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"Taxi, mon?"  the gentleman asked me as we stepped off the ship.

"Tour of the Island, mon?"  another man called out.

"What would you like to do today, mon?  I can take you wherever you want to go."

"Sure you don't need a taxi?"

 We had stepped out into a cacophony of enterprising gentlemen selling various services after our ship docked in St. Lucia.

You see, your editor and his wife had decided to take some time off and enjoy Christmas in the Caribbean.

After all, we figured, if we were going to be meeting St. Nick anyway, why not go ahead and meet St. Lucia, St. Maarten, and St. John while we're at it?  

Since we wanted to explore on foot, we politely declined the offers for a ride.

But finally, toward the end of the line, one gentleman looked me right in the eye and said "You look like Bob Marley, mon."

That got our attention.

"Really?, I've never heard that before", your naive editor replied, "thanks!"

Your editor didn't think he looked anything like Bob Marley....how odd.  Maybe it was a unique approach to selling us a taxi ride.

We continued on.  

The next day, the ship arrived in Barbados.  

Your editor and his lovely wife decided to stroll along the beautiful white sand beach.  A full blown Rastafarian approached, sporting dreadlocks, the oversized red and green cap, the whole look.  We must admit, he was quite a laid back looking chap.

"You look like Bob Marley, mon"  He said to me.

"I've heard that before."

"Well, you do look like a Rasta, mon" 

He paused, thoughtfully, and then brought his hand to his face in a gesture we all know means "smoke weed."

"You need some weed, mon?"  He apparently had decided that he needed to be more direct in his sales approach.

Your editor, you see, might be a picker, a grinner, and a joker [1], but he most certainly is not a pot smoker.  He sticks to wine.  So not being sure how to handle the situation, he, of course, handled it badly.

"Not right now, but, um, thanks"

That reply only seemed to encourage Rasta-mon.  I should have just told him I didn't smoke.

"You sure, mon?  Whacha looking for?  I've got blue, I've got red, I've got yellow, mon......whatever you want."

Blue?  How can weed be blue?  We were curious as to what that meant and tempted, for just a second or two, to take a look at his products.

Instead, we changed the subject: "Is Bob Marley Jesus?" we asked rasta-mon.  (OK, we admit to having a couple of beers already, the question seemed to make sense at the time).

"Listen, mon....if you smoke my stuff, Bob Marley will be whoever you want him to be."

"OK, Maybe later....thanks." we walked away.

"OK, mon" he called after us.  People are so friendly down in the islands.

As we walked back through town, it dawned on your slow editor:  "You look like Bob Marley" must be code for "Do you wanna buy some weed?"  We shared the theory with our wife.  "Well, duh." she replied.  Being the smarter of the two of us, she, of course, had figured it out when the first guy in St. Lucia had approached us.

"Well, I've never been a toker" I replied, remembering that term from the old Steve Miller song [1], "so why do these guys keep approaching me?"

"Well......" she started, "look at you.  Your dressed in an old T-shirt and shorts, wearing old leather Tevas.  Your hair is all messed up.  You're relaxed because you're on vacation, plus you've had a few drinks so you have that happy, not-a-care-in-the-world look in your eyes.....I'm mean, if I didn't know you......I'd think you looked like a "toker."  And...by the way...I don't think anyone uses the word "toker"  anymore."

In reviewing the photos, we see that her point was well made:

A few days later we stopped in Nassau, Bahamas.

This time, I was prepared.  We were touring downtown Nassau on foot and I saw him approaching:  a nice young islander...and I already knew what he was going to say....

"You look like Bob Marley, mon." 

"I don't smoke, but thanks anyway"

"OK, mon" he replied, but as he slowly walked away he turned around, flashed a big smile and said, "but that's really too bad, mon .....cause I got some good shit." [2]

Sincerely, "mon"

Clintavo

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[1]  From Steve Miller's, The Joker:  "I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover and I'm a sinner, I play my music in the sun.  I'm a joker, I'm a smoker, I'm a midnight toker.  I sure don't want to hurt no one" 

[2]   Well, we had to admire his sales technique and his belief in his product.  So maybe there's a marketing lesson in this story somewhere (hey does that make the trip deductible?).   But since your editor enjoys being awake and satiated, it seemed to him that indulging in something that (from what he's heard) makes one tired and hungry was the wrong way to go.  So, as always, he declined.

[3]  Image of Bob Marley by Gina McLagan.  Learn more here:  http://ginamclagan.com/workszoom/877112