Mango Season / Blood Pressures

Mango season. Huge groups of mangos hang on the trees. 1/4 pound bombs of fruit. Litter the driveways, cling to your tires, create instant buffets for the birds.

Hot, sweet, and sticky.

Porn, lite.

Mangos, mango trees specifically, almost killed me. Tutu kane (grandpa) had a huge ass mango tree in his yard. As he aged, so did the tree, only tutu got smaller, and the tree, giant. So being akamai (smart) tutu had me, lolo (stupid) trim the tree on occasion. Tutu was akamai. You trim the tree, at the right time, you get a hoard of mangos. My job- trim a 40 ft. tall tree. I like challenges, so I tend to do shit like this on my own. Needless to say, it is a back killer job. But that is not how I almost died. It was the fucking brown recluse spider in the tree. These bastards bite, drill into you, and insert their rotting venom. I never even knew I was bit. 2 days later, when fever, sweats, and assorted maladies hit, I knew I was fucked, and not in the orgasmic sense. Apparently, these little fucks rot you from the inside out. Pleasant thought. Long story short - antibiotics, dig the rot out, and heal up.

I still love mangos, but really, fucking really, hate spiders.

Segway into -

Blood Pressures

One of the tasks we have in the firehouse is we do free blood pressures. It helps the older population keep tabs on their health, and keeps the clinics and hospitals free of elders roaming the halls. We generally do these from 8AM to 8PM. And we get all kinds of riff & raff. Most are harmless, some are cretins, vermin, and the like. Some, do tell, blow your fucking mind.

The Golf Ball Guy -

The golf ball guy comes everyday. 7AM. He knows we dont do 'em till 8. But he gets his done, 'cause he wants to avoid the "rush". The golf ball guy tries to sell me golf balls every time. I still tell him, everytime, that I dont golf. His BP is normal, and his life, perhaps a bit empty. So he sits and talks a bit, and tries to sell me golf balls, again. We do this Fred & Ginger song and dance for about 20 minutes, and he packs up, and toddles off. One day, tho', the golf ball guy wont come in. And that will suck.

The Cocktail Waitress & Mate-

The cocktail waitress has a set of 38DD's. She is oriental. Fake as shit. But damn if they dont look fine. The thing is, her "mate" brings her in for BP's. Now, I dont know kink too well, but something funky is going on with this shit. I swear he is wacking off when we are doing a BP on her. Her BP is perfectly normal. She always wears a sweat jacket, which her "mate" tells her to remove, as soon as she is seated. Of course, this lets out the Roman Empire that hides behind the jacket. Some people are just a tad "different".

Aunty 1 -

Aunty comes as a regular. Probably mid-70's, mixed, Hawaiian, Portugese, Asian. Weathered. Wrinkled, brown, age spots. A smile that runs the gamit of her face. Red hibiscus in her hair, everytime. Blood red lipstick, haphazardly applied, generally in the area of her lips. Talks about the old days when the "firemenzes" didn't do "no goddamn blood pressures" " The goddamn lazy-ass doctors nowadaze tell ya ta go to da fire station" " Then they tell ya ta pay all dis kala (money) fo' da goddamn peescripshuns" "Buncha rich pake (chinese) bastahds" Put it mildly, Aunty got some issues with the medical profession. Cool, tho' cause she got the shit right, she gets fucked by the medico's and has 'no mo' nuff kala' to pay for it, so her health declines, and sooner or later, she too, wont be a visitor.

Aunty 2 -

Comes with her daughter, she never says a word. You know, you just damn well know, she is getting fucked by her family. Her eyes say more than anyone needs to say. They most of the time are filling with liquid. She exudes fear. Her total weight cant be more than 80 pounds, max.
I tend to watch out for these ones. Reason? CYA - cover your ass, 'cause every now and then some lawyer happy fuck will try to sue one of us for doing something they percieve as damaging to their "loved ones". And our city, pays. Up to 200K, 'cause it is cheaper than fighting it in court. Of course, I lose my job, my home, my way of life, for some low-life elder abusing crackhead to make some coin. CYA, all the time, CYA.

The Veteran -

The vet carries tatoos that for want of a better word, are, worn. His arms are riddled with vanes, so this gent worked in his life. Shuck and jive, he tells tales about WW2, Korea. "Missed Vietnam" Deep set, hollow blue eyes. Haole ( white man) from the mainland, who stayed. Never left. Just stayed. Always trying to talk politics, but I avoid that. Might be too radical, too left, for him. I have nothing but respect for people who are willing to sacrifice for our freedom. I wont fight, till the enemy is at my door, too much Bullshit in it for me to justify killing another for whatever is the killing point of the moment. Veterans, real veterans, got balls.

I always thank him for his sacrifice when he leaves, and he always looks so puzzled; I realized one day that probably, no one else ever did.

The French Lady -

The french lady came in once. She came from a hotel across the station. She carried with her a book, a postcard, a cane, a bag of fruit. The french lady walked, as if she was royalty. Not ego laden royalty, but confident, determined, for the people royalty. She had a wonderful accent. She loved Hawaii, the weather, the colors of the children, the variety of the population. Her cantor went from sing-song to serious. We spoke of nothing earth shatteering, nothing that would make the papers today, tomorrow, or next week. Volumes of nothing, all building a bond for what would be 20 minutes. She had elevated BP, not extreme, but higher than normal. When told, she shrugged it off, saying " a glass of good french wine, my dear, and I will be fine" I knda wondered about that at 9 in the AM, but ... what the hell. I will never see her again, but she spoke so true, so earnestly in those few minutes, that I was entranced by her, her life, what could it have been like? What tales? What hearty laughs did she share with others in her home land? Before she left, she shook my hands (both) and stared right into my eyes, looking, I swear, past me, into what I can only call my soul, my inner being, and said - "you have a spark, my dear, a spark, and if you never let that spark die, your life will be wonderful" " Dont ever lose that spark"

That spark. It tries to die out every now and then. I can see her eyes.

I promise to keep it burning, dear french lady.

I will try.

Aloha.