MON GOT SHOES
This story is about Captain Nasty, of whom you have heard before. You will also no doubt hear of him again as I see him frequently. Nasty has a perchance for very small boats. The vessel in this story was less than 15 feet. It was night and Nasty was approaching the coast of Jamaica. The weather was particularly foul. The sky was completely overcast and visibility almost nothing. Nasty decided to lay off shore and await the morning to see if he could find where he was located and find the opening to the reefs. The problem with this prudent decision was that the weather had other plans. As the night wore on, the weather got significantly worse until the seas overwhelmed the small sail boat. Nasty was only wearing a pair of foul weather overalls and a t shirt. The boat started going down by the stern. This left Nasty with only a tentative hold on the fore spar until it too disappeared under the sea's violent surface. He didn't know exactly how far off shore he was when the boat sank, he only knew that he was in the dark with no radio and the storm was raging.
Nasty was in the water with no life jacket and clad only in his yellow bib foul weather gear complemented by a t shirt. He had a general direction to follow as the wind was blowing on shore. He had resigned himself to a watery fate and began to say good by to his time here. He had little hope being offshore in a violent storm when something bumped him on the arm. He twisted to find what it was and was elated to find that it was a swim fin. Buoyed with hope he slipped it on and prepared to leave the remains of his craft. Just before he pushed off, he found the mate to his fin. He was as elated as one could be trapped off shore an unknown distance in horrible seas.
He struggled for hours swimming in the large waves. He almost took off his foul weather bibs when he thought about the reefs he would undoubtabley have to crawl over. Nasty opted to struggle along tolerating the drag. At dawn he was negotiating the reef to be sprawled on the sand. Before he could get his breath he was joined by Jamaican Police Officers. They, of course, asked him what happened. Nasty could only summon the energy to tell them "shipwreck". He was asked to join them in police headquarters. They told him he wasn't really under arrest but that he had to come back to the jail each night.
Nasty didn't need much in the way of funds. At each of the several sailor bars or tourist bars the story of his shipwreck (and Nasty's generous supply of sea stories) netted him a sailors quantity of adult beverages and snacks. He waited for some papers and a ticket to arrive from the states. When they arrived two of Jamaica's finest delivered him to Jamaica Air for his return flight. He was still dressed in his foul weather bibs and a fresh t shirt. The ticket agent peered over the front of her desk, gazed disapprovingly at his flat bare feet. She said, "Mon no shoes Mon no fly." The police officers tried to sway her with the story of shipwreck, miraculous swim, treacherous climb through the reef, and his stay in the quasi arrest to no avail. Again "Mon no shoes Mon no fly."
The two underpaid officers began to nervously eye the duty free shop. Nasty, ever innovative, asked the attendant for a pencil, some tape, and a shipping carton. He put his broad foot on the opened carton, drew some flaps around the balls of his feet, cut on the dotted lines, taped the flaps. Nasty proudly announced to the relieved officers and stunned attendant. "MON GOT SHOES MON CAN FLY."
