Letters From The Loft
Stuff From The Desk Of Chuck Thornton
Chuck And Sue And Ken And Deborah On The Big Island
PART SIX
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I don't want to give the impression that the lovely and talented Susan and Deborah were just cooling their heels the whole time that Ken and I were reliving Adventures In Paradise and Seahunt. They snorkeled with us in the Hilton Lagoon and at Kealakekua Bay, and were with us during all the dining excursions I've recounted previously in horrifying detail. When they weren't with us they were doing boring stuff like visiting coffee farms, schmoozing with parrots, or laying around the pool.
For example, here they are hanging out in the lobby of the hotel:
Not exactly the most candid of poses. Most of my photographic subjects tend to have that glazed-over Mystery Of The Wax Museum look in their eyes, probably because it takes me a couple of minutes to locate the right camera button, make sure my lens cap is off, discover that I need to change the batteries, take a restroom break, and position my fingers well away from the front of my camera.
The hotel lobby was a strange indoor/outdoor type of affair...
That's Sue and Deborah in the distance way over on the right, trying desperately to get out of camera range. This is sort of what you see after you enter the lobby front doors and my first reaction was to wonder why there were lobby doors at all. It's sure not to keep the birds out. In fact, the lobby was lousy with parrots. For example, here's a picture of Deborah with one:
Some of you know-it-all Audubon Society types might point out that this isn't a parrot, and you could be right. But it's close enough, and, as you can see, it just hangs out on an open perch there in the lobby. There's nothing between it and the guests, should one day it crack from the incessant inquiries about its desire for crackers (in the bird kingdom, this is known as "going carrier-pigeon").
There were other similar perches scattered throughout the lobby, and even a guy walking around with his own personal parrot:
This isn't some guy who made a wrong turn on his way to Petsmart; he actually works for the resort. I thought an eye patch would be an appropriate part of the uniform, and the addition of that accessory will probably happen on the inevitable day that his green-feathered friend gets tired of eating out of a cup and goes for the face.
Parrot Guy makes a living by taking picture of folks who find these vicious little creatures fascinating... folks like my wife:
Sue can pretty much make friends with anybody; even flying reptiles with eyes as dead as Russian crime boss. I believe Deborah had a similar picture taken also, but I couldn't locate it, so you'll just have to take my word for it that she survived the encounter.
You may have gathered that parrots creep me out a little. It's not a full-blown phobia, but I still don't want to hang around them. I'm even a little uncomfortable in Disneyland's Tiki Room, and there they have the good sense to stuff the critters full of behavior-modifying hardware.
We spent one day driving to the other side of The Big Island. The resort is on the west coast, and there's lots of pretty stuff there like snorkeling beaches and coffee farms and sunsets, but much of the west side is paved with a jumble of volcanic rock, making it look a lot like my back yard after a barbecue:
As I've mentioned before (way back in Part One), that peak in the distance is Mauna Kea, the active volcano responsible for the landscaping you see here. On the other side of it is the eastern part of the island, which is full of greenery and waterfalls. I don't know why Mauna Kea decided to belch its contents away from the east side... maybe there's some sort of geological rail that it leans over whenever it erupts.
At any rate, we made a day-trip over to the east side to sight-see, an activity that Ken considers about as recreational as a colonoscopy. After the first 40 minutes of the drive, he realized the trip was really going to happen, and took off his mask and snorkel .
We saw a lot of neat stuff, even if we didn't make it down to the south end of the island where the warm lava is served. We went up as far as we could on Mauna Kea to get a look at the crater:
Okay, granted, this picture makes it look like a concrete quarry on a busy day (which is why I dressed it up by flanking it with a couple of models), but it's pretty impressive in real life. Fortunately, we weren't there on the day of the human sacrifices.
We persuaded Ken to make the hike back to the unfortunately-named Akaka Falls:
It was a good opportunity to take a picture of my traveling companions with a scenic backdrop:
You've probably gathered that there are some minimum standards that have to be met by any hiking trail that I patronize. The railings and pavement at Akaka Falls were first-rate, so I relaxed my requirements of no more than a 5% incline without an escalator. I was able to get an additional picture of my friends:
It's a good picture of them... nature makes a wonderful setting, as long as the photographer snaps the picture before any fire ants or wild parrots can engulf the subjects.
I've already filled you in on the high and low points of that day; namely, the visits to the Tex Drive-in and Hulie Sue's. We also checked out some other points of interest, like lava tubes, curio shops, and local post offices, but you can only endure so much excitement so I'll spare you the details. Instead I'll finish this memoir by recounting "The Incident".
