Kinda a Big Deal: Part III

Part III: Travis’s mom is also kinda the man

And so begins the final chapter in the Agustin saga...

At some point post luau but still during my bacchanal blissed out state, I had told Travis’s Mom that I’d love to go sightseeing the next day with her, Sarah and Deshie. It never occurred to me that either one of us would follow through with this; until Travis called the next morning to cheerfully remind me of what I had agreed to.

I felt like Death. No, Death would never be this hung-over and slovenly. Death would not have drooled all over its pillow in the night. Death would not have prayed for the end at 4 in the morning when it began dreaming it was being chased by girly men in orange sarongs. Death would have remember to put pants on as it crawled into bed after pigging out at the luau (get it, pig out? Mwhahahahahaha. And yes, Death would have made a better pun there).

So I pulled on the only pair of shorts that would fit and dragged my bloated carcass out the door. I met up with Travis’s Mom, Deshie and Sarah and slid into the backseat praying that I would not become “that weird girl who

booted in the car that time.” Small goals. Baby steps, Jess.

Mrs. Agustin proceeds to not only drive us all over beautiful Oahu but first tells me all about the pertinent island history and then interrogates me cheerfully along the way, alternating her questioning of me with her questioning of Deshie. Before we even reach the Dole Plantation, Deshie and I have disclosed our names, ranks, serial numbers, our status as organ donors, and most importantly, all the pertinent details of our respective love lives. Deshie’s involves a super-jacked college football player, and mine involves…Aaron, leader of the Mobile Irish Car Bomb Unit. I can tell Mrs. Agustin is impressed with my choice and only wishes her little Sarah was quite as lucky.

Eventually, she drops us off at the entrance to the Dole Plantation Pineapple Maze, site of the largest outdoor maze according to the Guinness Book of World Records in 2001.

Let’s review for a second what pop culture has taught us about outside mazes, shall we?

Exhibit A: Take family friendly Harry Potter. Remember the one where Harry’s super preppy classmate gets snuffed out by Ralph Fiennes (sans nose) in the maze? Oh I do. Important lesson for the kiddies: It’s all fun and wizard games until somewhat gets fried and the maze tries to drag them off.

Exhibit B. Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Winona Ryder and Jude Law’s ex-wife decide it’s a really good idea to go out cavorting in an outside maze during a storm in their nightgowns and then wham! First they’re making out and then Pow! Jude Law’s ex is being eaten by a hirsuite creature played by Gary Oldman with a bad accent. Not exactly a happy ending for anyone.

Finally, Exhibit C. Reach way back to The Shining. Crazed Jack Nicholson chasing his family around with an ax in the maze until it comes to life and starts chasing them around in a blizzard of bad special effect from the 70's. Good times.

I think we all know where I’m going with this.

Mazes are super fun!

Pineapple-shaped mazes are even more fun when you send in three females in it with no senses of direction and little motivation. We gamely wander about looking for all these bizarre checkpoints, pineapples: palm trees, suns. I climb through holes in the hedges and suddenly I find my inspiration. All I can think about is…Dole whip. Delicious Dole whip waiting at the end of the maze. A glutton to the end. Eventually, I convince Sarah and Deshie that while this has all been in good fun and what not, there is Dole whip to be had and there is no shame in quitting. That’s right, we left the maze early to join up with Travis’s mom (the only one of us smart enough not to go into the maze) and then we all head into the plantation to get Dole whip, a glorious creation that looks like soft serve, but tastes like pineapple divine. (Check out the picture I snapped while in line and decide if you’re as supremely mature as I am).

From there we embark on and all out assault of the beaches: Waimea, Sunset, Pipeline. I am bowled over by Mrs. Agustin’s ability to wedge the car into the most impossible of parking spots all the while explaining to me in the rearview the different characteristics of each beach. These beaches, all strikingly distinct in composition and appearance, all share one thing in common this weekend: The waves are enormous, a parting shot from the most recent storm. The waves are large enough that the lifeguards have posted the “no swimming, no surfing, no going within 25 yards of the surf unless you have a freaking death wish” signs. Of course, there are several morons trying their best to pretend they are illiterate and disregard these signs. A threesome inches closer and then step over the imaginary line drawn in the sand.

The lifeguard picks up his megaphone with a sigh. “Excuse me folks,” he booms, “we’re asking everyone to stay behind those signs at least 25 yards from the shore because of the dangerous undertows.” He puts down the megaphone and reapplies zinc oxide to his nose. The trio edges closer to the shore. The lifeguard picks up his megaphone again. “Hey guys, maybe you missed the signs or misheard me the first time but it’s incredibly dangerous out there today so we’re asking everyone NOT TO GO WITHIN 25 YARDS OF THE SURF. SO PLEASE GET BEHIND THE SIGNS.”

The lifeguard doesn’t even put down the megaphone this time. He hates his life.

The trio makes a break for the shore. “OH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY. ARE YOU PEOPLE DEAF, DUMB, AND STUPID? DO YOU REALLY THINK I’M GOING TO JUMP IN AFTER YOU AND SAVE YOUR DUMPY ASSES FOR 15 BUCKS AN HOUR? FAT CHANCE! I’M GOING TO SIT UP HERE IN MY LIFEGUARD CHAIR AND LAUGH WHILE YOU DROWN.”

Okay, so the lifeguard doesn’t say this. But man, you can tell he wants to. Instead, his tanned highness descends the lifeguard tower and stalks across the beach to have a private word with the Darwin award triplets. I can only imagine that he is speaking very slowly and using monosyllabicsm to explain the finer points of being dragged under by killer waves.

Now, at this point, it’s about 5 pm and I’m starting to nod off in the sand, but Mrs. Agustin isn’t done with us, we’ve only driven around 2/3rds of the island at this point. As I slide into the car, my head lolling from side to side, I am in deep admiration of Mrs. Agustin. Not only is she a saint for driving us around the island, but she is also the nicest, most energetic person on the planet. And she packed us cookies! She packed us cookies and Capri Sun juiceboxes! She has just surpassed Travis as my favorite person on the whole island. Sorry, Trav.

The rest of the island tour is a bit of a blur to me, the one standout is Chinaman’s Hat, a lush green island rising out of the blue waters. I remember it so distinctly because…well…there’s no way that that can be its real name, right? Not in the age of all things politically correct, right? Oh but it is.

Again, I nod off in the car only to wake up to Mrs. Agustin telling a ghost story about the Pali lookout and how during the great battle to unite the islands of Hawaii, the great King Kamehameha and his men started throwing soldiers off the top of the mountain. The legend goes that at night you can still hear them screaming atop the lookout as they fall. Mental note to self – go back to Pali lookout. During the day. And pack Capri Sun juiceboxes.

When I wake up again, we’re back in Waikiki and Mrs. Agustin is thanking me for the company, as if I did anything other than shuffle around like a detoxifying lump all day. I probably even drooled in the backseat, it’s just dark and no one can see it yet. I thank her profusely. In a single day, Travis’s mom has pretty shown me the entire island and told me all of the good stories you won’t hear on the tour. Plus she fed me cookies made from scratch.

Travis, who is Kinda a Big Deal, had to come from somewhere right? I think we all know that point of origin now. Like I said, Travis's Mom, also Kinda a Big Deal :)