Predator and Prey

We have family who traveled to Maui for vacation, and since we'd rather just hop islands for our vacations than to go anywhere else (where else is there to go when you live in paradise... except Las Vegas?), we went to Maui to meet them for a three day visit.

Day one, we get our rental car, find our B&B, and are too early to check in. We contact the family, and meet them at a beach, changing into swimsuits in the restroom. 45 minutes later, we go to our car and head for the B&B. As I pull out my bag, I ask David if he has the laptop bag. "No, is it with your purse?"

"Where's my purse?"

We spend a good ten minutes in denial, checking under seats, in the boot, the door pockets, glove box and console for items that would never fit there. We have been burgled.

In a daze of shock, we got to our room to call the police and credit cards. David set down his pack and realized t00 that he was one pack short, his camera back pack was also stolen. They didn't however, get David's wallet that was in with his clothes... a mercy that became more profound as the days progressed.

I tell the B&B owner about the burglary and we get the usual, "How stupid are you?" stuff and she throws in some bonus comments, "Well, it happens everywhere, all over the world. At least it's the minor crimes here, you know, not the shootings."

When the officer came to take our report, all he knew to say was, "We see this all the time. It's how folks make a living." Well, gee, officer, if I knew I was going to support the local economy without having a say as to how, I'm not sure I'd have participated. Bullshit: it's how folks support their drug habits.

Well, we had just started our visit, and the bad guys weren't going to win, so we enjoyed a wonderful dinner and theater performance at the generosity of the family, and would go get cash the next day.

Day two. We comb the beach area for any sign of our bags, tossed license, knitting, something. In the scouring, we saw the underbelly of Maui. Labyrinths of aquaducts and culverts feed onto the beaches, making a veritable highway for criminal escape. The trash and dumpsters were fruitless, more or less, as were the hovels we found inside the beach hedges and caves. We did, however find two other peoples' bags.

After thoroughly washing our hands, we headed out again to get cash.

The bank we could use was a sister to ours, loosely affiliated. David went to get the cash since he had an ID still, and I went to window shop. He came back moments later saying that my name was the first name on the account, so he couldn't withdraw any money. However, his name was on the savings account, so if I could figure out a way to transfer money there, that would make it possible for him to get us some cash. We did it, and drove back to meet up with the family after they had their submarine ride (which we had to miss for lack of funds and time). They wanted to take us to a luau that evening, and since David's never been to one, we were excited by the idea of the entertainment. The food was outstanding, and the dancers were good. I couldn't help it, though, looking at the lines of young people and wondering which of them might know of or have helped with the burglary.

I finally got it out of my head that the hula wasn't a line up, and good thing I did, too. It turned out that none of those folks could have been dancing at the same time as breaking into our B&B, which we discovered upon our return.

We ran into the B&B owners the next morning, whom I couldn't raise the night before, and told them of the break in. After exclaiming that we seemed to be the cause of all of this, the husband informed us that the wind sometimes pushes the blinds and then they push out the screen. I had told him that the screen was pushed IN at the corner, and bent up. Either the blinds grabbed the corner of the screen and insisted it come in, the house was possessed, or our hosts were not able to process their security issue. I said, "We're going to try and get a flight out today. I've had enough." The wife, however, didn't seem to be at peace with the hubby's answers, and I wanted to assure her, "Well, it happens everywhere, all over the world. At least it's the minor crimes here, you know, not the shootings." But I was tired of passing around meanness.

We contacted the airlines and tried to change to an earlier flight. The flights were available, it would cost us, and just as I was finishing up I learned that I can't pay the fee in cash at the counter later. No new tickets. So, I tried to find out what we would need to do for me to get on a plane without ID, and then we decided to drive back to the airport to buy our way off of this island.

We drove back to the town, to buy new tickets... for which they wanted double what they said on the telephone a half hour before. I got hot tears in my eyes, and said to David, "I'm tired of being ripped off by Maui, the corporations included." I looked at the man trying to screw us and said, "NO." He looked at me and I said again, "No, we are going home on a flight today, and you are not going to charge me more than I was told on the telephone."

After he sought help from a neighboring counter person, he found us seats and the price turned out to be the same as quoted, and he started to be nicer. That's when I lost it and had to go cry: someone on Maui was being nice.

They call Maui the Valley Isle. I think I'll call it the Valley Girl. It's full of stupid people who give retarded answers to life's difficulties and don't have a lick of compassion.

On the flight home, we had a lay-over on Oahu. I went to the lounge for some wine, and the woman insisted I show my ID. David growled at her, "Just give ME the wine." and showed his ID.

It feels as though the world has gone mad.

Rats

It's the wee hours of the morning in Kona. The distant surf rips its velcro along the shore; something rumbles like an earthquake, a dog barks into the jungle, and the chirruping continues to the left and the right of my house.

At first (okay, for going on six years), I thought the noise was crickets. Maybe they were a little wetter in Hawaii and sounded warblier due to moisture differences.

When we had some rats in the house, I started to notice a change in the crickets' songs in the nights when a rat would carry home a sticky trap, slapping every wall and barrier on its way. Slowly it dawned on me that my flock o' crickets was actually a pack o' rats. Yech.

They're singing right now, out in the dark on the lava rock wall (they love to nest in the rock walls). I think one is looking in the window and telling the others what I'm doing. Maybe it's telling another, "Okay, she's not looking. Carry out the saucepot now." I hope that I'm not the saucepot.

Tomorrow I must launch my next phase in the battle for turf. I regret the death that, hopefully, will ensue because I hate for anything to have to die over boundaries. But the creep factor is pretty high when in the night you hear a watery chorus and know that they've figured out how to get in and out of your house.

Open doors seem to help. Last night we were settling down for the evening, and a field mouse cruised in the door. "Yo." David and Jack gave him a circuit of chase. The mouse clearly knows the lay of the land in here.

Our friends Michael and John have One of Those houses up north on this island. It's luxury living with open spaces and doors that all open to no doors, no walls, and the breezes play through the house.

Apparently, so do the mice. On our tour of the place, I was gratified to see a sticky trap in the hall. Why would I be so glad to see someone else has my struggle? Because mousery loves company.