POWER STRAP!
I don’t usually talk about food, but here’s an exception. There’s a new hot dog stand on the beach in front of Sunquest Cottages. For 3 bucks you get a genuine foot-long dog in a semi-toasted bun with your choice of topping. I get mine with sauerkraut and French’s mustard. So good! I’ve had three in the last three days. They also have brats. Check em out.
Last night when we were hanging around Sunnyside we ran into a vendor who is new to the beach scene. He introduced himself as, “POWER STRAP!” He’s an older gentleman and not threatening at all. He gives off a friendly, no hassles vibe. He has a deep resonating voice which he uses to good affect when marketing his wares. He sells bracelets that he fashions out of brown coral. He claims that he offers a “Five year guarantee!” on all items.
POWER STRAP! was sipping soy milk from a bottle when he approached us. I suggested that a shot of rum would go well with the soy. I was only half joking. POWER STRAP! agreed with me and got Odeon to draw him a shot of JB which he carefully poured into the soy bottle.
He put his bag down and settled into his sales pitch. He also immediately began hitting on the girls in our crew. He was especially attracted to one of them, and had his arms around her shoulders and was putting one bracelet after another on her wrist so he could be close to her and caress her forearms. I still had the feeling that he was totally harmless, but I could see that she was getting a little uncomfortable with all the attention that he was lathering on her so I leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Power Strap, I just want to let you know that she’s my dawtah,” I said. Which would mean that I’d fathered her when I was in high school, so it was technically possible.
POWER STRAP! reacted by drawing away from her immediately. He looked at me, looked at her, nodded his head and said, “OK. But doan worry, me gonna look after her. Me a good-mon.” Then he pointed at JT, who was sitting at the other end of the bar. “Him a good-bad mon, me a bad-good mon.” Johnny looked over, nodded, smiled a wicked little smile and waved.
“Which is better?” I asked Power Strap, “a bad-good mon or a good-bad mon?”
(Such are the conversations one has after sunset and several rums on the beach in Negril.)
POWER STRAP! looked at me. “A bad-good mon is bettah!” he announced in his deep resonating voice. (Now that I think of it, his voice sounds a lot like Shaggy’s singing voice) “Because, me stawt bad an’ me finish good!” He looked over at JT. “Him stawt good an’ him finish bad, so me bettah dan him, cau me finish good!” Again, JT looked over, nodded, and smiled.
“How many kids do you have, Power Strap?” one of the girls asked.
“Me ‘ave twenty-tree!” he proclaimed proudly.
Everybody gasped.
“Yah mon, all of dem girls!” POWER STRAP! added. (Think of how Shaggy would say this). “But me would like to ‘ave a likkle bwoy.”
“What are their ages?” I asked.
“De oldest is tirty-seven, de youngest tirty.”
Most of our crew, still rendered speechless, were looking at POWER STRAP! in awe. If his claim of twenty-three children was truthful, we were in the presence of a man with biblical procreative capabilities. Twenty-three kids in a seven year span. Wow!
“How many baby-mommas?” I asked.
“Nineteen baby-momma.” It was abundantly evident that POWER STRAP! had been a busy young man, back in the day.
“Your children are very close in age,” one of the girls said.
“Yah mon. One week me ‘ave seven babies!”
With this statement I started to laugh so hard that I fell off the bar-bench.
I’ve mentioned this before, but I have a very strong suspicion that Negril is an elaborately staged street theater. Something like a modern-day ‘Truman Show’. How else can encounters like the one we had with POWER STRAP! be explained?
We left Sunnyside and walked along the beach under a glorious full moon. It was another perfect night in Negril, surrounded by really good friends.
I’m blessed.
POWER STRAP!
