Failed Paradise » annoying

My run-in with the Law and how not to catch a taxi

Wilson — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 03:08:00 +0000

Image source: TVNZ

Ok this didn’t happen recently, but rather a few years ago, back when I was a tad bit more into grog then I am now (yes..yes I was ) and we’d stay up late nights on the weekends playing guitar and drinking grog.

On this particular night, we had just finished a jam session at around 3 in the morning. I was tired, grog doped, and in need of willful unconsciousness. After farewelling my fellow band members, I walked (read: staggered, struggled, nearly crawled) to the road to catch a taxi home.

Now picture this. Its the weekend. Casual weekend. I’ve been at a friends place for awhile, and all i had were the clothes i brought on my back from home. Which, suffice to say, made me look like i was on my way to the community garden. I was wearing a singlet, brown and slightly tattered t-shirt. My pants was a 3 quarters hand-me-downs, also brown, and torn at the bottom. I had draped my towel over my shoulders. My hair, which hadn’t seen the sharp edge of a pair of scissors in months, was long enough to make me look like a member of a hard rock band that worships Satan on mondays, wednesdays and fridays, and attends mass on a sunday.

I was a sight. You can just imagine. Now, imagine me, looking the way i did, staggering along the road, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other (left foot forward!….hold…right foot forward!….hold…), and at the same time trying to stop a taxi. In Fiji there is a general rule when it comes to catching taxis. The later the night, the more scary up you look….the less chances there are of catching a taxi. In my case, it was like winning the lottery by dipping a roach in ink and letting it scratch out the numbers itself.

But catch a taxi I did. In fact, by the time i reached the road, the first vehicle to approach me was a taxi. Tonight was my lucky night I waved at the taxi, and he stopped. As I got in, I took a glance at my would be chauffeur. I couldn’t have picked a more worse driver.

This guy was young, tiny, and obviously a first timer in this parts. He was dressed up to go clubbing, and not to drive a taxi at 3 in the morning. He was of small stature, and nervously gripped the wheel as I dropped my body in the backseat…directly behind him. Now, there is another well known rule about taxis in fiji. The person who sits directly behind you if you’re the driver, is the person most likely to rob you if said person looked thuggish enough. Period. And I just happened to chose that exact spot.

“Where to boss?” he nervously quipped.

Of course, I wasn’t paying attention to all these trouble signals. Hell I just wanted to go home. So, after slamming the door, i glared at him through the rear view mirror, and muttered “Nakasi”.

Big mistake number one was getting in the taxi behind mr driver. Big mistake two was acting like I was bad boy from the streets, and worse, looking the part. Big mistake number three, which was entirely my fault, was to give him a bad look. As we were driving along, I kept noticing how the driver was nervously glancing my way throught the rear view mirror. This got really annoying, to the point where the next time he looked, I looked back at him and scowled. Real smart as I was about to find out.

We eventually came to a policepoint. Nothing special about police checkpoints, since they have them all over the place. This was mainly to catch drunken drivers and…well…just drunken drivers. I don’t think wanted criminals would be stupid enough to drive through one of those checkpoints.

As we approached the checkpoint, I noticed the driver glance at me one more time. Inwardly, I groaned. This guy was really starting to piss me – wait…we were stopping. Why were we stopping? The police guys didn’t wave us down…oh oh.

A single policeman approached the taxi. This time I sat up, shook the grogginess from my eyes, and blinked.

“Why are we stopping driver?” I asked.

He didn’t look back at me this time. Something was definitely up.

“What happen?” asked the policeman as he came on the left side of the car, shining the torch inside.

“Hey boso”, pleaded the driver, while shooting a nervous look back at me, “Can you sit with me as I take this falla?”

“Why”, the policeman replied, “where you taking him?”

“Nakasi.”

While this was going on, it still didn’t ring in my thick skull that I was being held in criminal regard, and that if I didn’t play it right, I could be sleeping on the floor for the night in some police cell.

At this moment, the policeman swung his torch to the back where I was sitting.

“Oi,” he yelled, the gruffness in his voice definitely not portraying the polite police banter i was so used to seeing in the movies.

