Montego Bay

Los Angeles, California

I got hit on by an Apple tech. Last month, I bought a new iPhone. This following the new Sub-Zero refrigerator purchased late last year, and preceding the new Apple MacBook I will need to purchase shortly. Ever notice how everything seems to wear out at once?

I purchased my new iPhone 12 at Costco. I'm pro-Costco for a variety of reasons, but I have to say that this was not a good experience. First of all, it took me a total of three visits to two warehouses, and a phone call to another warehouse, before I could convince a salesperson that they actually could order the phone in the color I desired. Now, I should mention that this is a Costco vendor located in the warehouse, not Costco itself. Anyway, there were one or two additional issues which I won't backstory here. Cutting to the chase, the following morning I needed help from Apple. The Apple tech who was helping me needed help from her supervisor (see where this is going? WAY more problems than one should anticipate). The supervisor's name was Andre, and he had a lovely accent that I was unable to place. An African country, perhaps? He helped me sort out the issue fairly easily, and at the end of the call, after he asked if I had any other questions, I inquired as I always do at the end of any customer service call: May I ask where you are located? I don't know why I always ask this, except that I am just curious. He replied that he was located in Florida. Are you asking me because of my accent? No, I replied. You have a lovely accent, but I am just always curious where people are located. He shared that he was originally from Jamaica. Oh! I've been to Jamaica. May I ask which part of the island you are from? He responded that he was from Montego Bay.

Long ago, on a planet far, far away, called my teenaged years, my mother took my sister and me to Montego Bay. My dad, an aerospace engineer, was going through serial employment as the aerospace industry in Southern California was downsizing. He was with a new company and could not take a vacation that summer. That wasn't going to stop my mom. She had us both in Hawaii the previous summer while she and my sister attended summer school at the University of Hawaii. That ended up being most of that summer. This time we were only going away for three weeks. A week in Florida; a week in Jamaica, and a week on Nassau. That last week on Nassau, I met a University of Michigan student traveling with two friends. And that was a high point of the entire trip. Oh to be young and in love on a Caribbean island! But, truthfully, Montego Bay was the experience that was transformative.

We stayed at a resort called The Bay Roc, where we had a beachfront cottage with two rooms, and a patio set in the sand. We had our own beach, the water marked off by breakwaters on either side. Each morning our breakfast would arrive, a large tray balanced on the head of our waiter. Kippers and bacon and croissants and waffles and fruit and juice and coffee all in silver service. We feasted on those breakfasts, seated at our patio table which was dressed with white linens, before hitting the lounges on our very own waveless beach. At night, we showered, dressing up for dinner, and I coiled and pinned my hair up off of my suntanned shoulders.  We walked down the path, squealing at the frogs that jumped across in front of us, before arriving at the torch-and-candlelit outdoor bar and restaurant. I was fifteen, drinking daiquiris or Cuba Libres. My family had always traveled and dined well, but it was the first time I got an extremely strong sense that this was what I wanted to enjoy in the life ahead of me. It was an experience later mirrored in the time spent at The Kona Village Resort. Though the Village was much more rustic and casual. Later, The Bay Roc became the first Sandals resort. My mom, sister, and I did return to Jamaica many years later on a cruise. But we never returned to Montego Bay.

I told Andre that I had been to Montego Bay and that I had loved it. We spoke a bit more about how customers responded to his accent in his encounters at work. Those stories are never good ones, especially in this era when people have been given agency to be so uncompassionately anti-other. Knowing Joel's experience with his Mexican-accented English, it can be soul-wrenching, though no longer surprising, to hear people speak of this experience.

And that was pretty much the extent of it. Until... About ten minutes after I ended the call with Andre, I got a text from him! Hmmm. This is interesting. He texted: I must say that you have a wonderful voice. And then he texted: I couldn't say it on the phone because of my job policy. As I debated what or whether to text back, he called me. I thanked him for the compliment, but cut the conversation short by saying that my boyfriend was calling in. I should have said my son; or my grandson! But, to be honest, it gave me a little lift in the middle of our pandemic winter. And no one had ever told me before that I had a wonderful voice. I'll take that compliment (we should all take all compliments offered). This experience sent my mind drifting to that summer in the Caribbean. To a beautiful beach, to steel-drum music, fresh fruit and flowers, to rum, and a really cute college guy from Ann Arbor. Le sigh...

My new iPhone is red, which is my favorite color, and I'm quite happy with it. It has face recognition, though this gets complicated when wearing a mask. If only Apple had foreseen, they could have engineered retina recognition. But then there are sunglasses, right? Anyway, it is a fun new thing. And these days you have to take heart in everything that you can. Maybe it's not a week in Montego Bay, but still, retaining memories like that is sustaining. And... winter is almost over; I am vaccinated, and, dare I write it? Oh why not? All is becoming right with the world. Thank you for reading my blog.