I got Jamaica'd Today
on George Hamilton (Jamaica), 01/Sep/2011 01:11, 34 days ago
I had a feeling that I would get Jamaica'd today.  To help enjoy the experience of  being Jamaica'd I put on my happy smile, relaxed and let all my cares drift away.  Nothing was going to bother me.  I was in a state of Irie.At the beginning of the day I had no idea what this new verb "Jamaica'd" meant although it had flitted across the back of my mind from time to time.  Now I have the concrete examples, I can write about it although I did not have my camera with me take my own photos. Being modest, I actually have quite a lot of room in the back of my mind where all sorts of things could flit.  But with luck the front of my mind is crowded out with a working brain - so there's no room for random flitting there.Being Jamaica'd is getting the Jamaican experience.  This is an nearly everyday type of experience you acquire in urban Jamaica, but not in the huge closed-off resorts on the north coast where you are isolated from things Jamaican.In the interests of accuracy, this was neither one of the fellow passengers on the bus, or a person at the bus terminal, or still later behind the bank counters.  He is the Jamaican entertainer Bunny Wailer.I had a quasi-Jamaican experience on the way down on the un-airconditioned bus whose open window was good for letting in more diesel exhaust than fresh tropical air.  Obviously, the bus had not been serviced properly.  This might just have been the result of either a budgetary shortfall or spare parts challenge.  I doubt that it was a  personal vendetta against me by the bus mechanic.  Come to think of it, to be Jamaica'd, you need a real live Jamaican to provide you with a direct personal Jamaican experience.   You don't just get Jamaica'd in the passive sense, some Jamaican has to go actively out of his or her way to do it to you.  But maybe as they say, it's just "character building". My Jamaica'd experience might have started with the young school girl at the Half Way Tree bus terminal who attempted to butt into the ticket line in front of me.  Later on I noticed that her mother was already in the line and the girl was merely meeting up with her. So no problem, Canadian girls would have done the same.Then I made it uneventfully to the First Caribbean International Bank close to Half Way Tree located a few blocks south.  Arriving at the bank before it opened, I pretty well kept my own position in the line so  I was not severely Jamaica'd outside the bank.  Even inside, being Jamaica'd did not start immediately.  Firstly I went to the wrong teller, but she redirected me, as a Canadian bank teller would have done, within seconds to the right one.It turned out that it was the right one was the one who Jamaica'd  me.  She was taking care of another customer while I first arrived so I relaxed and read some of today's Gleaner.  After about five minutes that customer left and nothing further happened from the bank teller.  Remember that I'm still cool, happy, relaxed and in a state of Irie, so maybe she was making a follow up business phone call or two as a result of her previous customer/client interaction.After about ten minutes I moved a little.  Neither of us were making eye contact because a divider was in the way, although I felt she should have been able to see at least the ends of my legs and umbrella tip.  I was the only one in the five available chairs in the area, so there were no problems.  Nobody had zipped in the bank's front door that was close by and went directly to the customer seat ahead of me. I was fine and relaxed.  There weren't any hammocks nearby, but then this wasn't a resort, just a bank.Before I took the pledge not to insert jokes I might have claimed that this was the first class or elite waiting area at the branch, and unfortunately I was only travelling volunteer-class.  That latter class is similar to tourist class but not as elite or preferred.But now I don't tell jokes anymore.  Seriously, it's the lone hammock near the bar at Jake's at Treasure Beach.  It's on the south west shore of Jamaica.  If you visit Jakes grab the hammock before somebody else does.  That does sound over-competitive for a Canadian to say.  Sorry.Then I was beckoned over with the ever so slight and subtle hand gesture that Jamaicans make .  I didn't rush over because I did not want to give her the impression that she was more important to  me than my Gleaner.  I had waited 10 minutes, so what was 1/2 minute more?  Happily I headed over and civilly said good morning - formalities are very important in Jamaica.  I did a quick explanation of what services I would like - namely a transfer of some money from my Jamaican account to a Canadian account.  Naturally I provided all the documentation I had in order to help move the process along.This lady was no slouch and within a second or two she pounced.  "You don't have the Swift code so you have to go away and get it", she happily announced.  Obviously the wrong response was to ask what a Swift code was or to meekly go away.  You lose!  Now I know what Swift codes are and specifically  know the exact Swift code of the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce.  It was just the Royal Bank of Canada's Swift code that was missing.(This bird knows its Swift code). So I politely recommended to her that because she worked in a bank, and even a bank with the word "International" in it, so she should easily find out from the bank's records what the Swift code was.  She was a little bit nonplussed about this but headed off and five minutes later we were almost good to go. She pottered away for a while with the bank's side of the documents and then she was joined by a younger person who was obviously the computer person in the office.  He did the electronic transfer on the computer terminal at the teller's desk.  Was she technologically challenged or was this simply good internal control? My only grief from him was to suffer the George Hamilton movie star joke  - the movie star must be pretty old now because I'm sure he was famous while I was still at school, and I'm as Jamaicans could say "youth-challenged".  Actually my namesake is only eight years older than me - it's just that he's been acting forever.So when all the electronic stuff was done, I was still grooving along, when our bank teller decided to throw a last curve ball which was pretty hilarious.  Once again I was in the right but there was no need to be smug about it.  It turns out that my second personal reference never made it to the file although I remember its existence very clearly.Bunty's friend, Bernadette V, had prepared the second reference in Kingston because she worked here at the British High Commission and had known Bunty and me for years in Ottawa.  It turns out that in her glowing reference she omitted to write that I was of "good character" as required by the bank.  This deeply troubled the bank employee who called me on the phone.  After a bit of discussion, and an obvious behind-the-scenes decision by somebody who could make decisions properly, I was in the  clear.  This vital document had subsequently been lost and was causing concern to yet another teller.  Maybe an Obeah is involved?  You don't mess with Obeahs.Above are two Romare Bearden paintings of Obeahs. The first one is definitely pretty scary looking.Fortunately a handful of new volunteers had just arrived and they were getting personal references from the CUSO-VSO office, so the bank employee kindly offered to let me use that reference provided I signed a bank form.  Which I did.  I kept my cool still because there's that expression "It ain't over till the fat lady sings".  The bank teller was not fat and I have no idea whether she could sing or not, although probably she could because Jamaicans as a whole are very musical. But it was really all over and in a positive way.   I got my funds transferred. On the way out I saw new CUSO-VSO volunteer Tim who was in for his third shot at getting a debit card, and along the street I passed Wendy heading towards the bank who referred to her life as being in a banking purgatory.  I guess they are two more volunteers who are also getting Jamaica'd.And that's enough for this blog.  I had a not uneventful ride on the coaster down towards the Dispute Resolution Foundation, but that's another story.