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Twenty one years ago, my wife got pregnant with my first child. Back then, the transportation system was a horrible mess in Jamaica, and riding in a minibus, one couldn't help but being transported back to my voyage across the Middle Passage. I used to have nightmares of being chained together with my fellow black tribesmen, lying in each others filth and perspiration. My senses became immune to the stench. With my young seed growing inside of my wife's frail little body, I made a decision that my queen would not be further subjected to Jamaica's Middle Passage. I decided that I would learn to drive.
In those days, the laws of Economics did not apply to fixed assets in Jamaica. Only in Jamaica would you see the value of a used car appreciate 100%. So after months of driving practice and failing my incline start once, I finally bought my drivers license. Money well spent. My queen will never have to feel something tough pressed up against her rear end in one of those overcrowded four-wheel Middle Passage vehicles again.
Excited and feeling like a big man with my newly minted drivers license, I answered an ad in the newspaper, car for sale. I traveled to a house in Hope Pastures with my mechanic to meet with a "brown rich kid" selling a white 1986 Honda Civic with black pinstripes going down the sides, mag sport rims, sport steering wheel, stick shift. He mentioned something to my mechanic about the gear box which my mechanic explained to me in clear Chinese. I snapped a mental picture of myself sitting behind the wheel with my elbow up on the rolled down window and teleported it to my queen. Oh, did I mentioned that it had AUTOMATIC windows??? Yup, this was my car. This was a car fitting for my queen. The transaction was completed that day.
So on day 2, I sat in my 1986 white Honda Civic car, with the mag rims and sport steering wheel, outside her office in the middle of Cross Roads, bouncing to some wicked dancehall music, waiting on my pregnant queen to leave work. It didn't bother me that I had to wait for 30 minutes for her to come out. After all, I was enjoying the stares from people walking by admiring my 1986 white Honda Civic car, with the mag rims and sport steering wheel. So she finally came out and we were ready to head on home to Washington Gardens. I cut a U and headed back down Slipe Road. The queen asked, what was that smell....like burning rubber. "Jangle, yuh sure something not wrong with the car?" she asked. What does she, a woman, know 'bout cyar. A few chains down Slipe Road, smoke start rise from the front end.
So the next day, while at work Downtown, the mechanic called me to tell me the cost of the wrecker for towing the cyar to his shop and the cost of a new clutch. I swear I had a slight bowel movement. The gear box wasn't properly aligned and third gear was in the first gear position. I had been moving off the CYAR in third gear all along ignoring the constant whining and questioning of my driving abilities of this damn nagging woman that was carrying me pickney. For 5 years I had that CYAR, and for 60 months, Mechanic Bill took precedence over unimportant bills like, Light, Mortgage, Credit Cards. After all, who can come kick me out a me owna house; JPS nuh bad enough fi come turn off me light; who needs good credit ratings in Jamaica?
On Saturday, I sat and watched Manchester united play Sunderland. David Moyes was Jangle learning to drive a stick shift car. I eventually became good at it, but damn....the price I paid to learn.
In those days, the laws of Economics did not apply to fixed assets in Jamaica. Only in Jamaica would you see the value of a used car appreciate 100%. So after months of driving practice and failing my incline start once, I finally bought my drivers license. Money well spent. My queen will never have to feel something tough pressed up against her rear end in one of those overcrowded four-wheel Middle Passage vehicles again.
Excited and feeling like a big man with my newly minted drivers license, I answered an ad in the newspaper, car for sale. I traveled to a house in Hope Pastures with my mechanic to meet with a "brown rich kid" selling a white 1986 Honda Civic with black pinstripes going down the sides, mag sport rims, sport steering wheel, stick shift. He mentioned something to my mechanic about the gear box which my mechanic explained to me in clear Chinese. I snapped a mental picture of myself sitting behind the wheel with my elbow up on the rolled down window and teleported it to my queen. Oh, did I mentioned that it had AUTOMATIC windows??? Yup, this was my car. This was a car fitting for my queen. The transaction was completed that day.
So on day 2, I sat in my 1986 white Honda Civic car, with the mag rims and sport steering wheel, outside her office in the middle of Cross Roads, bouncing to some wicked dancehall music, waiting on my pregnant queen to leave work. It didn't bother me that I had to wait for 30 minutes for her to come out. After all, I was enjoying the stares from people walking by admiring my 1986 white Honda Civic car, with the mag rims and sport steering wheel. So she finally came out and we were ready to head on home to Washington Gardens. I cut a U and headed back down Slipe Road. The queen asked, what was that smell....like burning rubber. "Jangle, yuh sure something not wrong with the car?" she asked. What does she, a woman, know 'bout cyar. A few chains down Slipe Road, smoke start rise from the front end.
So the next day, while at work Downtown, the mechanic called me to tell me the cost of the wrecker for towing the cyar to his shop and the cost of a new clutch. I swear I had a slight bowel movement. The gear box wasn't properly aligned and third gear was in the first gear position. I had been moving off the CYAR in third gear all along ignoring the constant whining and questioning of my driving abilities of this damn nagging woman that was carrying me pickney. For 5 years I had that CYAR, and for 60 months, Mechanic Bill took precedence over unimportant bills like, Light, Mortgage, Credit Cards. After all, who can come kick me out a me owna house; JPS nuh bad enough fi come turn off me light; who needs good credit ratings in Jamaica?
On Saturday, I sat and watched Manchester united play Sunderland. David Moyes was Jangle learning to drive a stick shift car. I eventually became good at it, but damn....the price I paid to learn.
Paul Marin -19 is one thing, 20 is a whole other matter. It gets even worse if they win the UCL. *groan*. 
05/18/2011.MU fans naah cough, but all a unuh a vomit?-Lazie 1/11/2015
(Hope Don1 nuh charge mi fi use im patented wud?)
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