Cocaine blues and Gucci shoes
Jamaica is in the news again, and for all the wrong reasons. Recently a Jamaican flight attendant employed by JetBlue was approached for a random security check at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). Flight crew are not usually screened, and she was apparently caught off guard. Security was like "Wazzup!?", and she was like "See ya!", and took off like one of the aircraft on which she plies her trade, or probably more accurately, ‘trades’. The story goes that she dropped her two roller bags, kicked off her Gucci shoes and made her descent, barefoot, down an upward-moving escalator, before picking up speed and taking off again.
As if that was not enough, what happened next was even more mind-numbing. Authorities searched her luggage and found almost 70 pounds of cocaine, neatly wrapped in eleven parcels. Seventy pounds. That is almost as heavy as Yanique 'Curvy Diva' Barrett's behind. The authorities estimated that the value of the confiscated drugs is US$3 million, which is enough to buy Andrew Holness' house AND Peter Phillips' house.
When I watch the news and learn of drug busts with such large quantities of cocaine, the contraband is usually found in warehouses, airplanes, seafaring vessels, or in moving apparatuses with wheels ... and engines. Not in apparatuses with wheels being lugged nonchalantly around in an airport behind fancy heels. You just do not find that quantity of drugs in the possession of one person. That woman has breadfruit sized balls compared with my little Zika virus proportioned gonads. I do not think that I could smuggle even half a thimble of cocaine. As I enter the airport I would begin to sweat profusely. By the time I reach the ticket counter I would be dehydrated, with my legs giving way as I approach the security checkpoint. That flight attendant's testosterone ‘tun up’. Way up. Speaking of which, it appears that cocaine packages are not the only packages that she likes large, as one report claimed that Trojan Magnum condoms were found in her luggage as well. For those of you who are unaware, these are large condoms made for humongous phalluses. So she was more than likely planning to hook up with a dude with a name like Tyrone, as opposed to one with a name like, say, Dong Xiao Ping, or Michael Abrahams.
When the flight attendant ran, she actually escaped and flew cross-country to New York, where she turned herself in. This is another amazing dimension to the story. The fact that a black person ran away from authorities and did not get used for target practice is a news story in and of itself. Then again, she ran so fast that they probably were unable to accurately ascertain her skin tone, as all they probably saw was a blur the colour of her clothes. She was a college track athlete, in addition to being a Miss Jamaica beauty contest runner-up, so I guess she ran ‘pretty fast’. The fact that she initially got away raised valid concerns about security at Los Angeles International Airport. Apparently, the security at LAX is l-a-x: lax.
Her defence is now claiming that "she may not have been fully aware of what was in the bags". Yeah, right. Why would she run away, leaving the Gucci boots? Those shoes are not cheap. I thought of buying a pair for my wife, but when I looked them up online and saw the price, I gave her a gas money and a few bills to go to Payless instead. The shedding of the shoes is so Jamaican though. Jamaican women have perfected the art of backing off shoes, especially before flinging them at unruly offspring or unfaithful spouses.
I must confess, I have very little experience with cocaine. As a matter of fact, the only place that I have ever seen cocaine was in a woman's vagina. No, I did not snort it. It was not that kind of party. I was a resident in obstetrics and gynaecology at a public hospital when the police brought in a woman, who I recall was walking like a fowl with a hot egg. The story she gave was that she was asked to smuggle it out of the country, but changed her mind and visited a general practitioner to have it removed. The doctor then called the police, and she was detained.
The drug was wrapped in paper and plastic, but the powdery substance had become rock hard and I literally had to chisel the stuff out in the operating room. I guess that is what you would call ‘hard drugs’. Cocaine is a local anaesthetic, so it numbed her vagina, and the services of an anaesthetist were not necessary. She felt absolutely nothing down there during the procedure. It was dead, meaning that the poor thing had a mere eight lives left.
Cocaine also elevates blood pressure, and as the drug had leaked into her circulation, her pressure skyrocketed, with her diastolic (the lower number), rising above the level of my systolic (the higher number). She also whispered and asked me to discard some of the drug, as the severity of her sentence would be dictated by the amount involved. But doing so would be perverting the course of justice and could land me in prison, and as anal virginity is precious to me, I declined the request.
Yes, the coke trafficking business is not something to mess around with. The consequences can be somewhat unpleasant. As for me, I will just stick to my present Coke habit, trafficking the substance from the supermarket to my home in bottles and tins. I know that it is unhealthy, but at least I can handle the sugar and the caffeine.