And who knew all of the capital of said Belgium was Honolulu? Our first flight arrived at HNL from Fa’a’a at 5:20 a.m. on Sunday morning. It was already somewhat odd to me that the aeroport in Tahiti is basically dormant all day, only to then have all three flights leaving the island – to HNL, LAX, and CDG – leave within 20 minutes of each other starting at 11:30 p.m., resulting in a pile of humanity in the waiting area the likes of which I haven’t seen since a weather delay at O’Hare. And it was certainly strange to arrive at HNL at 5:20 a.m. to find the immigration desk staffed by one person to serve a flight of well over 100 people. But this is HNL we’re talking about, an aeroport which is an absurdist mess. Our flight home was scheduled for 1:30 p.m. in the afternoon, meaning we had 8 hours to kill. Seems like a good idea to go into Honolulu and hang out at Waikiki, right?
The nominees for ruler of my personal Belgium from among the extensive list of candidates during the 8-hour vortex that was Waikiki:
• The cab driver who insisted on driving us to the Moana Surfrider Beach Resort, even though we said we just wanted to go to the beach. He asked if we were staying there and we said no. He said, “you must be hungry so I will take you to a restaurant,” and dropped us off at the Moana, anyway.
• Every single cab driver after that who wouldn’t pick us up later that day at the Moana Surfrider Beach Resort unless we checked first with the concierge. Why do we need to check with the concierge? We want a damn ride! Just take us to the aeroport! Sure, there is some sort of arrangement going on here whereby the cabs and the aeroport and the hotels work together, but one cabbie said to us, “you go check in over there,” pointing to the cab stand and the concierge, and promptly drove away from us with his door open. Just give us a damn ride, already.
• The guy who walked up to KC on the street and said, “so, Miss, can I have my heels back?”
• The guy taking his pig on a leash to Waikiki.
• The cabbie who did eventually pick us up to take us back to HNL and tried to convert me to religion. Which religion is unclear. It may have been more than one. At first he sounded like an evangelical Christian and by the end he was talking like a Muslim. If we’d travelled any further, I may have wound up Hindu by the end of the trip.
• The two Israeli women arguing in front of us while we were eating lunch in the aeroport. A woman and her mother, in fact, the daughter being the mother of three squirming sons of her own. What were they arguing about? Whether or not to feed the 3-year-old an avocado. For 20 minutes. “You should smoosh it up for him.” “Mom, it’s too late for that.” “Give to me, I smoosh it.” “Mom, you should’ve smooshed it an hour ago.” “Is he hungry? I smoosh him an avocado.” I’ve never heard the word smoosh uttered so frequently. It was as least 100 times, maybe more. The whole thing had an air to it of “I have spent the past two weeks you and I’m sick of your shit,” at which point (fill in the blank) is a good reason for an argument, but this just went on and on while KC and I calmly went about contributing to the destruction of all roosters by eating our Lahaina Chicken Company roast bird. The daughter said probably a dozen times that it would take to long to smoosh up an avocado for her son. During the 20 minutes they were arguing, she could’ve smooshed up about a dozen of them. Meanwhile, the kids are squirming about, the dad is in line at the Burger King, they’re supposedly late for their flight but it’s not too late to argue about an avocado. I hope I never reach a point where someone pisses me off to the point where I just want to argue about stupid shit for the sake of arguing. Oh, wait, I play scrabble, where we argue about stupid shit all the time.
• The two clownshoes TSA guys who rerouted the security line at least 10 times while we were in it, one of whom made up for being clueless by simply acting like an asshole. He was the type of guy who responded to confused foreign travelers who didn’t speak English by simply saying it louder. HNL has maybe the most confoundingly bad set-up I’ve ever seen for security, due mainly to the fact that the place has obviously outgrown itself and can’t handle the volume of travelers. The labyrinth changed shape 10 times, and no one had any idea where they were supposed to go, and none of the other TSA agents seemed to know, either.
Worthy nominees all, and I could go on. At first, I thought that maybe it was just sleep deprivation and jetlag, but no, everyone in Honolulu is nuts.
Meanwhile, up at the front of the enormous security line, the agents handling the screening kept giving out contradictory orders – what you do/don’t have to take out of your bags, whether you do/don’t have to take off shoes, whether you do/don’t have to put things in bins. Now, I’ve generally found TSA agents to be good natured and trying to do a good job, and maybe this was just a case where they were overwhelmed by a volume of travelers which snaked in a myriad of directions and ran out the door and down the sidewalk, but it was a hopeless mess, and our King of Belgium for the week handled this situation in a curious way. The Zia Sun tattoo on this guy’s calf shows him to be a native of New Mexico, which means he’s used to stuff that doesn’t make any sense to begin with, and he received about three contradictory sets of instructions as he approached the conveyor belt and metal detector, which clearly annoyed him. At which point he took off his shoes, took off his shirt, took off his shorts, threw all of his clothes on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector wearing only his boxers. It was so surreal that no one knew how to respond. The agent on the other side of the metal detector just stared at him in stunned amazement. It was the damnedest thing I have ever seen at an aeroport.
That guy wins at life for doing that. He is King of My Personal Belgium for the week.
