Chapter Three - No Cars for Silly Haoles

The balmy, moist air at Honolulu International elicited a childhood memory of visiting relatives in California. The thick air told you instantly that you were no longer in the thin, dry air of the Rocky Mountains. He walked down the concourse to baggage claim and sucked in a huge lung full of the muggy, exotic air.

A few minutes later, excessive luggage in tow, he standing at the Alamo counter trying to rent a car without a credit card. He’d cut them up before he left the mainland, intending to live a simpler, cash bases lifestyle. It hadn’t even occurred to him that cash wouldn’t suffice for some things.

“I’m sorry but I can’t rent you a car without a credit card.” the chubby Hawaiian girl repeated for the enth time. This had become the standard reply to his every attempt to reason with her.

“It’s an island.” He said, trying to keep his temper under control. “Where am I going to run off to with your precious Geo Metro?”

“I understand, sir, but our policy is that you need a credit card to rent from us.”

“Look, I’ll give you a cash deposit. How much do you want?” He said, reaching into his wallet.

“I’m sorry, sir, I can only accept a cash deposit if you have a return ticket”

“A thousand? Make it two thousand. That’s more than that piece of shit is worth.”

“There’s no need for that kind of language, sir.”

“You’re telling me that there is no amount of money that you will accept as a cash deposit?” He had $39,200 in traveler’s checks in his pocket and he couldn’t rent a stinking car.

“Our experience tells us that people who want to rent cars with large cash deposits are usually drug dealers or some other kind of criminal.” That seemed completely absurd to him but at least she’d said something else.

He was ready to explode by now. “Do I look like a damn drug dealer to you?”

“I’ve asked you not to use foul language and now I’m going to ask you to leave.”

He looked around and realized that all eyes in the lobby were upon him and he saw a very large Hawaiian man take a step his direction. He gathered his ton and a half of luggage dragged it out to the taxi curb in frustration. Five minutes later he was in a cab on the way to his hotel on Uluniu Street in the Waikiki district.

He seethed all the way to the Royal Grove. He imagined rental girl at home telling her husband about the lolo trying to rent a car with cash. “Let me guess,” Hubby says, “a haole.” They both burst into laughter though neither of them has ever owned a credit card.

The Royal Grove looked like something from film noir. It must have been stunning once but it was beginning to show its age. Used but not abused is how the brochure described it and that seemed like a pretty fair assessment. Where else in Waikiki could you get a clean room with a kitchenette for $55 a night?

An oval pool with its complementing foliage dominated the open air lobby. Overstuffed Naugahyde chairs placed strategically around the lobby reminded Rudy of a set his family had in his childhood that always made you sweat and left the pattern imprinted on your skin. He smiled, already feeling at home in the old hotel.

“Will you be paying by credit card?” the smiling brown face behind the mahogany counter asked.

“Don’t start with me.” Rudy snapped. “Whatever happened to Aloha?”

“Aloha.” She said, without losing a beat or her smile.

“Aloha.” He smiled back sheepishly, and just like that he’d been infected with the famous Aloha spirit. Sometimes all a weary traveler needs is a smiling face and a kind word.

He opened the door to the Lanai in his 6th floor room and then plopped down on the bed. The ocean breeze carried in the sound of the city and Waikiki Beach a mere 200 yards away. It felt magical and exotic and he couldn’t believe he was actually here.

It was tempting to crash right there in his clothes. This had easily been the longest day of his life, except for maybe his first day at the Clippers training camp, but he wasn’t ready for it to end. Honolulu! I’m really here.

Rudy often got ostensibly brilliant ideas at night, or when he was exhausted, that didn’t quit pass muster in the light of day. He has a strong feeling that once he’d slept on all this, he’d wake to the realization of what a ridiculous thing he’d just done. He wasn’t ready to face his folly just yet, so he washed up and headed for the elevator.

Strolling leisurely down Uluniu Street he drank in the joyful potpourri of car horns, distant laughter, the occasional siren and waves crashing onto Kuhio beach a block away.

At Kalakaua Avenue he turned west and ambled leisurely along the crowded sidewalk, savoring the sights and the smells and the warm sea breeze and smiling at the silly tourists buying overpriced Hawaiian souvenirs from Taiwan. He nodded to old-timers in ridiculous Bermuda shorts that revealed their white chicken-legs.

Outside the International Marketplace a scraggly bearded man was waving a Bible and shouting doomsday warnings to passersby. Rudy stood transfixed for a moment, wondering what possessed a man to move to Paradise and spend his life shouting calls for repentance to disinterested Anglos and Japanese tourists who couldn’t understand a word he said.

Inside the open-air Marketplace, he wandered the shops and food stands and decided that Waikiki’s wonderful smells must all originate here. There was Japanese food, Chinese food, Teriyaki on rice, in a bowl or on a stick as well as Poi, sushi and even Bratwurst. It was truly an international and eclectic offering.

He bought a seashell necklace from one of the carts along the promenade to get into the Hawaiian spirit and then, on impulse, threw his shoes into the trash.

He settled for Teriyaki on a stick, mostly because of the stunning looking girl working the counter. Like most natives, she looked to be part Asian and part Hawaiian and she radiated shyness, seemingly unaware of her own beauty. Her jet black hair reflected moonlit diamonds and her perfect skin was as creamy and smooth chocolate milk. When he looked at her she bashfully averted her eyes but her delicate smile never left her face.

Her innocent beauty captivated him and he couldn’t keep from stealing glimpses while he nibbled his Teriyaki. He could still see those huge brown eyes long after he’d returned to his room.

Circe who?

© 2008. David Heiniger. All Right Reserved.