Pastor Wayne had recently purchased a large white 18-wheeler that was in need of washing. Seeing the truck, I offered to clean it. I didn’t have exactly what I thought would be best to most effeiciantly clean the truck, but I started anyway. I vigorously sprayed the truck with water, trying to remove what I could, and then I thoroughly wiped every spot that I could with what I had. I was going to wash the top when I woke up.
Dave was staying with us. Somehow he convinced us that we all needed to drive to Cuba to go to the beach, and that the best way to get there was to go through Jamaica. So we all piled into the car, and started driving. When we arrived at the border between Jamaica and Cuba (hey, it’s a dream, OK?), we were stopped by the police. They told us that in order to go into Cuba, we had to get rid of all our illegal drugs. Dave refused. His logic was “if we’re going to have to get rid of all our drugs, why did we bother to go through Jamaica?”
In the end, the police won. We trashed our drugs, and arrived at the beach in Cuba. Since it was such a spur-of-the-moment trip, I somehow arrived with no bathing suit, no shorts, in need of a leg shaving, etc, so I had to pay a visit to the local version of Wal-Mart, where I picked out the ugliest outfit. The beach wasn’t all that impressive, either.