Freaky, Stalker, Security Guard Lady!

Good looks are a blessing and a curse!

I have a penchant for attracting older women as they find me charming, funny, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. Usually, we end up talking or unintentionally flirting and I'm OK with that. Aside from a woman once telling me that she would kidnap me, take me home, put me in a glass case and just look at me everyday, nothing has ever really come out of these "attractions"- that was until I met Ornella. Following is a blog post about my newest admirer, a security guard who works in the hospital across the street.

I first met Ornella in the pharmacy at the end of my street. At first I didn't really notice her presence as I was late for class, worried about my pending assignments and just wanted to buy my mints and be on my way. My less than pleasant demeanour seemed to arouse her curiosity as she turned to me and smiled. She was a short, burly, black lipped woman of East Indian descent who was dressed in her Amalgamated security uniform with her gun on her side, bullet proof vest fastened who looked at me from head to toe as I asked for one dollar in mints. As I paid for my mints and turned to leave, she shifted slightly in front the door and started to talk to me:

Ornella: Who vex yuh?

Me: Nothing! (I was particularly annoyed because I hate when people think that because you're not smiling "somebody vex yuh")

Ornella: Well smile nah, yuh too handsome to be looking so vex!

Against my better judgement, I smiled and said thank you. On turning around after I had left the pharmacy, I saw Ornella waving at me and smiling which I assumed was normal behaviour.

Two weeks passed before I saw Ornella again. This time she was in front the pharmacy smoking a cigarette which repulsed me and helped me to understand why her lips were so black. Suddenly she was walking beside me, telling me about working a double shift that had started the night before and how tired she felt. She seemed to think that the fact that I was entertaining her meant that we were friends and proceeded to ask me my name, after telling me that hers was Ornella. I could have felt my inner-Garvin screaming at me to give her a fake name and that was exactly what I did. As far as Ornella knows, my name is Micheal and I attend UTT. I made nothing of this encounter because I kept on telling myself that I was being overly dramatic and paranoid. I started to notice that after the second encounter, I would always see Ornella either smoking a cigarette in front the pharmacy or standing around the hospital which was understandable since she worked there. She would always make small talk with me and would wave whilst, I would walk by quickly because I couldn't shake the weird vibe that I got from her. Daddy always says, "Follow yuh vibes!" and once again, my vibes were right.

I had taken a week long sabbatical from UWI -it's a tradition- and I was making my re-emergence to the hallowed halls of CLL when Ornella justified the vibes that I had had. This time, she opted to not stand at her usual spot but come out of a track to the side of a house, two houses away from mine. I was therefore, startled to see her standing next to me in all her female security guard glory, fully equipped with her smelly bullet proof vest and a gormless grin.

Ornella: "Micheal!" (all cheery)

Me: "Hi!" (all skeptical)

Ornella: "I like yuh shirt!" Then, "How come yuh didn't go to school last week?"

Me: "How do you know that I didn't go to school?" (skepticism mingled with fear)

Ornella: "Cuz I eh see you pass when you usually do! I was worried but then, I used to see you in yuh gallery sometimes." (smiles)

Time seemed to stop for an eternity as I grappled with everything that she had just said. She knew where I lived, when I went to school and when I went out into my gallery? Maybe, she's just really observant given her job? Maybe, she happened to be standing outside on that one day when I went outside? I mean, it's totally coincidental that she ran into me on that day or that she happened to be close by whenever I was walking out of my street. Normal people do that! However, my reasoning gave way to my imagination and a scene emerged:

There I was tied to a chair in my birthday suit, my eyes darting to and fro searching for the source of the mad cackle. Ornella walks towards me, a knife in hand, smiling and telling me about the fact that she loved me from the moment she saw me in the pharmacy. My nice, pink lips called out to her and she knew that she needed to have me. She starts licking my face, her hands caressing my body as I whimper in disgust. She jumps back, enraged and begins wielding her knife like a warrior. She screams at me about just wanting to be loved by a man and she had foolishly thought that I was that man. But alas, I'm just like the other men; disgusted by her very touch, disgusted by her. The light bounces off the knife as Ornella brings it down once, twice, three times... AHHHH!

