Chapter Thirty-Eight: Stranger than Paradise

The Urge for Goin'

As the days went by in our little house in Ventura, I couldn't help but feel that Lani wasn't happy. Not that she sat in her room crying or snapped at me, but there seemed to be a wistfulness about her. With another child on the way I felt it was my duty to jump-start things and get us into a higher income bracket. The photo lab had moved from a little backwater business park into a brand-new shopping center, and we were now an official One Hour Photo Lab. I was learning more about photochemistry and machine repair from my boss, Paul Blumenfeld. He had been very accommodating in giving me my job back after running away to Santa Maria. He was a graduate of the Rochester Institute of Technology, one of only two schools that specialized in photofinishing. I learned a lot from him, and it got me to thinking that maybe I knew just enough to move up the ladder into.....dum dum dum.....management.

I didn't want to work in the area for a competitor, and then it hit me: Lani sometimes spoke about going back to Hawaii. Well, why not? A plan formed itself in my head and I started getting pretty excited about the possibilities. I was also relieved that I would have something else to think about other than the cute girl at the bakery next to the lab. The one who liked to flirt with me and got the hound dog in me all riled up. Yeah, better leave that pup behind.

I went to the library and got a copy of the Oahu phone book. I looked in the yellow pages and got the names of every photo lab on the island. Then I composed my first-ever resume. A thing of beauty, no doubt, showing my many years of "lab rat" experience and my desire for better things. I sent out about a dozen letters, not telling Lani of my plan. A couple of weeks later, just as I started to lose hope, a letter came from a company called Phototron. I know, sounds like some futuristic weapon. "Eliminate the Earth scum! Fire the Phototron!"

The letter was from the personnel director, and he wanted me to come down to Rialto, a suburb of Los Angeles, for an interview. Well, all right. I told Lani what I had been doing and she was really happy. We were both jazzed about the prospect of living in Hawaii.

Two days later I drove down to Rialto and apparently I said all the right things to the right people because they decided to send me to Hawaii to interview with the plant manager and production manager. Before I left the building a secretary set up my flight and hotel arrangements for the following weekend. I walked back out to my car with my head spinning. Now things were getting real.

Get a Job, Part Duh

Lani and I were both excited about the prospect of living in Hawaii. I saw it as a way to revitalize our marriage and get away from the rut I felt I was getting into in my life. Travel Day came and I was dropped on at LAX wearing my best brown polyester suit, (vest included). I met the plant manager at the gate and we had lunch, gabbing about this and that. He didn't seem to care much about my experience, focusing more on my attitudes toward different disciplinary scenarios. How would I handle catching somebody stealing from the company? How would I react if somebody called me some derogatory name? I also got this weird vibe off him that perhaps he was coming on to me. Hmmm. Nothing overt but I was happy when he dropped me off at the Ala Moana Hotel after lunch.

I had a few hours to kill before the meeting that night so I changed my duds and went for a walk. I walked through the local shopping mall, down to the beach and out to Kapiolani Park, where the famous Kodak Hula Show happened daily. This was good. This was cool. Walkin' around Honolulu, staying at a fancy hotel. I went back and ordered room service just because I could.

That night I met the plant manager for dinner and we hit it off. His name was John Lee and he had moved to Hawaii from South Korea to run the plant. We dined at the famous revolving restaurant Top of Waikiki. Seeing Honolulu go from sunset to sparkling city night hypnotized me. I was as in love with this city now as I was with Lani. I could feel the ancient nature of the land and the slow, easy pace of its people through every pore. So John had no trouble getting me to sign an employment contract after my tour of the plant. The place was a typical mass film processing plant. smelling of photographic bleach and dust. Just the place for a lab rat like me. I was to be paid the princely sum of $12,000 per year and my title was Production Supervisor. I would start May 3, 1983, just six weeks from that interview. The company would help with travel and moving expenses. This was real. We movin' to da Islands!

The Big Kahuna

I spent the next day hanging out around town, since I wasn't going home until Sunday. That evening I was to meet some of Lani's friends from high school at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Up in my room I dressed in a nice, new aloha shirt I had just picked up and a pair of white slacks Lani had bought for the trip. Add a pair of slick, new "slippers" (Hawaiian word for flip-flops) and I looked the part of White Missionary Out on the Town. There was a soft knock at the door and I opened it to a beautiful Hawaiian girl in a clingy dress who said "Hi, I'm Rachel" (I think) and gave me a big kiss. We exchanged pleasantries and I escorted her to the Royal Hawaiian.

We waited in the lobby, getting our share of looks. (I was much better looking then) The the other girls started showing up, some in pairs and some alone. Some had flower leis they put around my neck with a kiss, and each one was stunningly gorgeous. Eventually the group was complete: Thirteen of them and one of me. The maitre d took one look at me, winked and showed us to a large, circular table in the center of the showroom. We talked and laughed, and I felt like the friggin' King of Hawaii sitting there with his harem. The musical act that night was the Brothers Cazimero, a long-time traditional Hawaiian music group. At the break they came to our table because many of the girls knew them. That cemented my status with the crowd as Somebody Special. It was a magical evening that I'll probably see as my life flashes before my eyes.

Sunday came and I was just a pumpkin again. Took a cab to the airport, flew back to LAX. Saw Charlton Heston strolling through the halls and walked just behind him out to the street thinking: "What can I say to Charlton Heston that wouldn't sound all gooey and stupid and possibly idiotically insane?" And then he got into his illegally parked car and drove off. Later he became the president of the NRA and a total tool so I felt better about snubbing him.

We had six weeks to wrap up our lives in California and make a new home on Oahu. Time for a big change.

39, like a cup of wine. But oh, don't be left with bitter dregs.