We call it "The Incident" because it's less cumbersome than saying "Ken's car rental counter encounter" and besides, we've agreed never to speak of it again. I'm violating that agreement now, so please don't tell Ken (and Ken, if you're reading this, please ignore it). I wasn't present for the relevant events that occurred before The Incident, but luckily Ken gave me those details just before the actual Incident, when we weren't yet aware that it would result in a subsequent non-disclosure agreement... which I'm now violating.
We really didn't need a car for our entire Hawaiian visit, so we waited till the first time we knew we were leaving the resort grounds to arrange a car. Like many big hotels, the resort has a mall-like area consisting of various shops and service providers, and, like the lobby, all have open-air storefronts so that guests and parrots can come and go as they please. A name-brand car rental agency is a part of that set-up. We'll call the agency Jalopy Rent-A-Car (the use of an alias gives you an idea of the direction this is heading).
Ken tried to arrange the car rental in advance. He called down to the car rental desk from his room, and, after a few busy signals, eventually connected with a lady who asked him if he would hold. After Ken agreed, it became apparent that either the agency's phone didn't have a "hold" button, or the training class on utilizing that cutting-edge piece of phone technology hadn't yet reached Jalopy's Big Island branch. Ken could hear the phone handset being set down on the counter, and for the next fifteen minutes, listened to the rental agent deal with someone there in the office. A good portion of this conversation was advising the renter on the benefits of electing the insurance option, a much-needed add-on in Hawaii, where 90% of all lava flows carry no insurance.
After a while, it was clear that the agent had forgotten Ken was "on hold" (and within earshot), so Ken gave up and figured he'd have a better chance of success in person, where waving his arms, clearing his throat, and feigning an epileptic seizure might attract more attention.
So on the morning in question, all four of us met up outside our rooms and made our way down to the front of the resort together. The ladies peeled off in the direction of the lobby to hang out with the parrots, and we promised to give them a ring as soon as we had procured our transportation at the Jalopy counter. It wasn't a big operation... just a room behind a set of sliding glass doors along the open-air walkway that led to the lobby. When Ken and I arrived, the sliding glass doors were open and there were three people inside: a couple of customers and the Jalopy agent, whom we'll call Darla (not her real name).
As we got in line, Ken knew right away that Darla was also the person who had previously given him the telephonic "time out". Even if he hadn't recognized her voice, her manner of speech was unmistakable. Darla was a "slow talker"... someone who very carefully and deliberately delivers every word of every sentence. If you've ever taken an old Chipmunks record, designed to be played at 33⅓ RPM, and played it back at 16 RPM so that you hear Ross Bagdasarian (the voice of David Seville and all three Chipmunks) talking very slowly, so that the speeded-up Chipmunk voices will come out at an understandable conversational rate of speed... well, then you'll get an idea of how Darla communicated. (And sorry if I've left out an entire generation or two with that illustration). If you talked with Darla, there was no chance of misunderstanding her, but there was the danger of slipping into a coma before she reached the end of her thought. Think Eeyore on pain medication.
It was obvious that Darla was the only one manning Jalopy Rent-A-Car's Hawaiian outpost, which accounted for the framed needlepoint sampler on the wall that read "Prompt service is worth waiting for." I was keeping a close eye on my friend. Ken has built his business by aggressively applying the Golden Rule to his customers, and tends to express his disappointment when encountering other businesses that don't at least strive for the same standard. So I knew this could get ugly.
When we walked in, the guest Darla was helping was a Japanese national with a limited command of English. You would think that Darla's speech pattern would be well suited for avoiding any misunderstanding. But this particular language barrier was higher and wider than most. This excerpt from the exchange gives you an idea of its progression:
DARLA (please insert three dots between each word): They'll pull the car up to the front of the hotel for you. You can pick it up there. Just go through the lobby front doors.
GUEST: Thank you. Where is my key?
DARLA: They need the key to pull the car up to the front of the hotel. They will give you the key when you meet them at the front of the hotel.
GUEST: Ah, I see. Where is my car?
DARLA: It's being pulled up to the front of the hotel.
GUEST: Thank you. Does it have fuel?
DARLA: Yes, it has a full tank. Just bring it back with a full tank, or else we'll have it filled after you return it for an extra charge.
GUEST: Thank you very much. Do I need to buy fuel?
DARLA: You only need to buy what you use. We fill the tank before we give it to you.
GUEST: Very good. Where is my car?
DARLA: It's being brought to the front of the hotel. It's probably there by now.
GUEST: Good. I will take my key now.
