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Jamaica, 1974

Jamaica, 1974

Dougburnett
2003-11-22 10:48:00

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After a week at Papa Lawrence's - where lizards and huge spiders crawled the walls at night and where the only thing to do was listen to scratchy Reggae and drink Red Stripe beer - after a week, my buddy Mark and I figured it was time to move on. We teamed up with Annette and Larry, two medical students from New York City we had met on the flight down and who, more importantly, had a car.

We decided to head east. Near Ocho Rios we found a three bedroom house for rent: it was on the sea, had a pool and came complete with a house-keeper. I don't remember what it cost but I do remember it wasn't significantly more than what we had been paying - and it was way better.

So we settled in: Annette swam topless to everyone's delight; Mark took to bed with traveler's stomach; and Larry and I debated what surgery's might be necessary to cure him. While this was going on the housekeeper overcharged us mercilessly for the groceries she brought. It looked like we had the making of a memorable vacation here.

One afternoon Larry and I went out for a little ride while Annette worked on her tan and Mark continued his recovery. Up in the hills behind Ocho Rios we encountered a police road block and were asked to get out while they searched the car.

I was standing there mindlessly enjoying the view - what did I have to worry about? - when Larry leaned close. "You remember that bag of marijuana I got yesterday," he asked? "Well, it's still in the glove box!" A flood of images flashed through my mind: I would be summarily deported; or worst, have to phone home for money to pay some giant fine; or even worst, stuck in some hell-hole jail the rest of my natural life.

The police searched the driver-side first. As they walked around to the passenger-side, Larry casually asked them what they were looking for. "Drugs," they replied. "Oh, I know about drugs," Larry replied, "I'm a doctor." Well, maybe he was overstating his credentials but he got their attention. He then started into a particularly gruesome story about a death he had recently witnessed.

It worked: they stopped searching, stood up and gave Larry their full attention. On and on the story went, graphic detail following graphic detail - I silently cheered Larry. The cops were spellbound and forgot about their search. Soon they were bidding us farewell.

Back on the road I didn't know if I should cheer Larry for saving us or ring his neck for being so damn stupid. From then on, when ever we got it the car we would ask, "Larry, is the car clean?"

Copyright Doug Burnett

Ann Arbor, Michigan

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