Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“Ho no! You are not luring me into buying you anything here; this looks way too expensive
for me.” I made the exorcist's cross with my two fingers.
“I'm just getting a brass dog tag and collar for Zephyr here,” she said, fingering a lovely
red leather collar with a shiny brass tag.
“What is your dog's name madam?” said the Indian lady. “We can put it in the press and
stamp out his name for just an extra five dollars.” Zephyr seemed to know they were dis-
cussing him and he wagged his little tail. “Yes, why don't you go ahead and stamp his name
on this one,” decided Liz, handing the woman the collar.
On the way back to the lagoon Liz was uncharacteristically quiet. She wanted to sit in the
back, and I didn't argue. I could sense that she had something on her mind; I assumed it
had something to do with her boyfriend Al on the mainland. She was embarrassed that she
had allowed me to buy her the ivory hook. I felt a little flat, and we drove back in silence.
I didn't see her for several days.
Work at the yard had become mundane, as all jobs become after a while. One amusing in-
cident happened when Gavin and Carole clashed on a sweltering hot afternoon. We had
been given the job of cleaning up the old shot that was used in the sandblasting area. This is
the course grained, silica sand used to shoot out of the nozzle of a sandblaster. It is the most
effective way of removing scaly rust from any metal object (as well as other uses). We have
since learned that this is an extremely hazardous waste material as it contains several dif-
ferent types of anti-fouling paint that have come off the bottom of many different boats as
well as the tell-tale signs of floating fiberglass splinters apart from the vicious sharp shards
of the shattered, used sand.
We were not advised to take any precautions, although after a few minutes of working in
this area, it became very obvious that we must wear masks. We both donned the usual white
particle masks but knew they were hopelessly inadequate. We had a little Bobcat earth
mover at our disposal, and Gavin immediately appointed himself driver. I ended up with
the shovel, shoveling piles of old shot into the bucket where the machine could not reach.
We were very engrossed in our clean up job and, with the noise of the Bobcat, failed to
see or hear Carole bellowing from her little office directly above us. The grumpy Mexican
came wobbling awkwardly over and angrily pointed up to her window muttering something
incoherently.
It never fails to amaze me how people can get so angry in a situation like that. We weren't
ignoring her on purpose; hell, we could hardly see for the dust and certainly couldn't hear
her in the noise from the yard and the machine. We looked up at her and saw her dramatic-
ally drawing her hand across her throat in the classic “cut that out” gesture. Confused, Gav-
