Pacific

The Ugly American Goes Pacific

Christ, these Micronesian types offend easily! I barely got off the plane in Guam when I was pelted with souvenir coconuts for innocently remarking on the beauty of the island and the somewhat diminutive physical stature of some of the natives I'd seen.

OK, what I actually said was that the place looked like Oz with dwarf Samoans instead of munchkins, but that was no reason for them to get so pissed off. I was just kidding around.

Anyway, after the doctors removed the ice packs and the swelling had subsided a little, I went to settle up my emergency room bill. I then made the error of jokingly asking the nurse if they took Blue Cross or if the preferred method of payment was live poultry.

So then it was back into the emergency room so the doctors could extract the stethoscope she so rudely had inserted into my rectum, and they certainly took their good-natured time about it. Not to mention the fact that they used rusty kitchen tongs to perform the procedure, then apologized that they were out of lubricant. Sure.

I haven't been able to sit down for three days, and these June Allyson Adult Diapers I have to wear are of small comfort.

Of course, that was nothing compared to what I went through during a brief layover in Tokyo. I remarked on how well-built Japan appeared to be from the air and then humorously suggested that they should thank us for the A-bombs we dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki or otherwise they'd all still be eating their fish heads and rice in thatched huts. Is everyone in Japan a martial arts expert? I got kicked, punched and chopped from every direction, in places I never even knew I had, and they made me ride in the luggage compartment on the connecting flight to Guam. Said they'd overbooked. Sure.

Did you know that they don't secure the suitcases in the baggage compartment? I found out the hard way when a Samsonite bag large enough to hold an aircraft carrier landed on my head. Turns out it was filled with 85-pound gold bars some guy was smuggling from Okinawa to a contact at the Bank of Guam. That's going to leave a mark.

They had to use the cargo basket to haul my battered carcass onto the ship, and the captain suggested that perhaps I should stay aboard for a few weeks, at least until the angry torch-bearing mob at the motor-launch pier begins to subside a little. Can't anybody take a joke anymore?

At least we're now sailing for Saipan, which I've never heard of before, so it will be difficult to think of light-hearted witticisms with which to ingratiate myself with the locals. But I'll think of something.

This is your old pal, The Ugly American, signing off and reminding you that when you travel abroad, remember that you are an unofficial goodwill ambassador for the good old U.S. of A. Just make sure to avoid all those foreigners; they're nothing but trouble!

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