An Old Hippie...

An Old Hippie...

Friday.  Payday baby.

At lunch I went out, put in a to-go order at 101 Sports Bar (My new favorite place, Worldly run and former Jax Beach boy owned - thanks Keith and Jon) and then hit the bank.

Going to the bank in Puerto Rico... hmmm, how can I explain this one to you.

Getting to Banco Popular...here's the breakdown.

First off traffic can get backed up for a mile on the Isla Verde strip just by the line of cars waiting to enter the bank parking lot.  Once you actually get the greenlight to enter the parking lot by the Security Guard/Parking Guy, you enter and then only at your own risk, cause from there it's every man for himself.  If you take the patient route like I do and opt for a parking spot rather than hit the drive thru then it's a little less hectic.  Still, it's a vicious game- just picture bumper cars at the local Fair and then know that that's still the P.G. version.

So now your at the bank.  And then you enter, right.   Wrong?  You have to wait in line just to get into the door.  One person at a time.  Each separate custome has to enter through a set of security doors that scans your for guns, explosives, and low-grade nuclear missles.

Then you're in.  And then there's a line that requires about an average wait of 20 -30 minutes.

Sounds like a pain in the butt, huh?  Well I'll say this-  I'd gladly take this routine anytime rather than deal with those GANGSTER SONS OF BITCHES known as Bank of America.  Just recently I accidently overdrew my Bank of America account in the States by $9.25 on several diffent purchases without realizing.  Overdrawn $9.25... The result- $420.00 in overdraft fees (this is the real figure, no innuendo intended.)

When I called them I got the usuall So Sorry, Sir, There's nothing we can do.  Have a nice day.  In giant Corporate Bank talk this translates to:  Sucks for You, but that's just the way it is.  You're in our world buddy and we gotta you by the short and curlies and there's nothing you can do about it.  You're one of the little people.  You're just another number to the Giant.  Now screw off and pay up.  And oh yeah. Have a nice day.

Yeah, Bank of America- Tony Montana of Scarface has nothing on them Loansharking Bastards.

Just Another Number in a Stadium of Short and Curlies.

And Banco Popular - Todo Bien- I'll take you fine folks over B.0.A. any day of the week.

So there I was.  I entered the bank and Adios Mio!  There's hardly a line.

Bingo!

I'm waiting less than two minutes and I hear those great words.  Adelante Por Favor.

Yes.  I'm in.

I get to the counter strapped, ready, and prepared to do business.  I've been through this song and dance before.

Check- Aqui.  License- Aqui  Phone Number- No Problemo (and it never hurts to throw in a little Como Estas Amiga- The check out girls are all knockouts {You'd dig em the most J.T.})

And there I was.  Waiting for her to make the simple transaction.  And then I noticed it.  A subtle, but obvious smile.  The more she tried to restrain herself the more she began to shake with small little seizures of giggles.

Que Pasa?

I looked around, behind me first and then at the other tellers.  And then I looked down at her hands behind the counter and it hit me.

My Florida Driver's License.  Gets Em everytime.

I laughed with her and nodded my head.

Era un espalda poco tonta en el día. Espera. Yo stil es tonto, acabo de mirar un poco diferente ahora.

Translation: I used to be a little silly back in the day. Wait. I still am silly, I just look a little different now.

She nods and giggles some more and then couldn't resist showing it to the teller next to her.

Yuk it up Ladies, Yuk it up.

They laughed and the other teller said at a soft giggle  Un Hippie Viejo

The word ''old'' and ''hippie'' I had no trouble picking up on.

No wait a second here Mamasitas, I thought with an amused smile,  Who you callin a hippie?  And who you callin old? What the fuck?  No guapo (handsome) or maybe even a good old fashion Machisimo?

And then the cute teller hands me back my license and I gave it a quick once over.

It'd been a while since I'd seen it and I forget sometimes about the photo or how I ended up with it.  Let's just say that back in the day one of my favorite things to do was get a little buzzed and cruize on in to the local DMV for a new license- that's right, go right into the mouth of the beast with no fear.  Only downside is when you mellow out the next day you look at your Photo and ask the age old obligatory question:  What the fuck was I thinking?

Yup, one loco Gringo here.

Ah well, if it gives a cute Puerto Rican bank teller a laugh it's all good.  I just hope it goes the same for the cops.  Haven't been pulled over yet but I'm sure that check's in the mail with the way I drive in order to keep up with the other local Vaqueros (Cowboy and P.R. slang for crazy drivers).  Actually, now that I think about it I'm sure that the Photo would work to my advantage-  It's one of the few times being a stupid looking Gringo round' these parts comes in handy-  when pulled over just act like a tourist, speak a little horrible Spanish, and just act... well act like an American damnit!

So I take my license, scoop up the small amount of cash that my slavedriver of a boss calls a paycheck (like I've always said before- no brownie points here for being the boss's son- what I wouldn't do for a little nepotism) and begin to walk away. 

Buenas Dias, the teller says to me as I go to turn.  And then I catch it.  That slight smile, that little gleam in the eye, that subtle but obvious look that says Don't worry, you're cool. Mas o Menos. (More or less)

I blurt a pitiful Buenas Dia back at her and shoot her a wink.  One last giggle. Bingo.

As I walk out of the bank the words dawn on me once more.   An old hippie.

Good enough.  I think back of those days and realize that they're still here.  Might look a little different, hairs a bit shorter with the warranty running out day by day, might be sporting a couple of extra pounds (but that's going quickly as well thanks to all the good waves and beautiful ocean I've been enjoying), and my work costume of a shirt sleeved collared shirt and khaki pants might be a slight difference from the baggies and beard I was once so accustomed to, but it's all so still the same.

Who you calling Hippie, Mamasita?

An old hippie.

I think back and I think forward.  I think now and I think then.  And then I think of a few friends.

Who they callin'Old Hippie, Nate Dog?

Trevor with his Daughter Bella. Love this photo.  But as far as the "hippie" label goes, it gives it a perspective of pure beauty and love- the way it should be.

Up, up, and away boys.

And as far as a few others, take a gander at this one:

How bout' this bunch.  Damn, that was a long time ago.  And yet, like yesterday my friends... 





An old hippie. If only she knew.

Mas o Menos.

I'm stil the same old, fun loving dumb ass as ever.  Only now there's just some new responsibilities that have come my way.  Only now every day that passes has been the best day of my life, even when I do get mugged by a fucking Midget (See September Post- The Fucking Guys).

Life is good and it just keeps getting better.  And the future... well where I'm going I've always known.  As much as I love it here, and as I know I will be here for a grateful long time, I now realize more than ever that even after so much time, I'm going home.

Our Land in Costa.  Love this Ranch.  And it still there... just beyond the horizon.  Waiting...

Waiting...

And Our Horse Nick is still waiting too.

And I guess there's just one more question.

Anyone else wanna come?

It's a long bridge but we'll get there.

And you're all welcome.