three safaris/private taxis pass. Most dont want to go in my direction, and the ones who do want to charge me an exorbitant amount of money I refuse to pay, no matter how tempted I am.

Finally I find a safari. I get on, I make my way to town, get off to run some errands. The driver decides to charge me $2. Uh-oh, getting pissed again. Im SO over this day. I know it should only be $1 and yes, its the principle of the matter; I live here dammit, I shouldnt be charged tourist prices. However, I cant argue over stupid things right now, so I allow him to give me $3 back in change, as opposed to the correct amount of $4, and keep it moving.

My quick errand that is to be followed by watching a scuba DVD at S & D's house in order to wake up at 8am and finish my last day of class so I can get PADI-certified, ends up being a very long errand followed by a pretty uncomfortable nap in my friend's truck while I wait for S & D to get back to the island. I will spare you the mundane details of the 3 or so hours that pass. By now I am so over everything, and to top it off Im getting sick. I want to crawl in bed and go to sleep forever. Since you're not supposed to dive when you're congested, and I have no desire to die at the bottom of the Atlantic tmrw, I decide to cancel my Monday morning scuba class. Im not too happy about this bc I know that once S & D leave the island, it will take me forever to go to that final class by myself. Nonetheless, I cancel.

Miraculously, a friend of mine is going my way and very kindly offers me a ride home. Sweet. I am so glad this day is over...

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