The torch was shining directly into my eyes, and the effect was quite intimidating. I raised my hand to block out the light, but it turned out that was the wrong thing to do.

“OI!” he yelled again, this time with more effect, “put your hands down!”

Immediately my hands dropped, and I squinted in the harsh light, feeling very very small indeed.

There was a pause as the policeman scrutinzed me. I felt like I was already on the lineup of suspects, the harsh white light, the lines behind the wall, the card I had to hold up which had my identity on it, the voice tests, the -

“Hey, you that falla who always visit your friend near the police post?”

I have a friend who stays near a police post. Every time I pass by, I wave at the officers who know me by face. Usually they’re are sitting down around a bowl of grog, enjoying the slow evening and yarning away.

Apparently, this policeman was one of the guys posted at that particular area, and had recognized me as a regular visitor to my friends place.

“Trues up! You that falla who always visit your friend near our post eh?” The policeman pointed the torch down and continued with a big smile, “oooh driver this falla set falla saraga. He no problem boy. Just go just go. Falla set.” With that he waved the driver on and gave me a thumbs up.

I sighed with relief at my close (not my first mind you) brush with the authorities. Then it hit me. The bloody driver thought i was going to rob him!

Me? Gentle soul me? Dear Mister blogger who wouldn’t kill a fly (though I did have a habit of catching them when I was small and burning their wings off…hmmm…), let alone even consider attempted robbery. Good lord! The nerve! I couldn’t even throw a punch to hit a person, let alone knock them out enough to run off with something. I mean, the last time I ever punched someone was way back in class 6, and that was over some argument about skipping in line. I’m a good boy! I swear!

…

I had to check with the driver just to make sure.

I tapped the driver on the shoulder as we settled into the drive.

“Driver, do I look like the kind of person who would rob you?”

And without skipping a beat, he looked me straight in the eye and smiled nervously.

“Yes”.

Dammit.

Youtube Video of the Month – Cannibals Incorporated

Wilson — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 20:32:00 +0000

Ah Fiji. Home to the king of rugby sevens, smiling locals, white, sandy beaches, and seasonal coups. It’s quick to get washed up in the hype that is living in today’s fast paced society, but one mustn’t forget one’s origins and what humble beginnings they had before Mcdonalds and company rolled in.

Sure you could visit the city library and catch up on your reading, but with today’s more visual-oriented society, who cares about stuffy old books and cramped up libraries when you can watch old videos of the Fiji of the past?

And what better to showcase Fiji’s past then this delightful video courtesy of James A. Fitzpatrick’s Traveltalks: The Voice of the Globe called Fiji and Samoa: The Cannibal Isles. Since this video isn’t time stamped, I’ll take a wild guess and place the making of the video around the 1940s, when stern, near patriotic voice overs where the common practice. Why the time stamp?

If you’ve ever wanted to see and find out what Fiji was like ‘back in the day’, this video has it all layed out for you. See the ‘savages’ in their natural surroundings of houses built from grass and topped with thatched roofs. Witness the spectacle of the natives indulging in what is ‘their only form of amusement, the mekimeki’. Marvel at the ‘bushy haired members of the Fijian Band’ as they play ‘the white man’s music’ on instruments that are ‘no longer strange to them’.

And that’s not all! Samoa is included in this accurate doco, and doesn’t miss much in way of detail. With Samoa’s fales being described as ‘mere cirlces of pillars, roofed by cones of thatch’, Samoa is certainly the picture of simple living, with ‘no gods swift to anger and strong to punish’ to disturb the tempo of life. Cute.

I have to admit, I do miss the old days. Thank ~~God~~ the gods for technology.

PS: Still trying to figure out why only Fiji and Samoa were singled out as the ‘Cannibal Isles’, since other Pacific Islands indulged in the diet of the ‘long pig‘. Perhaps it was something to do with our appetites.

Dealing with Countries 1st Line of Defense a.k.a. Embassies

Wilson — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 03:41:00 +0000

source: NSFW: Hot Girls on Demand lololol

Who wants to go overseas when you have everything you could ever need right here? Who needs fine wine when we can make the most serious head tripping home brew that’ll guarantee your not safety? Who wants to travel in limousine style when we’ve got private cars that’ll spring up to serve your every need whenever a bus strike happens?

