Generator (Black &) Blues

We’re tired of being held hostage by our machines. An assortment of these contraptions lie deep in our engine hold. Any one of them is capable of waylaying us and they know it. I’m convinced a lottery is held there to determine who gets to be next. This week’s winner was the voltage regulator.
The Captain and I sat over lukewarm beers seeking a more permanent solution to our latest calamity. After beer number five, we made a momentous decision. First we’d order the necessary replacement part, which now lies numbered in the log book with all the others like a row of dominoes. But the brilliant idea, the one that rose like a phoenix after the Kalik Golds, was we’d order another generator! Smart, huh?
This wasn’t just any old backup generator. It was the world’s most popular one, a Honda 2000-i. “I” for intelligent, which we thought we were being. We soon discovered the world’s most popular generator was nowhere to be found in the entire Bahamas. 
That left the States. After a little prodding, my wife Judy, who was headed here anyway, agreed to bring one with her from Atlanta. There weren’t any there either. We finally located one outside of the city in a lawnmower shop. She trekked out there, grabbed it and headed for the airport.
“We can’t carry that.” the surly AirTran rep told her.
“Why not?” Judy demanded.
“It could have gas in it” the rep said.
“It’s factory sealed in the box.” she countered.
“Too dangerous” they said. There were two reps now poking at the container. “There might be vapors.”
“Well if it’s so damn dangerous how do you think it got here from Japan?” she retorted. “It didn’t swim.”
A third rep was called in. He glanced at the box, said “Nope” and retreated back into his office.
“You’d better hurry or you’ll miss your plane” the other two told her.
“And what am I supposed to do with this?” she exclaimed pointing at the carton.
“Dunno. But you can’t leave it here.”
She had to check the poisonous package with an airport storage company. It was the first of many additional charges to come. She called her ride who made a "three-sixty" back to the airport while she hustled to catch her plane.
How to get a forty-five pound parcel from Atlanta, Georgia to Salt Pond in the Southern Bahamas presented a number of difficulties. But we were undeterred. We found an air freight company out of Ft. Lauderdale that would transport it to George Town. That was only thirty miles of open water from where we’d be. And the cost was reasonable, $85.00. I phoned my friend in Atlanta holding the box. 
“Ship it Fed-X to Lauderdale” I  requested. I explained the plane didn’t leave there for five days so overnight it wasn’t necessary.
He efficiently called back within the hour.
“All taken care of.” he proclaimed. “They insisted it had to put into another box. That was an extra $25.00”
“No problem” I said. “I’ll have Judy reimburse you when she comes back. Oh yeah, what was the total.”
“$350.00” he said.
“What??” shot out of my mouth. But there was nothing more to say. He’d done me a favor. Plus I hadn’t checked the rate. But the next time I see a Fed-X truck, it’ll be spending a sleepless night with four flat tires.
There was still the final thirty miles to negotiate with our dwindling reserves.
“You’ll need to hire a customs broker” our friend Alvin in George Town told us. “Then someone will have to carry the paperwork to the airport, get it approved, carry it back to the broker, get it stamped and then go back to the airport to collect it.”
The airport was ten miles from town, a $30.00 taxi ride each way. The dizzying numbers were adding up fast.
“There’s also Customs duty.” he continued. “That can run from ten to forty percent of the item’s value. Depending who’s on duty.”
Once we digested all of this, we negotiated a deal. A friend of his would do the back and forth.  Alvin would hire the customs broker and then ferry the generator over to us on his speedboat. The costs were "appreciable". We were now  getting screwed by a machine that we didn’t even possess yet!
The day Alvin was to arrive dawned still and somnolent. Then another gale hit Salt Pond, stirring up the seas and sinking boats.
“What next?” we wondered.
But late in the day his speedboat appeared on the horizon.
“There were some complications” he said, throwing us his bowline. “The customs broker listed it as an engine part. Bahamian Customs wouldn’t buy that. It got kind of nasty. We finally negotiated a number. But it’s more than I expected.” 
“Oh yeah” he added. “The broker also charged me double.”
“What??” shot out of my mouth again. 
“There was another customer there and he didn’t want to give me the preferred rate in front of him.”
“OK” I said. “But after the customer left he gave it back to you, right?”
“No. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Even after screwed up the form?” I cried.
“I‘m afraid so” he said.
And that was that.
We now have a new backup generator. It's the most expensive Honda 2000-i in existence. And, as far as I know, the only one in the Bahamas. It’s still in the box. We have no plans on ever opening it. Instead, we’re building it an alter.
We also got screwed on the air bill. After Fed-X repackaged it, the carrier said the larger size put it in a different price category. I ain’t buying it. Nevertheless, that was their excuse when they doubled the charge. 
But the best part was the voltage regulator, the other link in our ill-conceived two-pronged attack. It arrived on time at another air freight company. It was small, so the manager gave it special care. He put it on his desk. And there it sat when their weekly plane took off. If we ever get it, it would make a nice addition to our alter, if only we didn’t need it so badly. Instead, I’m thinking some banana leaves and a few shells scattered around the base would look nice, along with some warm Kaliks.