And so it went. The logistics were finally straightened out, but then Darla, exercising a conscientious adherence to company policy and absolutely no good judgment, started explaining the value of purchasing insurance. I think better communication could have been achieved through musical notes or prime numbers than was accomplished with the English language as wielded by Darla and this guest.
In order to amuse myself and take my mind off the visibly-throbbing vein in Ken's forehead, I started talking to the gentleman standing between us and the Japanese man (who was currently on the line with the embassy). I was relieved to find he spoke English, although it was that funny kind of English spoken by English people. Turns out he was there for the Pokémon tournament, accompanying his son, who (at least according to this man) was the reigning Pokémon champ of Great Britain, and who would probably be knighted if he pulled off a victory here in Hawaii. He told us about the process of winning the English Pokémon title, highlights of their trip to Hawaii; and their plans for today after they picked up their reserved rental car. Every time Pokémon was mentioned, the Japanese man looked around hopefully to see if there might be an interpreter handy.
Since I was talking to Pokémon-Dad, I kind of lost track of the interaction between the Japanese man and Darla, but some sort of resolution was achieved that didn't involve nukes, because eventually Darla called Pokémon-Dad up to the counter. I was encouraged because a) Ken hadn't yet hung himself from the nearest light fixture; and b) I anticipated that Darla wouldn't have to spend much time with Pokémon-Dad, since the car was already reserved and there wouldn't be any language issues between the two.
And there wasn't. Almost immediately, it was determined that Pokémon-Dad had made the reservation on Jalopy's American website, rather than their international website, and the whole thing would have to be re-done in excruciating detail.
At this point we were into our second hour there. Sometime during the process, the lovely and talented Sue and Deborah had run out of things to say to the lobby parrots and had decided to see what diversion had kept us from joining them. Ken pointed out that so far he had exercised considerable restraint. He hadn't yet started pounding his head against the wall, and, although he had audibly used the phrase "Kill me now" on at least two occasions, there was no condescending sarcasm detectable in his tone. I told him I admired his sincerity. Then he came to a realization:
"This will end up in your travel journal, won't it?"
"I think that's a sure thing," I replied.
"You're going to be merciless, aren't you?"
"Afraid so. It can't be helped. In fact, if it takes any pressure off now, I should tell you: no matter how well you acquit yourself, I'll make it look bad in the journal, even if I have to make things up. In fact, I'll probably make things up even if I don't have to."
He nodded and it seemed as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. We eased into the next millennium as Darla segued into offering Pokémon-Dad insurance, and eventually the day arrived when Darla sent the Englishman on his way and Ken stepped up to the counter.
The best defense is a good offense, so Ken started the exchange: "Hi, Darla. Listen, I understand that besides renting cars, you're required to be an insurance salesman, but since Jalopy Rent-A-Car has already stolen over an hour and half of my life that's non-refundable, let me save some of my future by letting you know that under no circumstances am I interested in insurance. Don't bother offering it to me, or even explaining its benefits. I have insurance. I just want to rent a car."
Darla didn't bat an eye. I'm guessing that this wasn't her first bout with Frankenstein Syndrome, where she had to deal with a monster she created. She may have been a slow-talker, but she apparently had a ready arsenal of counter-moves, and she deftly parried Ken's opening gambit. Nimbly sidestepping the insurance issue, she said (slowly), " Oh, dear, let me check... " she tapped the keys on the computer at about the same rate that a prize-fight referee counts to ten... "yes, I'm afraid there's nothing available unless you have a reservation."
There was a pause. And then something remarkable happened.
Folks have long observed that the animal kingdom often exhibits an extra-sensory awareness of its surroundings, with some animals picking up or sharing the emotional state of nearby humans. We've all heard the stories about bears being able to sense fear; or horses getting restless for reasons that only become apparent later; or dogs sensing an intruder; or zoo monkeys instinctively knowing how to gross humans out.
Up until that moment, I was skeptical about some sort of "sixth sense" where a human's heightened emotional state apparently affects nearby animal behavior. But, at the very moment that Ken and Darla stood eye-to-twitching-eye, in the pregnant pause while Ken was absorbing Darla's statement of a reservation requirement, a little bird flew headlong into the Jalopy Rent-A-Car office and slammed against the mirrored back wall. I'm not an Audubon guy, so I don't know what kind of bird it was, but here's a picture I had taken earlier at one of the resort's coffee counters:
There's a heavy population of these little guys at the resort, and they seem pretty well-adjusted... well enough that they have coffee with the guests every morning. But somehow, the unfortunate little bird near the Jalopy office that day had channeled the intense psychic vibrations emanating from the rental car counter and perfectly illustrated, in one literal fell swoop, the drama that had been unfolding here in the last couple of hours.
