THE NEWSPAPER LADY

From high atop Mafolie Hill, a large, winding, narrow mountain road overlooks Charlotte Amalie, the Havensight cruise ship harbor, Water Island, and Hassel Island.  It’s a beautiful scenic drive, filled with flowers and amazing views into crystal clear waters below.  However, along with the beauty is the great danger of traffic and the steep downward descent.  As locals on the island, we drive up and down mountainside roads each day to go to work, get groceries, or head off to a nearby beach.  But, oftentimes these journeys are far from simple errands down a well-paved street.  Each morning as most people are heading into town for work, the newspaper lady gets into position on the side of the two lane mountain road.  There is no shoulder – so, she sits on a grassy area next to a sheer drop-off filled with bush, briers, and island trees.  During this busy time, she sells papers to cars passing by.  Inevitably, a few cars will opt to buy a paper and stop their car on the road.  This backs up traffic for perhaps 1 or more miles as people ride slowly down the steep decline, stopping and going at an unhurried rate. 

Most of the time, I accept the morning traffic clog as an irritating, but inevitable, aspect of the island life.  Sometimes, however, the ridiculousness of selling papers on the side of a mountain road in which both lanes (going in opposite directions) will stop and buy papers bothers me.  I’ve seen Safari taxis approach the “lady” and request papers for everyone in the cab with each person tendering their money in exchange for several newspapers.  Some people might pull out $10 or $20 to buy the 50 cent paper.  Others may even decide to catch up with daily happenings, family, or current events by carrying on a deep conversation meanwhile forgetting about the long line of backed up vehicles. 

During these particularly irksome times, my ingrained level of tolerance and patience occasionally reach an endpoint and I decide to react.  For instance, I honked my horn on one occasion when the “lady” had completed a transaction with another woman in a Jeep Cherokee featuring a personalized plate emblazoned “LIZZIE.”  I thought, “Damn it Lizzie, get a cell phone and take yourself down the road.”  But, even with the short honk of my car horn, Lizzie carried on the conversation un-phased.  After a couple minutes, she moves on and I sigh for relief.  But, as we turn the corner, Lizzie rolls down her window, gives me the finger and a look of death.  Now, I am left wondering how Lizzie could feel justified in such a gesture after having purposefully delayed traffic and failed to budge when I simply let her know her conservation was impairing my transit time.  Alas, Lizzie is probably seen as more “in the right” in St. Thomas and a jury would likely adjudge me guilty of being rude.