Given the little scene that had just played out in my head, I decided it was time to get off of Ornella's radar. I've resorted to changing my routine and leaving the house at different times. It's highly possible that my tactics may not work since, from what I've seen on T.V., stalkers are DEDICATED and RESOURCEFUL. I'm patiently awaiting the day that I come home to find Ornella sitting in my living room with my family at 6PM for our prayer meeting. Until that day comes, I'll settle for Ornella's stares from the hospital's dark corridors. Oh joy!

Until the next post!

The Curfew Almost Got Me!

I'm too cute for jail!

It was Friday, August 26th, 2011, the time was 8:15PM and I was on the bus route, in a maxi taxi freaking out. I'm accustomed to finding myself in these situations but this time around, it started with a good intention. Earlier that day, I realised that the following week would have been my last week at work and that I had a lot of newspapers to archive. Being the suck up that I am, I decided to stay back after work to archive some of the articles. Admittedly, the SoE and the curfew that my dear Aunty Kamla called upon the country were the furthest things from my mind; I live in a "cold spot" so, if I am in Sangre Grande after 9PM, the police can't lock me up. Back to the story... there I was, listening to Adele (AWESOME) and chatting with a co-worker as we sorted and archived the newspaper articles. On two occasions, he told that I should go home but I shrugged him off and boldly told him with the slightest hint of an attitude, "Ahm... I, unlike you, don't live in a "hot spot". It will have Grande maxis in City Gate. Doh worry!" Little did I know that thirty minutes later, I would be eating those words.

I have a problem when it comes to leaving somewhere, in that, I tend to do unnecessary things or 'spin' before I leave. Thus, I didn't leave the Ministry until 7:25PM because I had to 'sexify', making sure that I looked presentable to face the world beyond the ministerial walls. As I walked unto the pavement on South Quay, I knew that something was wrong; aside from the pungent, Beetham- esque scent that permeated the air, there were a lot of people waiting for transportation. Men, women and children were all standing, looking agitated and/ or anxious as they clutched shopping bags that contained merchandise from their trip to downtown Port- of- Spain. A black "taxi" pulled up and it was immediately pounced upon by the people who had tapped into their animalistic side. Only four people got in; the others walked away, heads bowed in rejection as they resumed their previous positions. I quickened my pace to City Gate as my heart started racing and my palms started sweating.

Looking down at the maxi taxi lanes from the second floor in City Gate did nothing to alleviate my nerves. There were so much people and little or NO maxi taxis; I was truly alarmed by now and stupidly sent a text to my Mom reading, "It have no maxis in City Gate. I dunno what to do?" I was so nonplussed that when my mother called to buff me for my obviously stupid decision to stay that late after work, I couldn't string two sentences together. I had to calm myself and at least, try to think rationally and figure out my alternatives. Since I couldn't teleport or turn into a soucouyant and fly to Sangre Grande, I decided my best bet was to go to Arima and hope to God that I could get a taxi to Grande BEFORE 9PM. When I relayed this to my mother, she agreed and said that she would call me back. Now that I had a possible solution, another problem presented itself- I, Garvin Tafari Parsons, would have to- wait for it- RUSH for a maxi taxi. *FAINTS* Anyone who has travelled with me knows that I RARELY rush for maxi taxis. There is something wholly uncivilized and belittling about it so, I refrain from such activities. As I was pondering my latest predicament, a maxi pulled up and the driver pushed his head out the window and bellowed, "ARIMA, ARIMA!" It was a split second decision and I could be seen a split second later, running with 20 or more people to get a seat on the 24-seater maxi taxi. It was embarrassing, interesting and fulfilling all at the same time; I mean, I beat like eight people to get into the maxi before the last four seats were occupied. *cups hand to ear* Do I hear applause?

I thought that having gotten a seat in the maxi that my nerves would have settled but, I seemed more nettled than ever and the occupants in the maxi didn't really help improve my mental state. There was this woman who kept talking to her friend in the seat behind her in one of the loudest, most obnoxious voices I have ever heard. Then, there was the guy sitting in the seat in front of me who thought it necessary to play music in the maxi as though anyone cared that he had an extensive Kartel playlist on his Blackberry. I tried to ignore them and pray as the time changed from 8:05PM to 8:06PM on the maxi clock and the maxi stopped SIX times between Port- of- Spain and San Juan. My mother continued calling me to see where I was and I kept on assuring her that I could get a taxi in Arima before 9PM. My assurances, however, did nothing to alleviate the knots in my stomach and it was only after the guy in the front seat answered his phone and spoke to his friend that I grasped the gravity of my situation. Following is an abridged version of the conversation well, the part that I heard anyway.

