I am on the beach with my wife. I am under the umbrella, my wife is in the open sun. I haven’t visited the beach in a hundred years. We have been quarantined for at least that long.
We are social distancing, sitting almost as far away from the water as you can get. The nearest beach goer is about a mile away.
I used to work on the beach. One summer, I got a job in Destin, Florida. I was a lifeguard-slash-beach-attendant. The industry term was: “chair setter-upper.” Or: “rented mule.”
My main job was to set up umbrellas and chairs, and to make sure everyone’s radio was cranked up loud enough so that others would complain to the lifeguards about it.
You learn a lot about people when you watch them on a beach, which is what I did for nine hours per day.
One time, there was a family of Germans on my beach. They were mostly elderly people. Mid-70s, maybe.
Germans are finicky, they don’t like wearing wet swimsuits
after they’ve been swimming in the Gulf. So every time the old man would emerge from the surf, he would remove his Speedo.
He did this nonchalantly, as though sliding out of a Speedo before a couple hundred spectators was just another day at the office. Then his wife would hand him a dry Speedo, and he would cram into it. Whereupon his wife would fully strip and do the same thing. Gravity had not been kind to these people.
That was a bad day to be a beach-attendant-slash-lifeguard.
I also had to deal with Young Drunk People as a lifeguard. When young people visit the beach, federal law requires them to bring 50 cases of beer per young person and a boombox capable of shattering windshields.
Drunk young people also love to invent creative ways to consume alcohol. As in: “Hey, y’all! Watch me drink beer…