I had to get off the rock.
After going to Walmart 1,376 days in a row, driving around Kona in circles, and watching TV ‘til my skin was grafted to my chair, I had a real case of island fever. I had to get away.
People think you’re crazy to leave Hawaii, but living on a rock in the middle of the ocean can get to you. It’s beautiful here but one day you realize you live on a tiny dot in a vast ocean, upon which you are stuck like an opihi.
You live in a place with 2 roads, one that goes around the island, and the other going over the mountain. When you know every bump on the two roads, it’s time for a vacation.
So you head to the mainland. Your trip is for 7 days, 4 of which will be spent standing in line at the airport, at the airport McDonalds for a $25 burger, in line at the rental car place, the hotel lobby, and then stuck in traffic.
The airport is a real pleasure. You file through gates like a cow in a cattle chute. You get probed like you’re in jail, raise up your hands while they rub that tennis racket gadget all over your body. You pray that some TSA guy doesn’t rip off your wallet from the gray plastic tray, and your shoes get lost on the moving belt.
Walking onto the plane you wobble down the aisle while rows of strangers gaze up at you with blank, judging stares.
You get to your seat where two grumbling travelers have to get up for you to squeeze into the window seat. Sometimes they don’t get up and get to stare at your rear end 3 inches from their face.
There you find that even though the human butt is almost 2 feet wide, sometimes 3, airline seats are only 15 inches wide. And you will sit there for 6 straight hours until your body feels like a pretzel or a slinky.
When you finally squeeze into your tiny seat you bump your neighbor’s elbow, which you will continue to bump 25 times during the flight.
The flight attendant explains how to put on a seatbelt. Excuse me, but if you don’t know how to put on a seatbelt you should not be on the plane.
Then she tells you what to do in a water landing, now there’s a euphemism for you. Plunging to your fiery doom would be more accurate. You wonder how 180 people will fit on the two life rafts.
When you land your elbow is rubbed raw from bumping your neighbor.
But now you’re finally in Bumphuque, Idaho, or Bendover, Washington, the heavenly place you will breathe free and lose your island fever.
Of course this is ridiculous. The whole trip was for nothing. Four days after landing on the mainland you get a bad case of mainland fever. You dream again of beautiful beaches, perfect weather, dazzling sunsets and friendly cops.
You even miss Walmart. So best to stay home and keep saying, Lucky you live Hawaii.
Dennis Gregory writes a bi-monthly column for West Hawaii Today and welcomes your comments at makewavess@yahoo.com.