However, in the far-fetched scenario that you do indeed need to leave said paradise shores, then getting your passport and countless papers are in order. And the place to go should you want access to your destination country are the Embassies.

Long heralded by 1st world countries as the best deterrent to mass migration, embassies are, as the title says, the first line of defense against anyone and everyone interested in crossing their hallowed entry points. Government bureaucracy, inept staffing, long queues and snobby nosed secretaries all conspired to make the stamp on your passport worth its weight in blood. Now, thanks in part to 9/11, border control has taken on a whole new meaning.

Of course, when all else fails, there’s always the internet yes?

Mayvelous May has taken the arduous, near herculean task of reviewing a few of the major embassies here in Suva, including the British, American, Australian and even French embassies.

At the beginning of each embassy review she gives the name of the embassy, as well as a summary of what to expect once you step in through the doors (French Embassy – Very quiet). A few paragraphs of policies, procedures and at times, frustration should give you a fair idea of how everything goes down in said embassy.

At the end of the embassy review, she’s placed the contact details, as well as how easy it is to get in contact with them, a very handy feature indeed (Phone Support: The number mentioned on the website is useless, once called, tells you to call another number. Extremely RUDE and snappy response).

After reading the whole article, the first prize to the most difficult, hard to get to, hard to go through embassy comes as no surprise whatsoever. Of course, you may have had a different experience with said reviewed embassies. Who knows. So, if you’d like a head start through enemy terrain, then look no further then May’s “Embassies: Knowing how anal your local one is”.

Ok. That was a bad title. So sue me.

PS: May, use review stars! Everyone loves review stars

ConnectMe has Balls of Steel.

Wilson — Thu, 29 May 2008 10:40:00 +0000

Cellar Image of the Day

Urban Dictionary, ever the source of mental amusement, defines Balls of Steel as Extreme Courage or Manliness. Alternatively, you could go with Extreme Stupidity, depending on the situation at hand.

In this regard, we have a newcomer to the field that both FijiLive and Fiji Village hold sway over. ConnectMe is Connect’s new baby, and with the opening of their website, have released a set of adverts both on tv and print.

Their short 15 seconder (is it?) TVC’s are funny, but it’s their print adverts that gets my attention. Here is a scan of their advert that appeared recently in the media papers:

Quite the ad isn’t it? They might have well just sent this for print instead and posted the same message:

Either they’re so drunk with power that they don’t mind making print papers look bad, or someone has a funny bone from watching too many episodes of Seinfield and thinks that everyone will find this funny. The annoying part about this ad is that they’re quite right. Newspapers are fast becoming ‘yesterdays’ news, so to speak. The internet has brought in a whole new ball game, and it remains to be seen just how the print media will fare against hordes of overnight bloggers, the nth ‘connectme’ website, and online only newsgroups.

Fiji’s Fail Coke Can

Wilson — Thu, 22 May 2008 07:57:00 +0000

For a while now, Fiji and Coca Cola Amatil has served as the hub of distribution to distribute ~~society’s legal drug~~ coke both locally as well as to our friendly neighbours Tonga. Along side Macdonalds, Coca cola has successfully ingrained itself into the minds of everyone, and is as common in the cities as it is out in the bush. Since they’ve been around for quite some time, it was only natural for Coca-cola to take that as an initiative to dress up a coke can, slip on a few spazzy colours, drop a word that is so over-used locally that it’s almost losing its meaning, place a mysterious hand signal that is alien enough to make you wonder what exactly is up with the suits at that factory in Laucala Beach…and call it Fiji’s own.

While it has been around for awhile, I’ve decided to bring to attention those who aren’t aware of this new coke can, and point out just how annoyingly annoying the new addition to our diet is.

May I present, Fiji’s Fail Coke Can.

Initial impressions don’t yield that much. The coke can is your average 33oml can, with the traditional red and swirly hand-writing font we’ve all come to know (and even love) taking up one side. All in all, a pretty standard can to call our own.

That is, until you rotate the can around.

