For Member Leigh who

enjoys my warped humor

Everybody’s been to Hawaii, right? I went there in 82 for my divorce honeymoon.   The second time was to get over a particularly rotten relationship that went south over drugs- a nose candy habit- in 86. Marilyn had a Ferrari parked in one side and a Lamborghini  in the other financially. When I discovered someone was tapping my money market/IRA with my own credit card, I went single again. That’s not what this is about, though. It’s not about the third time with Cupcake and the whole Griswold clan either. The fourth time we went for my son’s spring break. He was allowed to take a friend to keep him occupied. My daughter had moved out so we didn’t have to haul her.

Maui is sweet if you have a condo on the golf course. You just ooze out about 1700 in between a couple of twosomes and join up with one. Tell them your partner had a heart attack and buy them a round. Most guys are toasted by the 12th hole anyway. Golf is thirsty work and golfers are all related and get along well.

I’d done the snorkel gig in 82 down at Hanauma Bay on Oahu back  when you could wade in with bread and get a fish massage. It got so polluted with rotten bread they outlawed it at some point, but that was Oahu and we’re talking Kaanapali in 2000. Alternately, I’ve heard  that the fish died of cholesterol poisoning on Snopes.

Cupcake had this thing planned out to a tee. All the restaurant reservations for a week, the deep sea fishing, the all-day snorkeling/lunch/ drinking cruise- in a word-the works. The snorkel deal was a one hour cruise up the west coast towards the northwest corner. It was an  underwater National Park without Yogi and Boo-boo.  Political correctness and the guide informed us we were not to feed the fish and were forbidden to stand on the weird rock formations that projected up like mushrooms in the bay.  The vessel was a huge Catamaran with two bars and no waiting. A stairway descended to the water between the hulls. First class, including the little umbrellas in the drinks.

Having done the Hanauma Bay snorkel and 5K hike to the beach, I was knowledgeable about these things. I had swimming trunks with Velcro®  pocket closures which were perfect receptacles for bread. In fact, they had little holes that let the water out when you exited the ocean. They were particularly well-adapted for Liquid bread as well. Rules, as most Vets know, are  for the general public. Since we are far more intelligent and march to the beat of military music, anyone telling us what we can and cannot do is ludicrous. Any one foolish enough to tell us what to do after a few Hawaiian Electric Ice Teas is really barking up the wrong tree.

Everyone launched  and off we went. I pocketed the bread before we left the Condo and the adult beverages had caused me to disremember it. The fish didn’t. After about 25 yds. my son swam over and pointed behind me. I felt like the Pied Piper. There was a white,  liquid  stream of dissolving bread  behind me and about 3,000 fish. They soon figured out where the Mother Lode was and I was surrounded. We were in 20-30 feet of water and the fish were skinny and underfed.

Buckwheat thought it was a scream and so did I. Here was an example of truly getting your money’s worth. Then the bigger fish showed up. Moving away from the shitstorm worked for all of about 30 seconds until they figured where Wishbone and the chuckwagon were off to. By now I was trying to get mass quantities of dinner roles out of my pockets and move on. The fish weren’t having it. Off to my right was one of those crazy mushrooms we were instructed to avoid. They were some rare breed of coral or Hawaiian ceremonial cremation urns. I rationalized it as “The needs of the idiot outweigh the rules of the lagoon” and climbed up.  Several fellows on the boat in the  distance waved frantically at me and shouted. I smiled and waved back. Buckwheat and Daniel had come to the surface were sucking sea water they were laughing so hard. Cupcake had surfaced and suggested that this was “poorly thought out” and might cause some “dissension” on board when we returned. I carefully rinsed the last of the fish food out of my pockets and tried to exit the rock gracefully but the stink was on me.

By now all the fish in the lagoon and I were on a first name basis. Being such good friends, we all slowly retired back to the Catamaran together. Other snorkelers on the far side of the bay were becoming upset because the expedition was somewhat of a bust. Where were all the promised fish? $65 dollars a pop for a milk run wasn’t cutting it.  My new friends and I hung out for a while near the ladder until a gaggle  arrived to go up. Everyone stopped to watch me and my buddies-all 10,000 of them. I tried to blend in innocently. No dice.

The Commander of the expedition came over to the ladder and reamed me for standing up on the rock as I emerged. I told him about my service connected tinnitus and hearing loss and suggested he talk louder. Apologies were proffered and accepted. Assurance that it would never occur again was tendered and all was well. Almost. When Buckwheat and Daniel got back they couldn’t  refrain from commenting on my ability to make such fast friends with the denizens of the deep in such a short period. Cupcake had figured it out 30 seconds after I got in.  She just shook her head with that “I should have known he would feed them” roll of the eyes.

Some of the other snorkelers came over and commented that the fish seemed inordinately attracted to my bright red bathing suit. Eventually the truth spread and I had a one on one with our group leader on the subject of feeding the fish. I was going to give her the “Gosh, you know Denise. I completely forgot-we were feeding those cute little miniature doves on the lanai this morning and I guess I left some bread in my pocket” . No dice again. She’d heard Buckwheat spill the beans to some girls he’d met.  I took my medicine and promised never again.

I can’t wait to go snorkeling again, but this time I’m taking less bread.