May 31, 2012

E-Tales: Guam Diary, Part I

Kids grow up fast, they say. By chance, a few days ago I came across Elena’s diary. I was astounded by the revelations in her daily musings about the life of a five-year-old. I’d like to share a short sample of her take on our trip to Guam last December.

Wed., Dec 21: Departed Yokohama in dead black of night. 0400 up; Daddy annoyingly giddy. Cab driver spiteful; senses we are going to tropical climes? Arrive at the groggy-feeling train station. Little sister—what’s her name again? oh yeah, little miss shitbag—insists on walking up and down aisle on airport train shuttle, collecting laminated instructions on how escape in the event of emergency.  Mommy looking stressed. Airport: on time. Dad lugs our bags grudgingly. Immigration: whaaaa? Won’t let me through? Stare hard at Immigration Guy. Dad sweats the interrogation. Bureaucrat utters something about wrong stamp in my passport. Moron. Parents talk through it. We glide through airport; board aircraft. I screech; demand business class. They give it up—suckers.

Flight good. I work on my art. Marina poops diapers. 33,000 ft. and reeking. Mommy drinks too much. Daddy pretends he doesn’t hear us, reads magazine. Arrive. Warmth and mango smell. Have I been here in a previous life? Palm trees look confident. People drive slower here; look happier. We view Tumon Bay from the windows of our Nissan Murano cab. Water looks like popsicle blue. Hotel room OK, more Havana 1959 than Guam 2011. Marina freaks out; thirty minutes’ screaming equals new dimension of hell.  Sleepy now. Why don’t people speak Japanese here? Daddy drinks local beer; happier than usual. Sign: ABC Store. What, they don’t know their ABCs yet? Morons.

Thu., Dec22: 06:30—Eyes pop open on huge elevated bed. TV squawking SpongeBob Squarepants on Nickelodeon:  what is this shit? Wait…not so bad. Tied on feedbag at hotel breakfast; ate only sugar. Parents oblivious. Little sister quiet, for once. Old marble pillars in ballroom look like my dollhouse. Leave hotel 09:30. Sunny out already. Yay. Sit on hardwood seats on tourist bus; no windows. Feels kitschy but delicious. Wide girth on these folks. Hit Micronesia Mall; coax Dad into many arcade games; roller coaster; boring teacup ride: what am I, three years old or something? Come on. Won lots of cheap stickers from games. Give to sister ‘cuz I don’t want ‘em; win brownie points with parents.
12:35. Lunch. Tried local fare at glitzy-looking food court. Crap. Gimme McDonald’s, please.
Afternoon sun feels nice on neck; usually no ponytail in December. Go to "Largest K-Mart in the Pacific.” Who gives a rat’s ass? Toys look different than in Japan; build quality sucks, though. Japan still has lead in the toy game, I reckon.
Evening: Battle with Mom over…I forget why. Major confrontation. I’m cranky? My ass. Dad avoids issues again by heading to balcony with Bud Light in his mitt. We all sleep well as car horns honk on the tourist drag.

Fri., Dec 23. Another sugar breakfast? Fine by me. Mom and Dad babble about going to waterslide “for you.” Yeah, right. This ain’t Disneyland, folks. Later; eat my words. Tarza waterslide on hill near hotel kicks ass. Water warm like pee-pee here. I could do all the slides because staff pays zero attention to the rules. Rule #1: don’t drown. Everything else is cool. Starting to like these people. Less starchy than back home. Sign: “Tax Free.” Everywhere. Who cares? Spend day in sun; water chutes smoking fun; haul ass up and down hill to various waterslides all day.
Evening. Back to hotel room, out to dinner. Mom and Dad pick steak and lobster place not too far from hotel. Daddy kept going on and on about the goddamn cricket sounds, reminds him of summer, all that shit. I don’t eat any of the swill at the steak and surf joint. Potato chips only, please.

Parents. Suddenly realize they are old. Dad’s breath always smells of stinky coffee in morning; annoyingly chipper. Avoid Mommy until after she drinks her coffee. Hmm…coffee. Intrigued by this magic brew, I stealthily scoff a sip. Tastes like shit. Adults must be insane.

To be continued.

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