Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands
So it's nice to see a guy can get arrested in this town.
Ok that's an over-statement. Not arrested. But in an incredibly low-key way, hassled by The Man.
It's laid back around here. A kind of laid back that makes laid back seem tense. You have to understand this. The Fijian were once cannibals, and it seems like the only way that happened was if they overwhelmed their victims with kindness, fed and loved and gifted them to death.
The security at the resort is like that. You know they're security just because their tee-shirts say 'Security' on the sleeves.
I'd been drinking. Brown nipples -- yeah, silly tropical drinks but how can you resist ordering "two brown nipples please!" Now, I wasn't drunk. But you have to understand -- the Fijians are conservative. They don't wear tank tops. They think shoulders and knees should be covered. They also -- I've mentioned before -- have an issue with sunglasses.
So I'm on my way back to the bure from the pool. I had brown nipple all over my shirt. Party foul, a mis-aimed hug in my direction turned into a drink swept over next to me. I'm in shades, and a tank top that says 'Bubba's'. I'm tattooed from wrist to shoulder on both arms, and have quite a few on my legs as well. I'm in shorts, not long shorts past the knees but an old pair of madras cotton shorts. So security guy takes a look at me and it's clear from the first look that this guy has taken a cop interest in me. He knows right off that I'm riff-raff. He knows I'm a bad man.
Yeah, officer, you're right. I was indeed thinking bad, bad thoughts about the teenage sisters at the pool. Throw the cuffs on me. Do your worst, man, because I'm going to HELL for what I was thinking.
So this guy, a short, burly Fijian who may be wearing shorts and a resort staff tee-shirt, but is still all cop with cop eyes, he slows and lets me catch up.
"BULA!"
"Bula."
"How are you today SIR!"
"I'm fine, man." I'm smiling. But not taking off my shades. I know he's eyeballing me but I'm not making it easier for him by dropping the shades.
He sticks out a hand. The Fijians are big on hand-shaking. I take his big meaty paw and shake.
We fall into step.
"Your name, sir?"
"Karl"
"BULA, Karl! You staying in the resort?"
"Yep."
"Which bure?"
"Eight."
He's still in step. He's smiling like a fucking jack-in-the-box. He doesn't trust me at all.
"Where are you from?"
"San Francisco."
"Ah!"
Pause.
"You here with -- Your family?"
"Yes. Wife and kids."
Brow furrowed. Some Fijians have trouble with gays. I'm wondering if he's decided I'm gay, or if he's just trying to decide if he needs to take me down. I give him something.
"Yeah, they just did their certification dives today -- they're having a great time."
He clearly hasn't decided what to do. But we're now at my bure. "Have a nice day," I say, and head up the walk. I can feel cop eyes on the back of my neck the whole way.
You let me get away, man, Don't you know who I am? Don't you know I'm pure evil?