Friday, June 03, 2005

What a day! 

Today dawned as all weekdays have dawned since my arrival here: I awoke and stumbled into the sunny morning long after the rest of the residents of Dragon's Lair Kona Coffee Farm (www.pendragonhawaii.com).

There, however, the similarites ended. Typically I take a cup of coffee and go sit on the deck to make sure the ocean hasn't moved since the sun receded below the horizon. Today I bypassed this ritual and drank it while watching the news. Getting out of bed was rougher than usual because I woke up mid-dream (I haven't been dreaming lately as far as I know)(the dream had something to do with me playing basketball), which leaves me exhausted every time! As a result, I drank my coffee in the studio to save time.

Rounding the house I was greeted with the sight of 10 beautiful women (they were beautiful to me. Though I haven't seen a female under 50 years old in days so my perceptions may be a bit off kilter) milling about in front of a camera, talking with the owners and the Mute. Yes, he was actually talking! A cameraman saw me and thrust his lens in my face before the shock of nicely smelling female people wore off. I suppose he expected me to say something. All he got was my pre-caffeine droop face gawking at the spectacle. A couple of the girls noticed my arrival, glanced over, then left behind looks of disgust as the twittered off to their friends. Luck was with me, and the camera captured my look of confusion which was replaced by red-faced embarassment. Why was I embarassed? My clothes. Expecting a day of pulling weeds and whacking weeds, I'd worn the same clothes I'd been wearing all week (I wash them on the weekend)-navy pants, a long sleeve blue shirt, bandanna and hiking boots. Not so bad, yes? Post-washing they are fine. But when I slay weeds, the mutilated stalks and shoots hit upon me from head to toe. And since they are wet and I am wet (I sweat like a mutha), they cling fast. Guess a grass-covered man at 9am isn't the object of a model's affections.

Which was fine with me. The vanity and high maintenance in our guests immediately turned my thoughts from pillow fights in chocolate pudding (it took me 2o minutes to come up with that visualization. Once the coffee hit, that reaction time was down to 5 minutes) to wanting their adoring public to see them sweaty and dirty (not the good dirty, but the kind of dirty where you are covered in mud and chicken shite). I was not to be disappointed.

Now that I had arrived, they started the show. The host (a simpering, annoying, ass-licking failed actor as any good host should be) had a brief chat with the hosts about their farm, the work done there, and other banal details. This was followed by a chat with me and the Mute about our daily chores, life on the island, and how incredibly fit and handsome I looked despite the grass covering (the last question was actually off camera. I think the host might not enjoy the same salsa that I do.). Finally the meat and guts was filmed. Literally. One of the 700 cats that run around this place ran up with a half-dead rooster (yes!) in her jaws. The cameraman (a very cool dude) filmed it for giggles and shites. The girls hated it and shrieked. I giggled. The caffeine was kicking in.

A quick segment was filmed showing us preparing the beans and roasting them, to give the public back home a shot of the easy work on the farm. I was filled in by Mark (the cameradude) that this would be to tease the audience; following this clip would be a dramatic shot of weeds and shovels and stuff to entice people to stay with the program a while longer.

The fun soon followed. As we walked down mountain towards the trees, a couple of the girls came over to find out why I was so dirty (and stinky. I always neglect to put on deodorant before working. Hell, why should I care what the chickens think of my stink?). "It keeps away the mongeese and chickens," I told them. Obviously they didn't understand, so I filled them in.

"The mongeese are vicious little weasels and they hate the smell of humans. Usually they run off when they hear or smell us. But it's our natural odor that really freaks them out. Deodorants and perfume and nice smelling things tend to attract them, because who doesn't like something that smells good? I've seen people get bitten after attracting them, and it's not pretty. I don't clean my clothes because then I make sure they stay away. Now the chickens, especially the roosters, can get pretty nasty as well. They are very territorial. Again, the smell thing works on them. The worse you smell, the less inclined they are to try and claw you up. And let me tell you, they can f*ck you up!"

Sensing their inability to recognize my sarcasm (which was laid on pretty thickly), I decided to push my luck.


"Excuse me?"

"Snipes. They are worse than mongeese or chickens. They abhor us. They look a tiny bit like gremlins and are faster than hell. I've had them take the backs off the legs of 2 pairs of my pants without me ever seeing them. You know they're around when you hear a piercing shriek followed by a 'wobba-wobba' noise. Get your back against something solid and watch out if you hear this. They don't come around very often, but you need to be careful when they do."

