One Happy Island

One of my Italian young friends, a kite surfer, came to Aruba from Surinam, for three days. He rented a car, and wandered from beach to beach, testing his skills in the water. Then on the second day, he discovered his passport was gone.

Where did you leave it, I asked?

At the car rental? The kite shop? Where have you been, try to trace your footsteps, I was trying to help, but he has been distracted, on the island’s watery playgrounds, and couldn’t come up with anything concrete.

The passport disappearance must be reported to the Police, said a friendly airline clerk, and that is why my young Italian acquaintance marched into the Police station in Noord.

He couldn’t have been there more than five-minute when an officer walked up to him, passport in hand and said, I saw you walking in on our surveillance camera and recognized your picture from the passport.

It was handed in last night.

By whom? The man in blue didn’t have any of that information.

One Happy Island.

One of my friends lost her phone on the beach, not too long ago, before or after yoga, she was besides herself, her personal information was in the unprotected phone, she was upset.

Never mind passwords, and backups, her phone had none.

But she called Samsung, or Google, and Big Brother told her exactly the location of the phone, down to the street address, and the pictures of the people living there, their names too. Then Big Brother locked the phone except for a message to the finders, to contact a telephone number for a modest reward.

Guess what? The following day she had her phone back.

One Happy Island.    

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August 15, 2019
Rona Coster
Bati Bleki by Rona Coster
Bati Bleki by Rona Coster
Bati Bleki by Rona Coster
Bati Bleki by Rona Coster
Bati Bleki by Rona Coster
Bati Bleki by Rona Coster
Bati Bleki by Rona Coster