PGW - I was at White Sands and Pee Wee's yesterday - we keep missing each other.
Jaherring - I thought you would get the Rick n' Bubba reference - I love those guys.
I mentioned that JT will be coming soon. JT is a character; PGW and Mrs. Brown, I’m sure will agree. When in Negril, JT never wears a shirt, or shoes. He’ll walk around downtown Negril in his shorts and ball cap with his reading glasses perched on top. His ‘wallet’ is a ZipLoc bag that he tucks into his shorts. Into it are stuffed all he needs to survive a day at the beach: smokes, lighter, a little cash, his room key and maybe a gizzada or two. JT is always smiling, he has areally good time in Negril and the locals love him.
A group of us went on the pub crawl last year and somehow, while we were at Pee Wee’s, JT got out of synch with the bus. Well, we had agreed that we would make our way to Ricks after the last pub stop, so JT simply walked from Pee Wee’s to Ricks in his bare feet; no shoes, no shirt, no problem, mon. By the way, I’ve never seen JT apply any sunscreen.
Here’s another JT story. Back when the For Real bar was still the best bar on the beach (Boo Whoo, whoo, - God, I loved that bar!) a group of us were there for beers before sunset, as was our custom. We drank, talked, watched the sun go down, and drank some more, etc. It was getting quite late and the time came when JT had to pay the rent on the refreshments that he’d imbibed. The restrooms at For Real were not the most convenient, and towards the end of the evening, they could be a little, um, in disarray. One would not want to walk into the restroom in bare feet, because the floors were wet and I don’t think it was sea water. JT is also somewhat fastidious, some times in the oddest ways- have you ever met someone who feels the urge to eject his breakfast at the sight of a certain shade of blue?
Well, JT had to go in a bad way and I think he was planning on going to pee in the ocean when Likkle Jimmy (one of our peeps) piped up, “There’s a bathroom just next door at CoCo.”
“Where?” JTasked.
“Just around the fence,” LJ pointed, “around those bushes. You can go right there.”
Well, JT left the bar and rounded the end of the fence, just as directed.
Several moments later there arose a great thrashing of the bushes just the other side of the fence. This was accompanied by a powerful stream of patois invectives including every form of ‘KLAAT’ that has ever been spoken. JT appeared around the edge of the fence, wide eyed and bewildered. Close behind him the highly animated source of the instructive utterances followed.
Apparently, in his urgency, JT had assumed that the bushes were the latrine to which he had been directed. In fact, there are a couple of very fine restrooms about thirty paces further. And JT was not aware, (indeed how could he have been?), that one of the local beach boys had bedded down to catch a few zzzz’s in the leafy comfort of the sheltering foliage. JT had unwittingly voided his distended bladder on the unfortunate fellow, drenching him.
Well. JT pleaded his ignorance while the sodden recipient of his effluent slapped runnels of processed rum from his pant legs. The multi-KLAATS continued,unabated, until JT fished his ‘wallet’ from his shorts and extracted sufficient funds to quell the misunderstanding.
I can’t wait until JT gets here.
