A Friend in a Fury

Oh dear! I’ve found the nightlife of the Virgin Islands.

During one of my pre-departure pep talks back in Humboldt Co, one of my friends encouraged me that I would be experiencing new things around every corner. At the time of her support, this notion of seeing new things intrigued me tremendously. If I had only known how accurate her statement had been…

As I stole Wi-Fi signals from Molly Malone’s last night at the American Yacht Harbor (AYH), I raced the sunset to ensure I could walk up de hill to Lloyd’s Place (my apartment) without the fear of getting jumped for my laptop. In an effort to navigate the Verizon Wireless website to see if my parents (and friend’s parents) would actually be charged too much money for phone calls to me (despite what the AT&T representative assured me), I found myself still sitting at AYH past dark. Damn Verizon customer service! Anyway, I nervously walked past the dumpster and through the sketchy back parking lot. With heightened senses, and frustration left over from my still unanswered phone dilemma, I noticed a car of West Indies rolling down the hill. I slowed my pace and waited to decide if I wanted to proceed. The men in the junkie car blasting loud rap music spotted me and one hopped out. Trying to keep my cool I immediately turned around and headed back towards the ever-busy Duffy’s Loveshack. The man caught up with me and asked me what I was doing turning around so fast. “I forgot my jacket at the bar”—great lie since I haven’t considered wearing a jacket since my arrival on November 7^th. He suggestively replied, “Good thing I was here to remind you.” Feeling mixed emotions of guilt for stereotyping and relief to still possess my computer, I found myself at the bar of The Big Bambooze for a rum, pineapple, and lime.

The bartender, Joel, also a summer-seasonal bartender from Ocean City, MD convinced me to take a drink for the road—that’s legal here, and I headed to Marina Market Grocery Store in search of Roy, my only trusted on-duty cabby. He was nowhere to be found and since there was no way I was walking up the hill now, I was stranded, at the bars. Not wanting to go back to Big Bambooze because of the old drunk property manager that insisted on buying me drinks at the higher cost of listening to his life story, I headed up to Fat Boys to check out the live music I had been listening to the past week from Lloyd’s Place until 2 a.m. At least I knew the line-up.

Feeling depressed, stranded, and annoyed with humanity, I sat silently by myself sipping the pineapple juice and avoiding eye contact with everyone. Then I saw some Boaty kid wearing a Fury charter t-shirt. In my job searching efforts earlier in the day, I had come across Fury’s website and chatted with the owner Capt. Mike. He, like everyone else, was not hiring but accepted my resume. I got the kid’s attention and asked him if he was crew for Fury. He was. I told him I talked to Capt. Mike earlier in the day and wanted to steal his job.

He sat down and we started chatting. It was actually nice because Donny was the first male in my age group that hasn’t immediately tried hitting on me. Excited to have a new friend we shot the shit for an hour or two since he was avoiding some girl at the bar next-door and waiting to meet up with a friend. I told him he had to talk me up to Capt. Mike. To further prove how small this island really is, Capt. Mike called him immediately after this remark, to give him the heads up that a girl (me) had talked to him earlier and Donny was to wear his work shirt in case I was out. Ready to go home, I asked if he had a car and would be willing to take me home. He said yeah, but it was Friday night, and everyone that is anyone goes to Charlotte Amalie to dance at Fat Turtle and end the night at Hubbly Bubbly. I told him I didn’t want to get shot, or more importantly deal with the ride situation at the end of the night. He assured me a ride home and said I probably wouldn’t get shot. This was enough for me.

As I climbed into the car, the smell of old fish immediately hit my nostrils. “Eww, what is that smell?” He had just spent the whole day successfully lobster diving and the bugs, as he called them, had sat in the car for a half an hour. I looked over and realized the broken latch on the driver’s side door was replaced with an eye–bolt and metal clip. Safe. We made it to the Yacht Haven Grand, a strip of designer stores and bars lining the waterfront.

It was 10pm and dead. Donny assured me things got rowdier, questioning my rush since we were going to be there until 4 am. What? No, I’ve been up since 6:30 am, we are not staying out that late. Donny retorted that he had been awake since 5:30 am. Damnnit. What did I get myself into? We ordered drinks. Apparently, I’ve been doing it wrong. “Another thing, it’s a dark and pineapple, not dark rum, they just know,” Donny had taken on the role as tour guide and enjoying it a little too much. The night turned out to be really fun, despite the lousy club music. And boy it got rowdy.

I immediately felt at home once a poi fire dancer did his routine. The crazy hippies live places other than Humboldt Co. California. Nice. After making a few more local friends, another dark and pineapple, chatting with some European yachtys and checking out Hubbly Bubbly hookah bar, I looked at my watch. 3:30! It was time to go, I gave Donny the look, and we said goodbye to our new English stewardess friend Becky, and headed back to the car.

Donny, playing on my admitted uneasiness about driving on the left side of the road decided now was a good time for me to try it out. Gauging his level of intoxication, I begrudgingly agreed. I climbed into the driver seat, clipped my door in, buckled, and like many situations since my arrival here, took a deep breath. We pulled out of the parking lot and he encouraged me “Alright remember shoulder to shoulder.” Got it. We made it safely back after one wrong turn, too many potholes, a close call around a sharp left turn and a truck speeding past. “That’s the first time this car has been passed since I’ve owned it.” I’m glad I drove.