Guy: "Yeah hoss, I just pass San Juan!"
Friend answers.
Guy: "Wheys, Arima almost empty? So, no car to go Grande or wha'?"
Friend answers.
Guy: "Wait! People walkin' to the end of Arima to escape the curfew?"
Friend answers.
Guy: "Well, I go hadda do that too yes! I doh know nobody down here really."

After hearing that one-sided conversation, several memories and scenarios started running through my mind. I remembered two friends, telling me of instances where their friends were seen in Arima after 9PM and taken to the police station to spend the night. I remembered a radio broadcast earlier that day which said that persons caught in a "hot spot" after the curfew hours could be held for up to FIFTEEN days under some Anti- Gang Act. I mean, have you seen ME? I AM TOO CUTE FOR JAIL! A scenario started to play out in my head, one where I was the 'bitch' of some burly, tattooed prison inmate named Spider. He would spank me and rub my bald head before he fondled with my boy parts and penetrated me! Hell to the NO! I, unlike the guy in the front seat, knew people down on that side so, I texted a friend asking him if I could spend the night. I could have called but I didn't want everyone to know my business. Naturally, he said yes and relief flooded my insides and I hastily pressed the bell, signaling to the driver that I would take it at Curepe Junction; I all but RAN from that maxi taxi.

It was 8:30PM and I was walking into a friend's house, counting my blessings and laughing at my predicament. I learned several things that night: 1) it pays to have a friend that lives close to the bus route and by extension, Port- of- Spain, 2) always, always walk with extra money, 3) I should start to put a kit in my school bag with all my toiletries and extra underwear because with this SoE and curfew business, one NEVER knows where they'll end up and 4) although I live in a "cold spot", I still have to pass through a "hot spot" to get home so, I should hasten home nontheless.

Until the next post!

People of the Maxi Taxi

STEUPS!

The maxi taxi is a popular means of transportation on the twin island Republic of Trinidad and Tobago. They can come in different colours and sizes and can be seen all over the country. The maxi taxi is a place where you can encounter the strangest, most sickening people especially if you travel the Sangre Grande- Port- of- Spain route- yes, I'm biased! Having been away for a year, I forgot just how annoying and disgusting some people can be while travelling so much so that I was sometimes appalled by the behaviour of these people. This blog will highlight all the types of people I've met and I'm pretty sure that you've encountered some of them yourself.

1) The Sleeper

There's something about travelling in a comfortable, air- conditioned maxi that just puts me to sleep. I can be asleep and no one knows unless of course, you look at me and notice that my eyes are closed. The same cannot be said for The Sleeper. The Sleeper can be male or female, big or small, black or white but they all have something in common, that is, the disturbing and disruptive way in which they sleep. They're the ones who sit in the front, heads back with mouth agape, snoring for the whole world to hear. They're the ones who sit next to you and have the audacity to sleep on your shoulder with their gel or grease filled heads, sullying your well- ironed shirt. Don't you dare shrug the Sleeper off because they will watch you 'cut eye' and/ or 'steups' because your shoulder is a substitution for their pillow at home. On the rare occasion that the Sleeper collides with one of those uncomfortable side seats, it can make for an interesting ride. The acrobatics that you see are sometimes mind boggling and hilarious, as their heads go swinging from side to side or their bodies double over on the seat. Ah yes!

2) The Talker

I thought I was talkative that is, until I met the Talker. The Talker feels the need to have uncomfortable, unnecessary and personal conversations on their cell phones for everyone in the maxi taxi to hear. I remember sitting in front of a Talker as she told her friend about her 'man' problems. Apparently, she done wid she man because he cyah cook, he does cuss she and he does only tickle she in the night. Her friend, confused by the concept of a man tickling her friend at night probably asked, "Buh, wha' you talkin' bout girl?" At which point, her charming, graceful friend answered, "Oh gosh gyul, he prick small!" and laughed scandalously. I wasn't the only one that was appalled by her behaviour, the maxi taxi driver looked at her from his mirror and shook his head whilst an old lady pursed her lips, tutted and mumbled something about 'the young people these days'. On another occasion, a young lady was sitting next to me, talking about some nasty (her words, not mine) relative of hers who loved to borrow money from her and re-pay when she wanted to. If the Talker, however, were to borrow money from the relative, she wouldn't hear the end of it. She went on to talk about her relative's lack of work, how she was seen ironing a shirt that morning as though she was going to look for work and how she, the Talker, was going to cancel her FCB online banking because the relative knew the password. TMI much? I mentioned two female versions of the Talker but please note that there is a male version out there. His modus operandi- M.O. for you simple minds- is a bit different; he sits next to you and on hearing some tidbit on the news or seeing something interesting outside, he taps you on the foot and mutters something weird while you laugh awkwardly so as not to hurt his feelings. I try putting on my 'guntha' face but it never works because I seem to have a sunny disposition. Oh joy!

