It's not a bad thing. Friends come and go. It just seems like on St. Thomas, an island saturated with misfits and money-makers, the time in between "I've decided to leave" and "Peace out" is usually very small.
Take this fine gentleman for example...
I took this hilarious photo while we were waiting for the car ferry on St. John. Of course, we had already had a few. His name is Jesse "The Hersh" Hershberger and he was also responsible for a little mishap in the BVIs I don't like to talk about.
We had dinner and drinks on a Thursday at the Pie Whole in Frenchtown and we were talking about his plans to travel to New Zealand next year and what kind of "Lord Of The Rings" chicks he may meet there.
The next day, Friday, he calls me around 10 p.m.
Hersh: "Dude, come to Fat Turtle, we have to talk."
Me: "Dude, I just got off work, I'm exhausted and the game is on...what's up? Trouble?"
Hersh: "No, not trouble. But stress. Definite stress."
Me: "Don't worry, I'm sure there are plenty of beautiful women in New Zealand. I heard The Hobbit pulls some serious ass there."
Hersh: "No, no, no. I think I'm leaving island. Like on Monday. For good."
Me: "Whaa, whaa, whaaaaa?"
I still didn't meet him out for drinks because we had planned to go hiking the next morning and because I was lazy and the game was on. But I later found out that he was offered a job at his old restaurant -- he's a chef or a cook or a guy in the kitchen with sharp blades ... you get the idea -- but that he had to come right now.
By the way, the job was in Alaska and it was supposed to pay him double. Sort of like Ice Road Truckers.
So just like that, I was hanging with my bro, sucking down a few Belgian beers (the Pie Whole is amazing) and within 48 hours, he was gone. Forever. I've been crying myself to sleep every night.
There wasn't even time to throw a "Leaving Island" party. Those festivities tend to get very rowdy. When the cops show up, you just tell them that you're friend is leaving island tomorrow and they usually leave you alone. I mean, who really wants to do paperwork for someone that will be out of the hair in less than a day?
The best is to throw a "Leaving Island" party like a week before you actually leave. Then, for the rest of that week, people keep asking, "Isn't he supposed to be in Alaska or something? Did he lie to me just so I would buy him shots?"
Anyway, like the dude said, he was on a plane that Monday. Made it to Chicago for a day and now he's in Alaska. Since he's left, he's sent me a few photos.
One was of the speedometer in his car and it was clocked well over 100 mph and the other pictures were of Taco Bell burritos. Need for speed and bad Mexican food. The man knows me well. A true friend.
No comments:
Post a Comment