North Americans, you’re extremely goal oriented. If there is a ball, you must kick it. If there is food, you must eat it. If there is a mountain you must climb it.”
“Costa Ricans don’t care about goals?” Actually, this was part of the problem he’d encountered while trying to get things done in Costa Rica. People moved at a snail’s pace compared to life in the U.S.
“ Ticos are generally more interested in relationships than outcomes,” she said. “We would rather enjoy our family and friends than rush around chasing some meaningless goal,” she said.
“Meaningless? You call making money meaningless?”
“Do you have more than you can spend?”
“More money than I could spend in ten lifetimes.”
“Then why does making more money matter?”
The question stopped him cold. He had no answer. “I’m going to Key West because of a relationship,” he said. “If my purpose was a goal, I would let my friend make a big mistake and I’d stay focused on my project.”
“Instead you are in neither place. I am sorry, Mr. Martin.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m cool with the fact we had to crash land. Things happen. I get that. Let’s just get a move on and get things repaired so we can fly out of here ASAP.”
She looked dubious. “It would be a good idea to manage your expectations. I will try my best, but there might not be a quick fix.”
“You said you were part American, now’s the time to draw on that Yankee ingenuity and kick the lamentations to the curb.” He pounded his fist into his palm in a gesture he used to get his employees fired up.
“This is why people find some Americans off-putting. They tend to think that their way is always the best way.”
He straightened the lapels of his jacket. So what if he thought his way was the best way? Didn’t everyone? You did what worked for you. That’s why it was your way. “I put you off?”
“I didn’t say me. I was simply pointing out cultural differences. I get to do that since I have roots in both cultures.”
“I understand your point, but can we save the cultural sensitivity discussion for later? I’m kind of in a hurry here.”
She shook her head and he could have sworn she mumbled, “Impossible.”
He decided to let it go, pulled the latch on the door, and tried to shove it open. It moved, but no more than an inch before it hit something and wouldn’t budge any farther. “What the...?”
“One of those expectations that requires management,” she said lightly.
He huffed. Okay, he was in another country. There was always some culture shock involved. He could handle it. Just as long as she got this heap running in time to get him on his way to Florida to stop Scott’s 4:00 p.m. wedding on Saturday.
Sophia tried her door and it opened with ease. She crooked a finger at him. “This way.”
He climbed out, following her.
She stood on the beach at the front of the plane, surveying their situation, her delicate hands resting on her curvy hips.
He imagined her in a red string bikini and his heart rate kicked up a notch. Down, boy. Not the time, nor the place. Think of something else.
The plane wasn’t level. The tire on the pilot’s side of the plane was sunk into the sand. The other tire was parked on a large fallen tree. Jungle vines were whipped around the door handle. That’s what had prevented him from getting out. But other than the imbalanced landing position, the plane didn’t look too bad.
“What now?” he asked.
“I have to find out what made the engine sputter. If it’s something repairable, I’ll repair it. Then we have to figure out how to get the plane on even ground so that we can take off from the beach.”
He glanced over his shoulder. The sea was only a couple of yards behind them. There certainly didn’t seem to be enough of a makeshift runway to achieve liftoff, not that he knew much about it. He had to find another way off this island as quickly as he could. No offense against Sophia
“Costa Ricans don’t care about goals?” Actually, this was part of the problem he’d encountered while trying to get things done in Costa Rica. People moved at a snail’s pace compared to life in the U.S.
“ Ticos are generally more interested in relationships than outcomes,” she said. “We would rather enjoy our family and friends than rush around chasing some meaningless goal,” she said.
“Meaningless? You call making money meaningless?”
“Do you have more than you can spend?”
“More money than I could spend in ten lifetimes.”
“Then why does making more money matter?”
The question stopped him cold. He had no answer. “I’m going to Key West because of a relationship,” he said. “If my purpose was a goal, I would let my friend make a big mistake and I’d stay focused on my project.”
“Instead you are in neither place. I am sorry, Mr. Martin.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m cool with the fact we had to crash land. Things happen. I get that. Let’s just get a move on and get things repaired so we can fly out of here ASAP.”
She looked dubious. “It would be a good idea to manage your expectations. I will try my best, but there might not be a quick fix.”
“You said you were part American, now’s the time to draw on that Yankee ingenuity and kick the lamentations to the curb.” He pounded his fist into his palm in a gesture he used to get his employees fired up.
“This is why people find some Americans off-putting. They tend to think that their way is always the best way.”
He straightened the lapels of his jacket. So what if he thought his way was the best way? Didn’t everyone? You did what worked for you. That’s why it was your way. “I put you off?”
“I didn’t say me. I was simply pointing out cultural differences. I get to do that since I have roots in both cultures.”
“I understand your point, but can we save the cultural sensitivity discussion for later? I’m kind of in a hurry here.”
She shook her head and he could have sworn she mumbled, “Impossible.”
He decided to let it go, pulled the latch on the door, and tried to shove it open. It moved, but no more than an inch before it hit something and wouldn’t budge any farther. “What the...?”
“One of those expectations that requires management,” she said lightly.
He huffed. Okay, he was in another country. There was always some culture shock involved. He could handle it. Just as long as she got this heap running in time to get him on his way to Florida to stop Scott’s 4:00 p.m. wedding on Saturday.
Sophia tried her door and it opened with ease. She crooked a finger at him. “This way.”
He climbed out, following her.
She stood on the beach at the front of the plane, surveying their situation, her delicate hands resting on her curvy hips.
He imagined her in a red string bikini and his heart rate kicked up a notch. Down, boy. Not the time, nor the place. Think of something else.
The plane wasn’t level. The tire on the pilot’s side of the plane was sunk into the sand. The other tire was parked on a large fallen tree. Jungle vines were whipped around the door handle. That’s what had prevented him from getting out. But other than the imbalanced landing position, the plane didn’t look too bad.
“What now?” he asked.
“I have to find out what made the engine sputter. If it’s something repairable, I’ll repair it. Then we have to figure out how to get the plane on even ground so that we can take off from the beach.”
He glanced over his shoulder. The sea was only a couple of yards behind them. There certainly didn’t seem to be enough of a makeshift runway to achieve liftoff, not that he knew much about it. He had to find another way off this island as quickly as he could. No offense against Sophia
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