3) The Farter

Air- conditioned maxis, once fully operational, are a God send given the uncharacteristically (whoa, that's a long word) hot days that we've been having lately. I just love sitting back with my eyes closed allowing the cold breeze to wash over me. It's usually when I'm most relaxed that the Farter strikes! He/ she is impeccably dressed; their nice clothes covering the stink that resides within. The fart confuses you at first then, your nose starts burning and you feel the urge to climb over the other passengers and claw your way to the nearest window; escape your only motive. I detest the Farters the most because they're disgusting and you never know who they are! Can't you simply hold it in? - I assure you, it won't kill ya! Can't you take regular purge packs from the pharmacy? - They're only $3.00! Something MUST be wrong in this region *signals emphatically to his stomach* because no human should be able to produce those life threatening odours. I think that: 1) farting in air-conditioned maxis should be a CRIMINAL OFFENCE, punishable by DEATH and 2) when someone farts in a maxi, their face should light up in a fluorescent shade of green or pink while a whistling sound emits from their ears or a loud voice yells, "FARTER, FARTER!" and a BIG, SHINY arrow appears overhead, pointing down at him/her. You know what? I blasted VEX! I need some Chai tea or whatever tea calms you down. STEUPS!

4) The Stinker

I remember when I was younger, before I had discovered the joys of wearing deodorant; I had a small odour problem. On noticing this, my father sent me to the bathroom and came in with a lime with the intention of rubbing it under my arm to 'cut the scent'. I was EMBARRASSED and I VOWED to never let that happen to me again. From then, "Cleanliness is Next to Godliness" became one of my mantras. The Stinker has never heard that mantra nor has he/she had a father like mine. The most unnatural scents seem to emerge from their armpits or possibly, other orifices of their body. If not, they're sweaty from walking to City Gate in the afternoon sun and sit next to you, rubbing their sweaty selves on you. Ewwww!

Did I forget any people of the maxi taxi? Let me know in your comments. Until the next post!

Random Thoughts of A Garvin

Blogging from my head...

My head hurts... I can't focus... I have so much thoughts running through my head. I feel a little confused and I don't know how to stop the buzzing of my brain. "Why not write a blog about it?"- I thought. But, I couldn't! My blogs always have a theme; I write about things I see, hear, experience or learned. I can't tarnish my blog with random, unfiltered blogs that may hurt people's feelings or offend. Then again, it's my blog, an outlet for my creative juices when they start to flow and oh boy, they're flowing. God help us all!

I hate double standards, they irk me and I want to kill them all. Sometime ago, a friend of the family was visiting. We were talking and she started talking about her daughter, saying that she was a tomboy and sometimes she likes to dress up in big T-shirts, caps and boots. She laughed it off because it was "normal" behaviour for some girls. I started thinking about what she would have said if she had a son who was metro sexual or very flamboyant. Would she be disgusted? Try to beat it out of him? Or accept him? The sad thing is that this double standard exists whereby it's OK for a girl to act like a boy and be somewhat accepted by society. A boy, however, who is girlish or stylish or doesn't fit into the stereotypical idea of a male, has to endure ridicule, disgusting looks or being called all the gay related nicknames out there. I feel strongly about this because I have never been what you would consider the stereotypical boy and I was and continue to be ridiculed about it. I try not to take it on and exude overwhelming confidence but sometimes, it gets to you and it hurts. Why can't we be who were meant to be once, it's not harming anyone? It's this double standard that makes me want to seek a life for myself elsewhere, I feel as though I will never be understood in Trinidad where the narrow- mindedness runs wild. I'm just biding my time, waiting for that opportunity and then, I'm outta here. At least, my parents understand and were anticipating my departure from Trinidad ever since I was seven years old. Some may say I'm selfish and unpatriotic but, I doh really care nah!

