“Always wear sunscreen,” they said.
Little did I know how horrible that life advice would turn out to be…
The very first time I visited Hawai’i, I had flown out there by myself for my (ultimately successful) job interview. Not to be deterred by my lack of a companion, I added a day to my stay so I would have an extra chance to explore paradise.
But was I going to pay tons o’ money for a car? Pffft! Hecks no! True to form, I embarked on my adventures on a rented scooter, intent on soaking up every last ray of beautiful sunshine and savoring every last whiff of that sweet, sweet tropical breeze. As the youths probably never say, I was living life “to the max.”
I decided not to overcomplicate things, and had planned on a very bare-bones itenary of snorkelling in gorgeous Hanuama Bay1https://hanaumabaystatepark.com/ first thing in the morning, followed by a brief break back at my hotel in Waikiki, and then I would scoot on around to the Windward (northeast) Side of the island for a late lunch at some some random burger joint. The details of this restaurant are largely inconsequential: I had just arbitrarily picked it to give me an excuse to explore that part of Oahu. After all, it’s not about the destination, but rather the journey. That’s what they all say, anyways.
This simplified schedule would give me ample time to relax another hour at the hotel before finding my way to the airport for my 6 o’clock flight out of there. This would also minimize the possibility of some unforeseen plot twist causing me to miss my flight. Shenanigans? No thanks, not this time!
Now, being the lily-white myopic responsible adult that I am, you can bet your sweet Hawaiian buns that I was popping in my contact lenses and slathering up with sunscreen that morning before hitting up Hanauma. But you know what, sometimes it seems that doing the right thing only invites punishment…
By the time I got back to the hotel after snorkelling, I could tell that a little bit of the sunscreen must have seeped down through my Oompa-Loompa eyebrows and into my eyes, as they seemed slightly irritated. No problem, though! I just took out my contacts, caught a quickie nap, and hit the road for the 22-mile scenic af journey to The Shack in Kailua.
However, between sweating under the Hawaiian sun and the previously-lauded tropical breeze in my face, the sunscreen-in-the-eyes situation was only worsening. It was still bearable, though, and I figured that I would rinse my eyes out at the restaurant and that they should be good to go after a good 30 minutes or so of rest.
Oh boy, was I WRONG about that. I tried to enjoy that hamburger in spite of the tears streaming down my face, a combination of trying to let tears do their intended job of cleansing my peepers, along with the emotional despair of realizing that I was blind, stranded, and almost for sure going to miss my flight. I mean, while I could always get a taxi back to the hotel, I still had the problem of getting the scooter back to the scooter rental place.
I was kicking myself this whole time for declining the scooter roadside assistance in an attempt to save $20. Why? Because I realized that had that insurance been in place, I could solve all my problems by strategically placing a borrowed steak knife in one of the scooter’s tires. Boom! Then I would have a ride back for both myself and the scooter. But, alas, I’m a cheap bastard at heart, and was now paying a steep price for it.
So there I was, with my eyes ablaze trying to figure out how the hell to get myself out of this heck of a pickle. And the burning was only exacerbated by the presence of oxygen, meaning that any attempt to keep my eyes open was excruciatingly futile. On top of this, they had become rather light-sensitive as well. Needless to say any attempt at exercising my gift of sight only resulted in immediate decent into pure misery.
After sitting in a dark corner of The Shack for about an hour and a half with no relief in sight (no pun intended), I realized that I was running out of options–and time. Ultimately, I had no choice but to get my ass back on the scooter and hit the road, irregardless if I could actually see where I was going or not.
For almost an hour I carefully putted down that 2-lane highway with my eyes closed ~85% of the time. I am not exaggerating one bit when I say that I couldn’t keep them open for more than about a second at a time. So I was stuck in this soul-sucking loop of squeezing my eyes tightly shut for 3-5 seconds, then putting every ounce of energy I had into keeping them open for 1, 2 seconds tops. Then rinse and repeat, as they say.
I even tried that trick of alternating which eye is open and which eye is tightly shut, but given that the trade-off was loss of depth perception, I’m guessing it was only slightly less dangerous. The trip was made even longer by the fact that I had to pull over for a couple of minutes every time my spidey-sense started tingling, letting me know that maybe I was edging just a little too close to dying in a fiery crash.
I’ve often heard from other people that when they try to imagine what Eternal Damnation might be like, that “trying to stay awake when you’re extremely tired but have to keep driving” is the best guess they got. Well, just imagine that on crack, with the lovely addition of having hot pokers jammed in your eyes.
You shouldn’t be surprised then to hear that this landed squarely in the Number Two slot on my list of this-must-be-what-Hell-is-like life experiences–barely edged out only by that time I about died getting my tonsils removed, of course. Good gracious! It triggers my PTSD just thinking about it.
While I somehow miraculously made it back to the scooter shop in one piece, my misery didn’t end there by any means. Trying to blindly stumble the 10 blocks or so back to my hotel from there was an unpleasantly surprising swift kick in the crotch, given what I had just endured. I actually got lost in one of the buildings I tried cutting through in an attempt to avoid the sunlight like I was ----- Dracula or something.
Needless to say, when I finally made it to my seat on the plane, I couldn’t have been happier to be leaving that so-called Heaven-On-Earth. As we took off, I pried my eyes open one last time so I could gaze over the island that I would be calling home for the next two years. And when I was completely sure the island was looking, I gave it a stout, 15-second middle-finger salute…
The point of the story actually is that you should never judge an experience by how it begins. It turns out that those next two years were by far the best two years of my life. And yes, I was still a diligent Caucasian and wore sunscreen the whole time–keeping it far away from eyeholes, of course.
But I will never forget what I learned that fateful day: did you know that you can completely exhaust the muscles that keep your eyes open? It’s true! You most certainly can…
Content created on: 10/12 November 2020 (Tues/Thurs)
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