Tourist 101: You Could Learn Something Here

Bluffton Today column
July 6, 2011

Last week a friend celebrated her fourth wedding anniversary. In keeping with Emily Post’s etiquette rules, her hubby presented her with the traditional fourth anniversary gift – fruit and flowers. Yup, he dressed as a banana and delivered a huge bouquet of flora. She, of course, posted the picture on Facebook, for all the world to see, and in return he gains extra credit points for creativity.

So, as we celebrated the 235th anniversary of our nation’s independence this past weekend, it made me wonder exactly what the traditional gift should be. I didn’t have to look very far, as I gifted myself with what were to be a few relaxing days at the beach. And, oh, there was some good people watching this weekend – in fact, this column almost wrote it self.

I could make a fortune teaching a “how to pay the parking meter” course at the Island beaches. There must be no parking meters in Ohio and Kentucky, I can’t rationalize any other reasons as to why folks can’t seem to slip some coins in a simple slot. I’m ten people deep in line and the situation goes a little something like this. “How much does it cost? Do you know how much it costs? No, I don’t know how much it costs, its’ my first time here too. What space are we in? I said, what space are we in? Well go back and check, we have to enter in what space we were in. Yes, I’m serious. I know its hot, just go get the space number. It doesn’t take debit cards? What do you mean it doesn’t take debit cards? Do you have cash? How much does it cost? Do you know how much it costs? I put in five dollars -- that gets us 10 hours.” Yup, the only thing you forgot to pack into the mini van was a little common sense folks.

Fifteen minutes later, after I have proven that it can indeed take less than 30 seconds to pay the meter (I am the master!), I am finally sinking my toes in the sand. But, how can I relax with a plethora of people watching before me. Now that the meter-illiterate family has settled on the beach with their two tents, four coolers, and folding chairs from an era when Bo Derek was actually a 10, it’s picture time. This is when the patriarch of the family insists that the entire family gather in front of the ocean for a family portrait. Well that’s nice, you may think.

Unless … you happen to be the unsuspecting local who is asked to take the picture. She kindly obliged, put down her book, and waited for 90 seconds while the family decided who should stand where. Papa passed off the camera to the local, but not before clearly illustrating how to take the picture. Because the button you press hasn’t been on the top right of the camera for oh say, 100 years.

Ay, yi, yi … all this entertainment for only 50 cents an hour? Now I am deciding if in addition to teaching the meter class, if I should expand the franchise and write a primer on how to go to the beach.

Ladies, a little bit of advice. If in a blind panic you think you've lost your child in the ocean, only to find that in fact he's just hidden between your two stomachs – skip the two-piece swimsuit. I believe Jeff Foxworthy said it best, “Go ahead and bring the spare tire to the beach but leave it in the car.” I’m all for a positive body image. But, I am also quite positive that if the scale is tipping two-hundy, a modest one-piece is for you.

Sea gulls are still utterly disgusting. This hasn’t changed since I dedicated an entire column to the topic last year. Sea gulls poop where they eat. So, when you lay with Cheetos between your toes, calling to the sea gulls to take a bite, just know that if they nibble, you’ll be soon running to the water to wash off their feces. Hey, it’s your call “cheese toes.”

As the beach expands at low tide, this means you can leave a little room between you and the nearest beach-goer. For example, if I am sitting minding my own business, with a 20 foot radius of space around me, you don’t have to erect your tent within 12 inches of my chair. More specifically, when you have to move my flip flops (why are you even touching my flip flops?), to pound in your tent stakes, you are a little close. When I am now in the shade, of your tent, you are definitely too close for my comfort. And I have had it.

I look over my left shoulder just to be certain I’m not day-dreaming. Nope, you have indeed invaded my personal space. So, I stand, brush off the sand, gather my bag to move and suddenly -- lightbulb! You realize I exist and as you lamely mutter an apology, I say …

“No, no, it’s ok,” with a smirk, disguised behind a sweet smile, “You’ve given me the perfect topic for my next newspaper column. Enjoy your stay.”

How do I get syndicated in Ohio?