One would think that I would understand deceitfulness. I have been around it all my life; from "friends" that have spread rumours about me to "friends" wanting to know my business so as to broadcast to the world but, I still don't get it. Why be deceitful? Is it that they like to lie to themselves and people around them or enjoy the thrills of playing mind games? Are they just bored, trying to find a way to enjoy themselves and f****** with people is the only way they find entertainment? Whatever it is, it's not nice making people trust you and then, backstabbing them. But, maybe I'm just too trusting, like to share and I always look for friends in the wrong places; I'm like a magnet attracting all the high voiced, deceitful people out there. Sigh! I need to surround myself with positive people and I've started but, change is a continuous process and I've been falling back into old habits and trusting 'old' people. Ah well...

Am I stupid? Does what I have to say seem so insignificant that you have to cut me off? Gosh! I can take criticism or direction; tell me you don't like this and you don't like that. I'll listen to you and try my best to comply with your vision while staying true to mine. Don't cut me off by waving your hands as though I was a mosquito buzzing in your ear and talk over me while I'm trying to explain my vision, my creative insight to you. I was hurt and felt as though what I had to say was of no importance. Sigh, maybe I shouldn't be so sensitive.

There's a new member to my life coach crew well, I would like to think so. He challenges me to think outside of the box and not just be an academic. I learn so much from him on a daily basis, I think of him like an older brother and someone to give me words of advice, helping me grow as an individual. At least, there's one, good, random thought!

WOW, what a depressing blog touched by hints of violence against supervisors and double standards! I suppose this is my dark place; between all the smiles and confidence, there's a dark side festering, waiting... Maybe, I should let it out more often and channel them into blogs. At least, I know that I'm not one note. Until next time- that is, if you come back after reading this!

Harry Potter 7, Part 2: The Good, The Bad and The Indifferent

"Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, come to die!", Lord Voldemort.

It was the end of an era on July 15th, 2011 as the final installment in the Harry Potter movie franchise premiered worldwide. As an original HP fan- I actually read, understood and re- read ALL the books when the movies were only an idea- I was VERY excited about seeing the final movie. For me, it was the end of an era and in some weird way it came full circle and I finished the journey with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Owing to the sentimental nature that this movie held for me, it was very infuriating to hear cell phones ringing, people steupsing or see people walking out the cinema saying that the movie was too long and real shit. Ugh! Those blasted bandwagonists who didn't appreciate what HP has meant and will continue to mean for many a HP fan. The movie lasted a little over two hours, was full of twists and turns and surprisingly, kept as close as possible to the book. I'm thinking of doing two or three blogs to share my thoughts about the movie because I cannot and would not condense all the information into one blog post; it's not fair to Harry. I intend to publish these blogs during the weekend so as to give the other fans a chance to watch the movie and enjoy the posts even more. Yay, I'm excited and I hope you are too. Until the next one!

Colombia: Things Learned

New Motto: Living and Learning

As some of you may know, I've been in Trinidad for over a month now after spending an amazing, life changing year in Bogotá, Colombia. I experienced SO MUCH which has impacted on my life and helped me to see and understand things differently. After reading a friend's blog (www.aysafaysa.blogspot.com) and flicking through some pictures of my friends and I in Colombia, I felt inspired to finally sit down and write this blog post since the idea had been floating around in my head for some time now. The idea concerned all the intangible things I learned during my year in Colombia and how I've started to and/ or intend to adopt them in my everyday life. Sharing is caring and self evaluation is a good thing so I figure that this blog post would kill two birds with one stone. Quite resourceful if you ask me!

1) Survival

Two weeks prior to my departure for Colombia, my Dad called me outside and asked if I could fry sausage with onions and prepare breakfast for myself. I knew that my Dad meant well but his question left me unsettled and worried about how I was going to survive for a year without my parents. My Mum had attempted to teach me how to cook but nothing seemed to stick. Thus, when I left for Colombia two weeks later, I had decided that I would have to survive by minimalist means until further notice. After the pelau debacle of 2010 where my friend and I made a pelau without bursting the pigeon peas, I can safely say that I can handle my stories in the kitchen, bachelor style. Don't get me wrong, I'm no Wolfgang Puck but, if you're into spaghetti, red beans, store- bought rotisserie chicken and juice; I'm your guy. On one or two occasions, I actually seasoned my own meat and grilled it. I can also do pretty rudimentary stuff in the kitchen so I'm not worried much anymore. Another version of learning to survive comes from the fact that I learned how to travel around a big city like Bogotá. Mind you, there were times when I ended up in another part of the city but that's nothing because I wholeheartedly believe that getting lost helps you to know what not to take the next time around. Plus, it's fun! I'm not as navigationally retarded as I was. Overall, I came back to Trinidad in one piece, ready to inculcate my new found survival skills into my life and possibly, pick up some more along the way.

