“Go Green,” they said. “Save the Earth!” Now, watching the fire, I wonder, who is going to save me?
It all started with my quixotic attempt to reduce automobile emissions. Refusing to buy a bicycle, like a normal conservationist, I decided to purchase a hang glider instead. I mean, why go around traffic when you can go over it, especially if your home and workplace are located at proper elevations? For all intents and purposes, it was a good idea, until an unforeseen incident occurred. While I was blissfully soaring over aggravated masses on the expressway, picturing them as rats trapped in their gas-guzzling cages, the wind suddenly gusted from the North, blowing my rig smack dab into a swarm of angry killer bees. Having an extreme case of melissophobia, I panicked and must have blacked out, for the next thing I knew, my hang-glider had crashed into some trees. Still attached by an emergency leash, I dangled helplessly like an unstrung yo-yo several feet above the ground. As luck would have it, the strap broke, and I plunged face-down onto the forest floor. Aching all over, I gingerly peered up to find I was not alone. Surrounding me was what appeared to be an entire village of scantily clad aborigines. I provided only perfunctory glances upon rising, as not to startle the savages in any way that might provoke them to stick me with their barbaric, yet sharply pointed staffs.
A voice barked, “Da-Be-Doo!”, causing the crowd to part as someone very different from the natives approached – someone much like me! It was a bearded man, wearing a ragged Hawaiian shirt and tan khakis chopped off at the knees, all the while sporting an eyesore of a headdress made from clumps of Spanish moss with four twigs sticking out from each side. Along with the violin-shaped emblem painted down the center of his brow, he looked as if he had a giant brown recluse spider for a skull.
“Ah-Be-Wah-Be.” Click. Click. “Boosh!” he exclaimed and apparently awaited my reply.
Confused, I gave none.
The man rolled his eyes and sighed before speaking in perfect English. “It means, state your purpose for invading these sacred grounds of the Wa-Ki-Kui tribe or be eaten.” Then, placing his hand aside his mouth, he whispered, “Although you may be eaten, regardless.”
I stammered, “Oh, I see…well…it’s sort of a strange story really, but I’m an environmentalist, and I crashed here because I thought hang-gliding would save the world.”
The man smiled from ear to ear. “Ah! We are brothers then, for I, too, have chosen to abrogate all connections with the energy wasting mongers of civilized society.” He pointed to his loin-clothed clan. “And these chaps – they are true naturalists. They live for the earth and the earth lives for them!”
By the animal bones protruding from their nasal cavities and other parts of their exposed bodies, I dared not disagree.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“Belize, my friend. The garden of good and evil and everything in between.”
“I see. Would there happen to be a phone in the garden?”
The man laughed hysterically, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “You are quite the character, my flying friend. Quite the character. Though a phone may be a ubiquitous commodity where you’re from, it is quite the contrary out here in the mist of pure, unbridled wilderness. However,” he pulled me to the side, “I happen to know where one is. The problem is that my faithful flock would prefer I not leave. They are a fragile following who need the comfort of leadership at all times. But do not fret,” he expressed, shoving his finger into the air. “Since I happen to know my way around the forest, I propose an exchange – quid pro quo – where I go and find help for you while you don my fantastic hat and guide these poor hooligans until my glorious return. Sounds good, no?”
Before I could respond, the man had already transferred the mossy monstrosity from his head to mine and, facing the natives with outstretched arms, had begun to decree, “Ooo-pee, Doo-pee, Wa-Wa.” Click. Clock. “Doh!” He then burst into a sprint, disappearing into the thick foliage while whooping gleefully about margaritas and bubble baths. His voice faded as the ring of natives tightened around me, forcing me to where I sit now – on a bamboo throne, watching a fire being built in my honor.
Or so I think.
