May 31, 2006

Another Reason I Hate To Fly

Forced into Waikiki by a gift certificate for massage services at the Marriott, Kim lured me into joining her by the promise of a walk on the beach followed by my favorite of all things: a catamaran ride. Naturally I fell for it. After a 45-minute stomp on Waikiki Beach yielded little more than chaffed thighs and the near loss of a fabulous new blue hat, I delivered Kim to the massage table and realized that hunger pangs and a desperate thirst could be alleviated across the street at restaurant Tiki’s. I sat myself at an ocean view table, and the waitress approached. Taking my order of a Chicken Caesar Salad and a glass of Pinot Grigio, she asked to see my I.D. I grabbed my wallet and thanked her for saying the nicest thing I’d heard all day. “Oh, you’ve got to be younger than me!” She said, glancing at my license. “…or not.”

I finished my snack, and went to explore our sunset cruise options. Boat by boat I went. $30 per person, free Mai Tais and champagne. $20 per person, $1 Mai Tais and no champagne. $15 per person, and BYOB. Bingo. I collected Kim, we purchased a bottle of champagne, and we were off and sailing.

Shortly upon disembarking, we discovered that the boat was filled with us, a man from Japan, and a Northwest airlines crew who were still well outside the twelve-hour sobriety rule. It didn’t take long for a pilot to jump on Kim like white on rice. Kim’s complete refusal to make eye contact convinced him to prove that flying a plane does not mean you are a smart man. After a series of large swells thoroughly doused those of us sitting in the front of the boat, he sat himself down behind Kim and began his seduction. Interrupting our conversation about launching Kim’s new flying boat, he saw his opening and shot right through. “Guess how big the plane I fly is!” he hotly dared Kim. “I don’t know”, said Kim, without turning around. “Guess!” he said again. “I don’t know.” Kim replied. “Just guess how big my plane is,” he demanded, clearly convinced that the answer would render him completely irresistible. “The size of a humpback whale.” Kim replied, clearly convinced that the pilot was compensating for something. “Ha!” he shouted, “try the size of TWENTY humpback whales!” “Oh.” Kim said, and resumed her conversation with me about her ultralite, science, becoming an astronaut, and anything else we could think of that is generally perceived as masculine. Undaunted, the pilot slid up to Kim’s side. I can see you’re still damp”, he said, referring to the waves that had doused the boat, “down there.” “Ye. He he.” Replied Kim, as she wrapped her towel a little tighter around her waist and slid a little closer to me. The resulting awkward silence continued until the pilot at last turned his attention to the Japanese man. Soon he was talking loudly about his many flights to Kyoto, and Okonomiyaki, the extremely fabulous dish that he, the pilot, knew all about, because you can only get it in Kyoto, where he has flown dozens of times. At last, Kim and I turned to face him. “There’s a great Okonomiyaki place right down the beach,” we told him, “Okonomiyaki Chibo.” As the Japanese man cried out “Yes yes! Okonomiyaki Chibo!” the pilot promptly informed us that he would never bother eating Okonomiyaki in Hawaii, because he flies to Japan, and only if you’ve been to Japan can you understand the superiority of all things Japanese. Kim promptly turned to the Japanese man and began a conversation with him. In Japanese. I turned to the front of the boat and allowed the water view to be far more interesting than anything going on behind me. Her conversation done, Kim joined me. The pilot, encouraged by the fact that Kim would rather talk to a strange man in foreign language than to him, asked us what our plans were for the evening. “Oh,” I said, faking a yawn and a lovely stretch that ended with my arm around Kim, “we’re going to go home, make some dinner, watch a little TV.” The pilot turned to Kim, “ I can see I’m making you uncomfortable.” “Yes.” she said.

“So you’re a professor,” he said, perhaps thinking that continuing to speak would increase her comfort level, “Let me ask you something. Do you ever give someone an C when they really deserved an A?” Picking quickly up on his meaning, I jumped in. “Quite the opposite,” I said, “ she tends to give people a second chance when they really don’t deserve it.” “Oh,” he said, clearly unsure of my meaning, “are you a teacher too?” “Nope.” I replied. Suddenly a look of understanding crossed his face. “You just know her really well?” Steadily meeting his gaze and lowering my voice by a full octave I replied, “ Yes I do.” The boat docked. Kim and I jumped off and ran off before he had time to grab his camera.


Driving home, we couldn’t decide what proved the pilots stupidity more: the sheer audacity of assuming two women alone on with a bottle of champagne on a sunset cruise are gay, or the fact that it took the entire ride for playing the gay card to work.