Montego Bay, Jamaica

Ahhhhh…  Jamaica-man, the land of smiles. Wait that’s Thailand, going there next. Different smiles then, definitely different smiles. Smile makers in Jamaica aren’t necessarily what they are back home in Northern California. Sure, usually they are bigger and usually they last longer but never are they as much fun. Easy ladies, these smile makers come from the earth.

We settled into our all –inclusive, never leave the ground alone or you’ll die resort. Any chance of getting out and seeing Jamaica went up in smoke as soon as our tour to Bob’s house was cancelled due to rain. As was the bioluminescence bay we were scheduled to see. Poof.  But who doesn’t like screaming coked up lifeguards and activity “directors” attempting to teach you the ways of the shaken butt. It is an artform, I’ll hand them that, just not one I’d wish to learn.

Never one to see the dark side, I scanned the compound for an uplifter, a merry merchant, a smile maker man. After a long expedition into the land of Jamaican smiles, all of five seconds, I was approached by an unknown man who gladly offered to relieve me of my Jamaican dollars. Unfortunately the disclosed location was in the men’s bathroom. The last stall specifically. I could see the lookouts, the muscle, the entire operation. Simple, but effective. I agreed to the place and the time, which was a few seconds after he left. Sure, what could go wrong?

A few minutes after I checked my bald head in the mirror, Lebron James’ bigger brother ducked into the bathroom, I followed him into the stall, still wondering about the reason. That was until the smile maker turned out to be providing another product I was unaware of. “Who comes to Jamaica for snow?” I managed to blurt. I thought we were buds. He got it.

Not wanting to spend my night in the men’s bathroom, I followed his departure, shortly after he left and against his wishes. I was met by the ever watchful eyes of the operation who no doubt shortly thereafter gave away my position. In what passed as a club, sitting on a wide open bench, supported by fake black leather cushions, I was greeted once again by smiley. This time, his backpack contained what I considered to be an olive branch, a peace offering. A way to mend the misunderstanding between two different yet like-minded individuals. I gladly departed with the funny money as did he from the “club.”

It wasn’t until later I realized the offered branch was in desperate need of trimming and drying. Never again will I overlook the necessity of a hair dryer. Even bald men need them every now and again.