Hawaii Shorts

-- My hotel room is beautiful. The bathroom is almost as big as the rest of the room, and split into 2 wings - the shower wing and the tub wing. However such a setup apparently requires that the toilet be relegated to a closet. Not even what you'd call a walk-in closet. A bit claustrophobic, especially for someone who spends more than a de minimis amount of time in there. On the bright side, it has the most powerful flush I've ever seen or heard. Everyone I know could take consecutive dumps and I'm convinced one flush would take care of everything.

-- People genuinely seem fairly nice here. Would it be wrong for me to start using the word Mahalo in place of thank you, even when I return to the mainland? I really like that word.

-- Last night, after the first of our four depositions, I went to get beers and some appetizers with the partner and the associate from the firm that represents the co-respondent in this arbitration. It was perfectly pleasant - we went to a Gordon Biersch right on the water. I had 2 big beers. Hefeweizens, which are bigger than pints. When we were done, we all got into a cab to head back to the hotel. The partner (who, by the way, is a cooler guy than the associate) says to the cab driver, "Take us back through Waikiki, not on the highway." He said to me "It may take a few minutes longer, but it's much more scenic." I had, earlier in the day, drunk a bunch of coffee, coke and water. Those of you who know me see where this is going. Traffic was at a standstill, despite it being a holiday (45th anniversary of HI's admission to the Union). We moved about 4 blocks in 25 minutes or so. Even the partner had given up on the scenic route. He told the cab driver to screw it and head for the highway. However, the driver's idea of changing routes was a bit more gradual than I would have liked. I had to pee. From the moment I got into the cab basically. You see, I have a bladder like an infant. Even once we decided to head for the highway, there was no way I was making it. I had the cab stop to find someplace for me to pee. Specifically a Taco Bell. Here is the conversation:

L: Hi. Do you guys have a mens' room I could use?

TBG: Yeah. It's across the parking lot upstairs in the mall. You'll need a key.

L: OK, great. Can I grab that key?

TBG: Do you have a key or something you could leave me as collateral?

L: Uh, how's this [holding up hotel key]?

TBG: Yeah, that'll work.

Long story slightly longer, it was pretty embarassing.

-- People here REALLY do laugh at you when you're wearing a suit. "You guys must be from the mainland!" 150 times. Beatdown. You think I'm wearing a suit because I want to? We're toying with the idea of having Hawaiian Shirt Day a la Office Space for one of the depositions.

-- Not to regress, or go back to one of my least proud posts ever, but I've only been here 2 days and I am lonely again. This solo business travel is not for me. I've been not eating to avoid eating alone; dinner last night (after beers and appetizers) was a Snickers and Green Tea from the minibar. I rented a car to drive around the island today, and took some pictures, but also didn't stop at a bunch of places I should have, because I was sad that I was alone. I only started talking to Kelly (the imaginary girlfriend) briefly once. I went to Pearl Harbor and took the tour of the USS Arizona memorial, and there was no one there to be my audience when I saw an elderly Japanese guy on the tour bend and whisper to a woman he was with, and I faux lip read and translated (with Japanese accent) "We really got those bastards good, haha!" I keep thinking someone's gonna surprise me by showing up to hang out with me here in Hawaii. The room's already paid for, and I ended up having one with 2 beds. Anyone??

OK, I'm hungry, and I'm not having another Snickers. I'm going to eat dinner and drink a lot.

UPDATE - I, because I am a BFP (that used to stand for Big Funny Pussy, and was a term of endearment coined by one of my exes; now, it's just Big Fat Pussy), decided I couldn't handle eating in a restaurant by myself, so I would just go to the little bar/lounge off the lobby. I got there, and it looked like a hugely bad idea. Because there's not really a bar, just some tables. All full. There was an old guy who was moving some stools over to the little servers' area to sit. He asked me if I wanted a stool, and I took him up on his offer. We made 30 seconds worth of small talk. While he waited for his wife to come over, I ordered a glass of wine and a sushi/sashimi platter. His wife came over and sat with him. I listened to the band. A table opened up. It had three chairs. The man invited me to join he and his wife. I was 1/3 of a second from declining. But then I thought - WWSWWLD (What would Someone Who Wasn't LiAps Do)? So I said, "Sure, thanks very much." The old man and his wife are Joe and Betty. Originally from Buffalo, they've lived here for 37 years. They come to the hotel bar every Saturday night; Betty said if they didn't show up, BettyLou, the piano player, would probably call the cops. Joe and Betty have an old rusty snow shovel hanging in their living room. Their friends, locals, are amazed to know there is such a thing as a shovel made specifically for snow. When the waitress brought my sushi, she brought 3 plates and sets of chopsticks. I told Joe and Betty to help themselves (and meant it). They had just eaten dinner (or so Betty told me). We talked a bit more, not quite constant conversation, but enough for me to learn that BettyLou had been accepted to Juilliard, but ended up going to Stevens College (never heard of it) because WW II ended and all the GIs who had deferred (how many soldiers had been set to go to Juilliard I wonder) came back and took her spot. I asked for my check. When it came, it had Betty and Joe's drinks on it too. I paid the check, and told them their drinks were on me. Betty told me that was backwards, because I was the guest, and they should have been trying to make me feel at home. I insisted, and told them not to thakn me, but to thank my client, since I'd expense the whole thing anyway. We had talked a bit about local restaurants, and I wanted to run a recommendation I had gotten by them. They endorsed it. And then, Betty said, "You know, if you want to try some of the local flavor, maybe you'd like to join us tomorrow night at a small family style Italian place for a birthday party." Joe's birthday party. Joe's 70th birthday party. I declined that one, but wished Joe a happy birthday. And I hope he really has one.

Not sure what any of this means. And I definitely still would rather have been having dinner with my friends (or Kelly). But I felt I had to share the story. Now I think I'll go eat the Snickers out of my minibar.