DAY 2. HAVANA: Yes, debtor's prison looms. It is all an illusion of course. I am not really in Havana, but in the over-the-top-and-beyond Tropicana Hotel in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The ground floor of the mammoth structure (actually, structures)is a life-sized repro of Old Havana that winds on and on seemingly forever in all directions. I am "in town" for a trade show that my 9-to-5 requires I attend once a year, and this year I am quite gleeful at the prospect since the dates coincide with the Morro Castle fire anniversary. My plan is to see the trade show, network myself, and then drive up the coast visiting as many Morro Castle sites as I can find. But, after my "real work" was finished, I had perhaps twenty minutes of guilt-free enjoyment before the black cloud appeared overhead and a bolt of lightning symbolically shot forth. I have one credit card with me. It is a card with a burley, healthy, manly limit that one would REALLY have to work hard to max out. And, apparently someone has just done that. I attempt to buy a box of saltwater taffy, the ultimate Atlantic City cliche, and my card is declined, with that embarrassing flatulent noise credit card machines make when the DESTROY CARD pictogram begins flashing. If one has ever been a victim of identiy theft, one knows that nice heart attack feeling that grips one as soon as the truth sinks in...life, as you know it, is now over forever. Prepare to see everything you hold dear destroyed.
So, here I am in a fairly costly suite, with a dead credit card and enough cash to cover the room BUT not enough to eat on, or put gas in the car, for the weekend.
So, I do the mature thing. I think "Call the bank and straighten it out tomorrow morning. If you now owe the equivalent of a new car, you'll be able to handle it better first thing in the morning~ if you find out the truth now, you'll end up insane." And so I return home to Havana, down a few mojitos and a white Russian or two, and head off to my (unpaid for) bed where I try to think about the Morro Castle and not about the looming nightmare of getting this all straightened out. Being trapped on a burning liner at night in the middle of a storm seems more appealing than the present situation....
...and the next morning, I slink out to gas up my car. I attempt to use the credit card, hoping that last night was all a nightmare or a fluke, and happily, it was. The card works. What happened? I suspect that the sales clerk manually typed in the zeros after the decimal after hitting a wrong digit, and attempted to sell me an $11,000.00 box of taffy.
But, the day seems brighter, my steps lighter and I don't have to plead with the mananger of the hotel to trust me for the cost of my rooms. And, soon I am off, driving up the coast, very much aware of what was happening on that very site, to the minute, in 1934.