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|Bahama Journal: Rupert Missick's Column|
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|Page 1 of 1||Total of 1 messages|
|Posted by:||Aug 18th 2003, 06:52:55 pm|
|Fig Tree News Team||Sorry, Wrong Number
I have the choice today of either going to the dentist or taking a trip to Eleuthera on the Fast Ferry.
At the dentist I will sit in a chair that looks like the chair on death row and my head will get tipped back so far that I feel as if Iím, going to drown in my own spit -- and then the dentist will take this drill thatís been around since Pontius was a Pilot, and use it to chip away small pieces of my teeth.
Iím not going to mention the needle that he is going to stick in my gum to deaden the nerve so that he can hurt my mouth, because I know how squirmish you are!
But heís going to do it! Heíll stick my gum - so you might as well get used to it!
On the Fast Ferry I will sit on the upper deck and watch this luxury catamaran slice through the blue green waters of Nassau Harbour, roll with her slightly as she enters the ocean while at the bar, and settle down watching T.V. and sipping on a cold ginger ale as flying fish fly out of the way of the ferry as we pass Rose Island and settle into watching a movie as the sun warms my face through the protective air-conditioned glass dome of the upper deck.
So guess what Iím going to do? Which choice would you make? They cost roughly the same in money. They will both take about the same amount of time - about two hours - so what would you do?
Sorry to disappoint you, but Iím going to the dentist! Not that I like what the dentist is going to do to my mouth better, or that I like punishment more than pleasure. Iím going to the dentist because it is the necessary and right thing to do.
I must be getting old. There was a time when if faced with such a choice, the dentist would have had to catch me somewhere near Six Shilling Channel or around Booby Rock. I would have been gone like the light when you pull the switch.
But today I am responsible, so Iíll stay, go to the dentist, lean back in his chair that looks like the chair on death row and dream of a beautiful catamaran flying over a majestic sea as I sit back with a cold ginger ale in air-conditioned comfort watching a movie.
The dentist can hurt my mouth, but he canít stop me from dreaming, and this way I can have both experiences for the price of one.
Sorry, Wrong Number
I keep getting these wrong number calls. Last night at about eleven thirty a woman called my house and asked to speak to Amber. I told her that Amber was not here. She wanted to know when Amber was coming back. I told her I didnít know and I asked her if she had any idea when Amber might come by here. She said she didnít know.
The woman seemed not in a hurry and she had already awakened me, so we talked about Amber.
You see, Amber is her cousin and she hasnít seen her in about three years because Amber was away and someone told her that Amber was in Nassau and living at this number that was almost like my number, but not quite.
The woman wanted to know if Amber and I were married. I told her no. She wanted to know if Amber lived at my number. I told her no. And then I told her the truth. I donít know Amber, I donít know anyone named Amber, Amber has never been to my house and I donít expect that she is coming here.
At that, the woman got dead vex with me. She reminded me that Amber was her cousin, she hadnít seen her in three years and she would really like to talk to her. She resented my keeping Amber from her.
I asked her to describe Amber for me. She did. Wow! Now I want to see Amber. I want her to come by here. Perhaps I will call someone up to see if Amber is there. If sheís not Iíll just say, sorry, wrong number, and go back to sleep.
I donít believe anything BEC says. Not after last summer. Not after they kept the light off long for my grouper to spoil. Not ever.
I just donít believe anything BEC has to say. Not if they have industrial harmony. Not if all their generators are new and working in top order. Not if all the lights are on everywhere in The Bahamas at once. Not now. Not later. Not ever. I just donít believe BEC.
I just donít believe BEC. Not if Hubert Ingraham was in charge. Not if Bradley Roberts was in charge. Not if the Manager of the Year was in change, would I believe BEC. I just donít trust them.
I just donít believe BEC. Not if they keep the light on for every minute of every day for ten years would I trust them. Not if Nelson Mandella, The Pope and my children ask me to trust them. I wonít. I simply wonít. I donít trust BEC.
My grouper was frozen harder than a Viagra junkie. The lights went off while I was away. I expected that they would be back on in a reasonable time and my fish would be safe. The light did not come back on. My fish rotted and from that day on I trust BEC for nothing!
The Value of Violence
My old Ma used to say if you canít hear, you would feel. She would tell one of her children something and if the child did not respond adequately she would give you a whack.
Not a hard whacker, but a whack to get your attention.
Some people might not like it, but there is a place and time for violence. Just ask the police! Or ask the Cubans. Or the Singaporans.
Having said that, I believe that a degree of violence should be practised against certain jitney drivers, some jet ski operators and some big truck drivers. In all of these instances I believe a degree of violence would help.
Iím a Christian, a pacifist, a revolutionary, an evolutionary and a Socialist, but I also believe in a certain degree of violence.
I know of a man who used to operate a grocery store in the Grove. Every week this man used to get robbed.
Everytime he made out his payroll the robber would come. The robber used to get paid before the cashiers, the packing boys and the butcher.
One day this man got tired of being robbed. He brought his shotgun to work.
He made out his payroll as usual and as on que the robber appeared. The robber pulled out his little hand gun. The man had his shotgun aimed at the robberís chest.
The man pulled the trigger on the shotgun. That was fifteen years ago. They are still finding pieces of the robber behind the Carnation Cream shelf.
Now Iím not suggesting that you do anything stupid like taking the law into your own hands and practising violence against the public. Thatís what we have the police for. All I am saying is, there is a value to violence especially when itís carefully applied.
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