Hehe. Smiling uneasily, they thanked me and walked off. Leaving me to smirk to myself. Mark had overheard the conversation and came up to me to thank me in advance for messing with the pretty debutantes. He'd been around them 3 days already and told me: "If I was caught in the castle Anthrax, or the modern day equivalent, with them...I'd run off just like Gallahad."

Yeah, he and I got along well (that was a Monty Python quote for those who missed it)

The morning went slowly. The Mute and I showed them how to pull weeds, how to prune the trees and plant saplings. Just before lunch we took them around and picked some papayas, a mango, and a few oranges for them to eat with lunch. Of course funny little things happened, but nothing significant. Not very good reality tv fodder. Which of course was mentioned to us by the host while we ate (on the sly of course). I told him not to worry. The afternoon held lots of promise, what with harder work to come. And other stuff. Off he slunk.

I ate alone. The girls surrounded the Mute (they loved the Aussie accent). My appearance and smell, along with my 'warnings' had gotten around. They had no idea what to make of me.

Weed whacking. That was the first stop after lunch. I showed them the ropes and whacked a few weeds down. The girls were quite hesitent to don the dirty shin guards and backpack-type harnesses for the machines, but they got over it. And each lasted about 5 minutes before tiring of the exertion.

Meanwhile, others were playing with riding mowers, some picked up macadamia nuts and others pruned trees. Their 5-minute attention spans allowed them all to try everything.

The time was ripe. No one was paying attention to me so I slipped away. The chickens were first. One rooster (who hates me) fled away from me and bounced of a few Nair-ed and perfumed legs causing quite a ruckus. I made sure to toss the 4 I'd grabbed (very easy. Grab their legs and they hang quite docily) into the mix as well. One girl with a whacker fell over and had to be helped up (the machine outweighed her); another dropped her basket of mac nuts and hid behind a tree.

When I was in Scouts, sending the new kids out on 'snipe hunts' was a favorite past-time. This day outshadowed all those nights. I waited about an hour after the chicken incident then moved off again. I hollered out my snipe-call, then scooted thru the underbrush to the other side of the group and did it again. Holy shnikeys I wet my knickers at what ensued! Word quickly spread to all about the upcoming snipe attack. Two girls tried to climb trees: the one climbing the mac nut tree got cut up by the sharp leaves; the other climbed a young papaya trees which snapped off and dumped her on the ground. She cried about being fat the rest of the day. The girl on the riding mower somehow tipped it over and yowled from underneath that she was too young to die. Two of her friends 'tried' briefly to help her out before hightailing it back towards the house (they were later found cowering in the back of the garage). The two I'd told my tale two clung to each other, petrified into soundless immobility (a blessed change from their incessant giggling and jabbering). The spunkiest girl in the group let out a war cry and spun in circles with her weed whacker, daring the 'little bastards to show their demon faces'.

Unfortunately for me, the last two happened to be close to me. Perhaps rolling on the ground in tear-streaming laughter was not the smartest thing to do. Poor Mark! He was doing his best not to laugh into the camera, and I am surprised he was able to film at all he was shaking so hard!
Well, these 2 looked at me and quickly realized what was going on. They stalked over and began threatening me. I said they could give me a spanking if it would help them to feel vindicated. That didn't help. I was kicked twice, and had 2 bags of weeds dumped on me.

The girls left that day, feeling very unhappy about having met me. The owners, though amused, were not sure if I had provided bad publicity for their farm. The Mute...said nothing. The host thanked me as did Mark.

Tomorrow they film on another farm nearby. Maybe I'll sneak over and say hi...

Ok, let me get this straight. You are desperately craving companionship. And here you had...warm, soft, good smelling (your own words, I believe) female companionship, of which you might have taken advantage. You could have acted the savior or the well-traveled savant. But instead, you played a practical joke on them? Even though you have been lacking in the young, female species lately, you showed less interest in these beautiful models than you did in the local bartender of your previous post, who served you alcohol every day. Oh...wait, perhaps I just answered my own question...
Obviously you don't know me. That type of person is not my scene in any way, so I felt no need to try and be accepted by them. For me, playing mind games was much more gratifying. However, give me more time and my tune might change.

Acting the savior is not my best role. And the only kind of savant I might pull off is the 'idiot' variety. And in that case, forget the savant part.

You are correct in assuming that a cute bartender has a much higher trade value than a model...
Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Name: Corey
Location: Portland, Oregon, United States

I'm on a journey with no destination. The path is constantly changing direction but there are always adventures to be had. "Never" and "always" have left my lexicon.

WWW http:/www.jimspeak.blogspot.com