Log 55: A Recipe for Chaos
When I walked out of Safeway with my groceries, it was raining heavily outside. I had stopped there on my way back from work to pick up a few essentials for the second hostel dinner party I’ve been planning, with the help of a French woman named Eggy. But I digress. So, it’s raining, which - when your ride is a moped - means accepting that you are not going to be dry when you reach your destination. Carrying my groceries in one hand and my phone and keys in the other, I jogged awkwardly to my bike and unlocked it hurriedly. I dumped all of my things into the under-seat storage space and slammed the top shut so I could get on. Then I reached for my keys. But they weren’t there.
My stomach lurched as I realized what I had done. My keys were locked inside my moped. Good thing I have a spare! I thought to myself. But, how am I going to get the spare? Run six miles to Hakuna Matata and back here? In the rain?! I retreated to the front awning of Safeway to rethink my strategy. Then I thought, I know, I’ll just call someone from the hostel and ask them to pick me up. No big deal. This plan dissolved quickly when I realized I had also locked my phone in the moped. Well, what phone numbers do I know by heart, I considered. My mom’s. My dad’s. 911. My home phone from the house I lived in from the ages 0 to 8. So, not any super useful options. I could feel myself starting to panic.
Then, I spotted a middle aged couple - a rather buff black man and a slight looking Filipino woman - exiting the store with a cart full of groceries. Before I could stop myself, I stepped in front of them. “Excuse me?” I said, in my sweetest, most polite voice. “I’m in a bit of a crisis. I locked my phone and keys inside my moped and I don’t have anyone I can call. Is there any scenario where you guys would give me a ride back to the hostel I’m staying at?” The two of them looked at me, then at each other, having a brief, wordless conversation. Finally, the woman said aloud, “c’mon, let’s help the child.” Her husband acquiesced, and I followed them to their car, thanking them repeatedly. On the drive to the hostel, I learned that their names were Damien and Michelle, and they had come to Maui with a group of friends to renew their wedding vows. Not only that, but they had just flown in that morning! I told them about my gap year, my dashed wwoofing plans, and my new life in Lahaina. I will say, they seemed very impressed. When we arrived at the hostel, I thanked them again, and prepared to go inside and get my keys. As I opened the door, Damien squinted at me through the rearview mirror.
“How are you going to get back to Safeway?” He asked. “Oh,” I said. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought about it. “I… ahh… I’ll figure something out. I’m sure someone can give me a ride.” Damien laughed. “Go get your keys and come get back in the car.” You do not have to tell me twice. On the route back to Safeway, I instructed Damien to take Front St instead of the highway, because they hadn’t seen any of Lahaina yet, and so I wanted to point out good restaurants and tour companies for them to go to. As we drove along, we laughed that if anybody saw us driving down the street, they would no doubt assume I was their daughter. Michelle was thrilled about this comment - they have two boys, but apparently she’s always wanted a girl. I was honestly kind of bummed out when we pulled into the Safeway parking lot.
“Can I like, give you guys my number?” I asked Michelle, wary of crossing some boundary with these kind strangers. “Yes!” Michelle exclaimed. We exchanged numbers, and Michelle told me she would rely on me to figure out the Maui must-sees. I told her that if they ever found themselves at the Hyatt, they were entitled to as much free shave ice as they’d like. Damien perked up at that.
By the time I was on my bike headed back to the hostel, heavy rain had turned into an absolute downpour, and Front St traffic was moving at a snail’s pace. As I crept along, I stopped at an intersection to let a pedestrian cross. It was a girl that was probably around my age. She looked familiar. She looked like… no… it couldn’t be.
“Taylor?” The girl called out, holding her hand up to see in the rain. “You’re still here?” Sure enough, Alissia - as in Natalie and Alissia - from my first night at the hostel, 4 weeks ago, was standing in front of me. I pulled my moped over and joined her on the street. Apparently, she had arrived yesterday afternoon, with no real plan. She’s looking for a job, a place to stay, everything. Chaos, remember? We exchanged numbers and planned to meet up when it wasn’t pouring rain out.
Highlight: When I finally made it home, groceries in hand, the rain had not let up. Eggy (my co-planner for the dinner party) and a few other girls had been doing the road trip to Hana all day, and arrived home a few minutes before me, exhausted. We all stood in the kitchen, contemplating whether making dinner would be on the agenda tonight, or if we should reschedule instead. Just as we started leaning towards a raincheck, a young couple I’d never seen before walked in the door - Nate and MC. “Are you guys still doing dinner? Are we too late? We put our name down for fish!” Sure enough, they had filled in their name under “fish'' on the potluck signup sheet Eggy and I had posted on the fridge. And sure enough, they were holding several filets of mahi mahi. There was a brief pause.
“Nope, you’re not too late, and yes, we’re doing it.” I made an executive decision. Eggy looked at me, nodded, and we all went to work. While some of us cooked fish and turkey, prepared toppings, and made sangria (a new Hakuna Matata dinner party tradition), others pulled furniture from the patio, dried it, and arranged a makeshift banquet table out of the rain. With seven or so people working, dinner was ready within a half hour, and cleanup went just as fast. A satisfying conclusion to an eventful day.
