So this was Alaska. Cool. I approached the float plane sporting my Indiana Jones outfit. Equipped with my adventurous look, I was confident that I was going to impress the two girls who were already inside. But upon entry, I hit my head on the door frame so hard that I fell on my back and my Skittles (which were in my shirt pocket) spilled all over the dock. All of a sudden I was an instant dork, and the smirk on the pilots face confirmed this. When we landed at our destination, I cautiously deplaned first, unable to ignore or hide the sprouting bump on my forehead. I had to walk to the trading post alone because the two girls wanted to stay and talk to the pilot dude, who had gallantly overshadowed my Indiana Jones outfit with his greasy hands, grinding gears, and general he-man mannerism.
So I took to the trail towards the trading post all alone. But then a miracle! There before me was the sight of two beautiful young Japanese girls, disembarking from a helicopter. They were obviously tourists, complete with expensive Nikkon cameras, floppy hats and brand new hiking boots. I quickly approached them and threw out a friendly greeting, “O-Hiyogozai-masu.” They responded, not with the flurry of Japanese yakking that I had anticipated, but rather with a simple, “You’re bleeding man,” in more than proper English.
After describing the crash landing, and close shave with death, I talked them into taking a short detour through the woods; to a place by the lakes edge where I assured them would yield great pictures of the glacier on the other side. They looked upon me as a seasoned adventurer with extraordinary knowledge of Alaskan tundra and woodlands.
Then the mosquitoes came in relentless torrents, buzzing and bumping and sucking the blood from all exposed skin and even through my clothing. I swapped and slapped, and screamed in futility while the Japanese girls, garnished with pre-adorned repellant, avoided the debacle completely. They also whipped out these electric wand things that exerted an inconsequential current to humans, but exploded mosquitoes on contact. It sounded like they were popping corn.
“You don’t have repellant?” They asked
“True explorers don’t bother with trivial things.” I said, very aware there were tears in my eyes at this point. The mosquitoes were getting stuck between my eyes and glasses, and engorging themselves on my bloody bump. They called in more of their friends—thousands of them-- and my head became a focal point, a feast, a living feeder. I must have looked goofy because the girl in the yellow hat mumbled the word “Bozo!” I had lost all reputability—I was no doubt a tactless fraud in their minds--but I didn’t care, I was just trying to survive. They offered to turn back, but I insisted we stay our course, and that this was an everyday occurrence for me, and just a minor annoyance.
When we arrived at the lakes edge, the girls took more pictures of me than the glacier. I had lost control and stuck my head in the lake. My hat disappeared into the ice cold water, and when I emerged, my hair looked like a frozen mosquito nest. The girl with the yellow hat blurted out, “Barney” to her friend--not even trying to hide the offending word under her breath to spare what was left of my ears. Then they took more pictures of me.
When we made it back to the trading post, it was lunch time. They served freshly caught salmon, deer, rabbit, and other delicious looking dishes. A buffet of kingly pleasures! Now this is what I’m talking about. But the float plane girls hooked up with the Japanese girls and they wanted nothing more to do with me. And I sat alone in the corner staring at the two aspirin on my empty plate, that the waitress was so kind to give me. My lips were starting to swell--yes, I am deadly allergic to mosquito bites. I couldn’t eat, or even stand up to get the food. The girls that once glanced in my direction with laughter in their eyes now stared with alarm. My face felt like a balloon about to pop. I could barely see through my swollen lids, and my glasses started bending and digging into my head. My hands could have doubled as surgical gloves that some wicked kid filled with water to shower an unwary victim. I couldn’t even hold the water glass to take the aspirin.
I looked down at the sight of my once baggy pants, now threatening to burst at the seams. But where were my private parts, my manly bulge? They were being squeezed in by emerging thighs. I was looking at camel toes!!! A distinct feminine feature that had no business in my pants! I heard myself scream. Then the gasps came. Then the camera flashes (those damn Japanese girls.) …Then the medi-vac.
