(type: amazing ... a second person account)

Ed: You may remember "Hawaii Mike" from a previous entry. This guy just seems to attract bad karma sometimes, but he always gives it a run for its money.

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Mike left his Subaru station wagon in a Hilo parking lot one day while he walked to the Subway across the street to grab a sandwich. The trusting Hawaii vibe had apparently gone to his head because he left not only his beloved dog Jymbae in the back seat, but also the car keys in the front. After a few minutes in line Mike noticed a suspicious man with a backpack walk past the car while looking inside, then walk back, open the door, throw his bag in and sit down in the driver's seat. Mike bolted.

He was just able to jump into the car's back seat before the offender backed out. Maybe "backed out" isn't an appropriate description. Mike had spent his first couple of seconds in the car shouting expletives at the driver and alternately kicking at his head and gear-shifting hand. So in this case "backed out" actually means "careened across the lot and smashed into another car." Mike spent another second or two face/hand kicking before the thief managed to get the car into drive and smash into a second parked car, then plummet the wrong way down a one-way street, banging into another car or two along the way and causing pedestrians to dive for safety. The Battle of Subaru was not going well.

So Mike decided to cut his losses and told the man to just stop and let him out. When the car stopped, he pushed Jymbae out into the street and then dove out himself before the wagon peeled away. Mike then proceeded to shout for help, which would certainly have been more effective had Jymbae, in a confused panic, not started to bark, growl and bite Mike in the ass. It took a bit of explaining to the next passerby to make it clear that Jymbae was not the problem.

Mike got one last glimpse of his car as it barreled down a main street, well out of reach. By this time the police were on the case, but as it happens, Hawaii state law prevents law enforcement officers from chasing criminals at high speeds, so apprehending the deranged felon took a bit more time than it otherwise might. But apprehend him they did and Mike's cracked-up Subaru was eventually returned. Let's all hope Mike took some cynicism away from the ordeal. No keys or family members left in the car. Ever.

Posted by Whit at 11:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

(type: funny, bizarre ... a second person account)

Ed: I met Felicia at a bar last week and knew that such a well-traveled person would have to have a hum-dinger story for me. I was right.

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Felicia has never "gone wild," at least not in the sleazy late-night-TV sense. But in her 25 years she has done a great deal of traveling, spending no less than a month every year in myriad locations east and west of the US. Most of these adventures have been made solo, but her 2002 trip to Europe included her best friend Tia, and unfortunately for her, it also included two boys named Matt.

Tia had a boyfriend back home with whom she was hopelessly in love and (much to the annoyance of Felicia) was constantly fawning over (read: daily "no, I miss YOU more" phone calls). During a train ride on the final leg of their three month backpacking trip, the pair met the aforementioned Matts, both of whom had the same birthday (Felicia and Tia also noted that they had never seen anyone get up so many times to "primp" on a train, and that they carried a disproportionate amount of luggage). It should also be noted that one of the Matts in question bore a striking resemblance to Tia's loverman. Jot this down for later reference.

As it turned out, the two pairs were both destined for the small coastal town of Lagos, Portugal. The Mattsey Twins were apparently tolerable enough to room with, because the girls agreed to do so when it became apparent that their limited funds and hotel options made such a sacrifice necessary. Their lodgings were the top room of the home of a sweet old woman who spoke not a word of English (did I mention that none of the travelers spoke a word of Portuguese?).

Fast forward a couple of nights and the foursome managed to get themselves thoroughly drunk after some chain margarita guzzling, which in turn led to a face sucking contest between Tia and her boyfriend-shaped proxy. By this time Felicia had had enough, so she left the house and ambled toward the pier. Once she got there she realized that she desperately had to pee, and since there were no facilities nearby, she eased down a ramp leading to the water, dropped trow and bent over to relieve herself. And fell in.

Needless to say, Felicia was not a happy camper. She had no desire to rejoin the company of the annoying trio, so instead she walked down to the beach, where she draped her soaked jeans over the bow of a boat on the shore and laid down in the sand to wait for them to dry. And fell asleep.

Felicia woke up the next morning with half of her face buried in the sand and the other half thoroughly sunburned. And her jeans were gone. And her wallet was in her jeans. And so was her house key. So dressed in nothing but a shirt and panties (don't forget the vertical sunburn), Felicia walked back through the small, conservative town of Lagos on that beautiful Sunday morning, eliciting countless "for shame" head shakes from the local churchgoers (no doubt they assumed she had gone wild the night before). Add one more shame stare from the little old innkeeper, who had to have not one but two new keys made because, naturally, Tia had also managed to lose her key on the same night (though probably in less bizarre circumstances).

It has to be assumed, since so many more daring travels have followed, that Felicia at least learned to be more careful with her drinking. And her pants. And her sleeping locations. And maybe her roommates. No Matts. Ever.

Posted by Whit at 11:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)