2) Appreciation

I love my family and I appreciate everything they do for me. I let them know this everyday and I try to be a good son/ grandson and make them proud. There is something about being away from your family for a long period of time, in a foreign country living in the apartment of a budding dictator. For some reason, you start to yearn for what you had at home and begin to truly understand and appreciate EVERYTHING that your family has done for you. My parents and grandmother work really hard to send me to University full- time whilst providing for my basic necessities and beyond. I try my best to make them proud but I have been slacking off. I mean, I don't put an 100% into my university studies; I'm capable of straight A's and being at the First Class Honours level but due to laziness and complacency, I've been falling short of realizing my true potential. Thankfully, I've re- discovered my scholastic fervour, a new version perhaps but, a fervour nonetheless. My new goal is to graduate with First Class Honours and make my parents and grandmother EXTREMELY proud of me and know that their sacrifices were not in vain. Whenever I feel down-trodden and want to give up which, I will because UWI has a way of getting to you, I'll think about my family and all the sacrifices they are making and will continue to make for me. I'm not only appreciative of the sacrifices my family made but I'm also grateful for EVERYTHING that they taught me while growing up. I'm always commended on my manners, my "clean" appearance and my chivalrous demeanour; those traits that I learned from my family. THANK YOU!

3) Friendship

The friendships I formed during my time in Colombia are dear and near to my heart especially, the one that I formed with my fellow, Trinidadian language assistants, Claire and André. At first, I honestly never imagined that we would have become such good friends. It started of weird but over time I really grew to respect, love and trust them deeply. I could tell them ANYTHING and trust that I can get a word or two of advice, knowing that what we spoke about would remain among the three of us. I consider them my siblings and would do just about anything for them. Some of you reading this are probably thinking that I'm replacing you as friends and that is not my intention. This friendship has taught me a lot about what a friendship is supposed to be like. No back- stabbing, no bacchanal between members of the group of friends and no rancour. I've had friendships like those and quite frankly, I'm over it! I've started weeding out these "friends" or at least, letting them know that I'm no longer interested in having "frenemies". I feel as though I have the right to choose the people that I want to have around me, helping me to become a better person and vice versa. My new friendship has also taught me how to be a friend to my really good friends that I haven't been treating fairly and basically, ignoring. I've started to make contact with them and spend more time with them in an effort to show them that I do value their presence in my life. If we're meant to be friends, all will be well and if not, that's life; you win some, you lose some. So, thanks André and Claire for my epiphany. Love you guys!

4) National Appreciation

Being in Colombia, experiencing the culture and absorbing as much as I can has instilled in me an appreciation for Trinidad and Tobago and what it has to offer. I noticed that there are so many Places of Interest that I have NEVER visited in Trinidad and Tobago. I've never been to the Asa Wright Nature Centre nor the Caroni Swamp nor the Gasparee Caves. I mean, really? According to a friend, "Yuh conduct real poor!" Thus, I'm making it a goal to visit and see as much of my country as I possibly can and partake in cultural celebrations that doesn't revolve around Carnival and calypso tents but venture out of my comfort zone and explore like that 'ole nastiness' Dora. Anybody wanna come?

My year in Colombia has been a blessing in so many ways. Not only was I able to see another part of the world, experience a different culture and improve my Spanish but I was able to grow as an individual and make amazing, lifelong friends. Overall, I'm a work in progress and I'm looking forward to my personal development. So, let's see what this year has in store for me. I'm excited and hope you are too. Until the next post!

Charlotte Street, Port- of- Spain

Street Fact: Panties should be bought on Charlotte Street because they are the same panties that you can find in Wonderful World and are MUCH cheaper!