And you’re greeted by the sight of this new slogan “The Coke Side of Fiji”, as well as seeing the strangest thing that adorns the can. A Casper-ish hand pops out of the coke bottle artwork, holding a – wait – is that a Hang Loose sign?

Yes it is. And below the hand gesture is the infamous “Bula” word, with a tick next to it.

What. The. Hell. Is. Going on?

First off, the casper hang loose hand. If I recall, that sign is more commonly associated with surfers and their “chill out dude” attitude, as well as the use of the gesture. To be sure, I turned to good ol’ Wikipedia, and found out that I was right. Oh, but there’s more. Much more.

Aside from the fact that it is a hand gesture used by surfers, it is primarily a sign first and foremost used by Hawaiians, as well as associated not only with surfing, but other ‘beach’ sports such as “…kitesurfing, skateboarding, skimboarding, snowboarding and Skydiving.” Now for anyone who was born and bred in Fiji, the one thing they will agree with for sure is that Surfing isn’t a local thing. Granted, in Hawaii, it’s the national sport, but in Fiji, its either rugby or nothing at all. Surfing is usually taken up by either tourists, ex-pats, and a small number of dedicated fanatics. By placing a hand gesture that is (generally) familiar to only those within the “extreme beach sports” circles, Coca-cola is effectively saying that:

a) all Fijians (both indigenous and passport wise) surf, and therefore know and identify with said hand gesture.

b) because Fijians are mostly a bunch of ignorant fools who have not experienced the near orgasmic pleasure derived from riding mother nature’s curves, Coca-cola is taking on the responsibility of educating the masses on the joys of surfing, and subsequently, the hang loose sign.

Moving on, we’ve got the word “Bula” tacked on near the bottom of the can.

And where do we begin with this one…

“Bula” is Fiji’s greeting phrase, and is usually marketed as the word to be associated with Fiji overseas. So when FVB advertises to the masses in the 1st world countries, “Bula” is used to both say ‘hello’ and sell the travel package at the same time. Very efficient if I may say so myself. Its come to a stage though, that using the word “Bula” with a name or title, is starting to wear thin, wearing out its welcome mat. Now, when it comes to marketing, the use of the word automatically means that its:

a) Made in Fiji, for Fiji. Eg. “Bula-Loan!” Of course, the only thing made in this case is the huge debt if you’re not careful. Smiles not included.

b) A product that is marketed overseas, and needs that ‘Fiji’ touch to make it complete. “Fiji Prawns!” … “Bula!” See what I mean?

The same can be said for the coke can. I can almost imagine how the design came about…

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: Here’s the design for the new local coke ca -

[Stuffy Salesman from Coca-cola]: No no no that isn’t going to work. Throw away the pretty frills and what not. We need more oomph. Something that says – This is your cool can of coke, Fiji. Take it. Own it! Make it your own! Make sweet love to it! It is yours for the taking!

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: …

[Stuffy Salesman from Coca-cola]: Let’s put a chill out sign that those fancy surfers and all locals make when they’re doing their thing. Yeah. That ought to make it cool.

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: Uhh I don’t surf -

[Stuffy Salesman from Coca-cola]: I don’t care. It looks cool.

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: (shrugs)

[Stuffy Salesman from Coca-cola]: Oh. And put “Bula” at the bottom somewhere. We have to emphasize the whole “Fiji” thing to the locals.

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: Hmmm, thats abit silly don’t you think? I mean you don’t see “G’DAY!” on any of the australian coke cans do you?

[Stuffy Salesman from Coca-cola]: I don’t care. It looks cool.

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: (shrugs)

[Stuffy Salesman from Coca-cola]: Thats right. Now we’re talking. Oh, and put a tick besides Bula. Yep. Thats to show the locals that yes, this. Is. Correct.

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: What is correct?

[Stuffy Salesman from Coca-cola]: I don’t know…but it looks cool.

[Graphic Designer for coke can]: (sigh)

I give up.

PS: According to Wikipedia, in India and Venezuela, the shaka (hang loose) sign is used colloquially as a reference to sexual intercourse, and the hand may be moved in the direction of the pinky finger, as to mimic penetration.