Startled, we all watched as the bird picked himself up off the ground, brushed himself off, and staggered out of the office with as much dignity as he could muster. Some might have expected Ken to follow the bird's lead... but not me. I knew my friend better than that. He allowed the bird to exit and gain a safe distance from the emotional sphere of influence, then turned his attention back to Darla.
"Darla," he said, "honest, I'm not trying to be difficult, but maybe you'd better check again. I don't think too many people have reserved cars, because I myself have tried to reserve one in the past 24 hours and couldn't get anyone to talk to me. "
"I'm sorry if the lines were busy, but..." Darla started, but her slow rate of talking made her easy to interrupt.
"I'm sorry if I'm not being clear," Ken said. "I could connect. I could eavesdrop while I was on hold--- in fact, I feel like I knew you even before I stepped in here... my goodness, was it two hours ago? So unless I'm special... and I don't feel like I've been treated that way so far... I've got to assume that anyone calling to make a reservation ran into the same problem as me. So could you check again? I just can't believe a big company like Jalopy doesn't have access to a car we can rent for at least today."
Unspoken but implied was: Even if they have to rent it from someplace else. Or we have to borrow yours.
As his friend for many years, I've been through similar (though less-intense) scenarios involving Ken and customer service. At this point, he usually gives the representative a chance to become the hero. But I don't think Darla struck him as the type to step into some long johns and shout "up, up, and away", so he followed up immediately with DefCon 2:
"I understand if this is something you can't deal with at your level, and I'll be happy to talk with your supervisor, or someone at the hotel who's responsible for this place, who's able to help me."
Darla looked at him for a couple of beats. It was hard to read her. Perhaps she was wondering if there was anything other than a couple of Samoans that could get this guy out of her hair. Perhaps she was wondering if she should hand Ken over to someone higher up who could arrange to have him thrown into a nearby crater. Or maybe there were no higher-ups and this was a one-Darla operation and she was calculating how Ken would react if she told him that. Or perhaps she was thinking about the bird, and wondering if Ken could summon locusts or toads.
Whatever her thoughts, they caused her to go back to her computer, clack a few keys, and say, "Well, maybe if you're not limited to economy---"
"We're not," Ken interjected.
"--- we might have something. Here we go. I'll print out the paperwork."
And that was that. We had the car. No insurance. Darla gave us the paperwork and said "Aloha," which is supposed to mean both "hello" and "goodbye" but probably has a 3rd meaning judging by the way she said it.
At some time during the exchange, some other customers had stepped in, and were no doubt wondering why the room had the vibe of a high-level drug deal where one of the briefcases was empty, but there was nothing we could have said to prepare them for Darla. We left the Jalopy office. On a nearby bench outside, the bird was sitting, still shaking off the effects of his run-in with the wall. Ken walked over, slipped him a few bucks, then gave him a high five. The next day, the story had spread to the lobby... all the parrots were talking about it.
Out in front of the hotel, the car was waiting for us. I can't remember what kind of car it was, but as I recall, it wasn't real flashy or upscale. And we had no trouble keeping it for the other days when we needed a car.
Which, of course, raises the question: what was Darla up to? Did she give us somebody else's car? Or were there always cars available, but she didn't want to give us one because she had sized us up before we got to the counter? Or was she really just mistaken about no cars being available? It's questions like this, along with the appeal of poi, that make the islands so mysterious and exotic.
This concludes the Hawaiian trip journal. Of course, it doesn't represent everything we did during the week-long trip, but by now, you readers would probably greet another chapter with the same reaction as if you saw me breaking out the slide projector or booting up PowerPoint. Then birds would start flying into walls and it would get ugly. So we'll stop here...
... except for me to semi-publicly express my appreciation to Ken and Deborah for the trip. It was a lot of fun. It would have been fun if the island were Alcatraz.. It's very hard for me to explain the dynamic between my friend and me, or the longevity of our friendship. It's certainly not a function of either our nature or our effort. Like all the good things in my life (which boil down to the people in my life), I can look back and see God shoving the pieces around. I'm sure there are a lot of folks who have stayed best friends for 40 years and counting; who simply clicked from the moment they met and found that geography or life's other complications couldn't cause the relationship to fade. But percentage-wise, I bet it's not that common. And from that group, I'll bet that there aren't many who have had it happen as often as it has for me, or were blessed enough to have one of those friends be my wife.... and another one to be Ken. Sorry if that seems maudlin, but it's about the only way I can come up with something that makes me special.
So thanks for coming along on Hawaiian Junket 2010. Now that you've finished, check outside and see if any birds are laying on the ground.