Of tall tales and blue centipedes
By Lee Cataluna
Advertiser Staff Writer
It's one of those things that unites those of us that call these Islands home, right up there with rubber-slipper tan marks on our feet, a penchant for rice at breakfast and the inability to go to a party empty-handed:
Centipede stories.
Everyone has one. Or two. You can't be here very long without having a close encounter with the fearsome beasts. You may live your whole life in Hawai'i and never see the green flash at sunset or the silverswords in bloom, but guarantee you'll have a centipede horror story to tell. And it'll be a doozy.
The stories follow a basic template, but vary on a couple of points: where the centipede was encountered, location of the bite, intensity of the suffering and, of course, how big da bugga was. Sometimes, the tale includes how the centipede met its demise, especially if it's a tale of revenge, quick thinking or improvising when no rubber slipper or can of Raid was in reach.
Many of the centipede encounters happen in the last place you'd want to meet up with a crawling, stinging menace: in a work boot, in bed, in the shower, in a moving car. Places where you're trapped, defenseless, or worst of all, nekkid.
The location of the bite, of course, colors the story. A bite on your finger is bad, but somehow, a bite on your toe is worse. I know a man bitten in a location that can't be even hinted at in a family newspaper. He lived to tell about it, though I don't think he does very often.
Get a group going on the subject and you'll hear descriptions of monsters nearly a foot long. "You seen that kind? Blue, you know. That's the worst kind, the blue kind."
"No ways. I seen one red centipede one time. That's the kind if they bite you, you can swell up like one balloon."
There is the story of my grandfather doing yard work on a hot Koloa day. He went to get a drink of water from the hose, but instead of turning on the faucet and letting it run a bit to clear the line, he held the garden hose up to his waiting mouth to catch the first blast of water. What he didn't know was that a centipede was hiding inside. The spurt of water swept it out of the hose and into my grandfather's waiting mouth. Auwe! It bit him on the inside of his cheek. Forever more, everyone in the family knows to let the water run a bit before drinking from a garden hose. Better yet, we go inside for a Pepsi.
If you know someone who has lived here a while and doesn't have a centipede story, steer clear. They're due. And since you already have your centipede story, you know you don't want to be a part of someone else's. A friend of mine has been here for years, but no centipede story. I no like go his house. Probably get the blue kind. Scaid.
Lee Cataluna's column runs Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Her e-mail address is lcataluna@honoluluadvertiser.com.
