Why Honduras? Why Central America? The reason is simple and it´s stupid...
My favorite T-shirt was assembled there, of course.
My fave T-shirt has a scary headshot of Tattoo from Fantasy Island surrounded with the text, ¨Follow me to my tropical paradise.¨ So I followed him all the way to the factory where it was hand sewn. The guards thought I was crazy, the factory workers thought I had a few loose stitches, and the mangament was just suspicious. They thought I was some kind of real journalist looking for an expose on the garment industry. Little do they know that I have written indepth articles on important issues such as nude beach etiquette and farting on planes- not quite heavy hitting journalism.
It didn´t matter, I got no farther than talking with Michelle in Human Resources, who sat as tight-lipped as Michael Jackson in his recent trial, responding to each question in 5 words or less. I did find out that it took 8 people less than 5 minutes to throw my shirt together.
My main goal was to find someone who works for the company who made my shirt and give it to them. I was largely ignored and laughed at by several thousand employees as they headed home for the day. My translator, a 17 year old recent high school grad, at one low moment of desperation turned and said, ¨Now I know what it feels like to be a Touron.¨
Finally I found one smiling but shy 24 year old man named Amilcar. When I asked him what he thought of my being there because of my T-shirt, he responded, ¨I think someday you will be a legend.¨ Amilcar may only have seven years of schooling, but I think he is cut out for a position in politics where he can put his enhanced ability of International BS to good use.
Anyhow, the search begins again for a new favorite T-shirt.