Charlotte Street is located in Port- of- Spain and resembles Chinatown where you can find bargains on just about everything. The street is frequented by many Trinidadians and is known throughout the country. Being born and raised in Sangre Grande, I've never really had a reason to venture to Charlotte Street because I don't really like going to Port- of- Spain unless I have to and I can usually get good bargains in Grande. Now that I am working, I've had to come to the capital more often and I've been feeling like Dora the Explorer; I want to see everything that Port- of- Spain has to offer so, whenever I get the opportunity, I explore. Well, an opportunity presented itself last week.

The date was Thursday 30th June, 2011, the time was 4:15PM and something smelled REALLY bad. A friend had called me earlier, told me that she was going to buy something on Charlotte Street and asked if I wanted to come because she knew that I wanted to explore Port- of- Spain. I jumped at the opportunity and hurried over to Charlotte Street. My first thought was, "This is different!" then, the stench came. It smelled liked rotten cabbage mingled with perspiration with a dash of that smell you get after rain falls on an already dirty with a hint of car exhaust. People were screaming at me, asking if I wanted to buy vegetables, fruits or both since they were of good quality and BIG. There was a lot of foot traffic which greatly annoyed me because people kept on bouncing me and 'steupsing' as though it was my fault. I didn't say anything because they looked as though they could cause me grievous, bodily harm with one look. Aside from fruit stalls, there were pavement stores where the owners peddled their high-end panties and brassieres with gusto, boldly stopping a woman, carrying a lot of bags and asking her if she was looking for a D-cup to hold her breasts. Uhm, really? I finally made it to the store on the corner of Charlotte and Prince Street, elated that I would escape the horror of life on Charlotte Street for a few minutes.

On entering the store, I realised that I hadn't escaped the horror. The store didn't have a name and looked as though they took a shipping container from the wharf and placed it in the middle of Charlotte Street. Clothes were hung in every nook and cranny while the customers perused the store looking for the best bargain. One customer grabbed my attention IMMEDIATELY; she was dressed in a short, yellow pant suit, yellow sandals, big, golden earrings, a jet black hair piece with golden ends to rival those worn by the drag queens on Ru Paul's Drag Race and to top it all off, a humongous, unrecognizable tattoo on her upper thigh. She seemed to be competing in Charlotte's Street Next Top Model: Season 3- The Ghettolicious, Cosquellicious Cycle. She was loud and kept on conversing with her friend who was in the dressing room, trying on a dress in an attempt to look, "F***ing HAWT!" as Ghetto Big Bird so subtly put it. I stood to the corner, trying not to make eye contact and draw Big Bird's attention towards me because I really wasn't in the mood and I was scared. I was snapped out of my reverie when Big Bird started cursing no, CUSSING! The conversation sort of went like this:

Big Bird: "Wha' the f*** boy? This fat c*** laughing at me inno! Ey! EY! EY! You doh kno' who is me inno, I go beat her fat mother's c***, yuh fat f***!"

All this time, she was sort of jumping on the spot like those boxers getting ready to fight and looking at the chubby, salesgirl in the corner who was wearing a look of amazement, incredulity and terror on her face. Sadly, Big Bird continued saying, "Ey AISHA, lewwe go nah, lewwe f***in' GO nah boy! This bitch lookin' for me beat she c*** and ah go do it inno! She doh know who the f*** she dealin' with. Only watchin' me and laughing like a c***." My heart started to beat faster because Big Bird looked as though she was about to throw a tantrum and beat everyone in the store while she pelted clothes hangers through the door. Thankfully, Aisha came out of the dressing room and said, "Who is tha' givin' yuh trouble gyul? Yuh wa' beat she or wha'? Jus' tell meh and ah dey with yuh!" Big Bird responds, "Nah, she eh worth my f***in' time. Lewwe GO!" Big Bird and Aisha stormed out the store, shaking their horse hair as though they couldn't believe what had just happened. I was confused and it wasn't until the store manager asked, "What just happened?" that I started laughing. I affirmed my earlier thought that life was indeed different on Charlotte Street because everyone just went back working as though what just happened was an everyday occurrence. I was relieved that this would be the last store that my friend was going to visit because I was scared and wanted to go home.

All in all, it was quite an interesting, eye opening experience to see how life is in another part of your country. When I updated my FB status saying that life was different on Charlotte Street, one friend told me that I should go to George Street. So, who knows? I just might end up on George Street and see enough to do another blog post. Until the next one!