Some people go to church; I go to the sea. Not in the wee hours of the morning when you have the athletes jogging before the sun rises above the horizon and it gets to hot; or those nuts walking their dogs, because heaven forbid you bring a dog to the beach when there are people—oh how stupid of me, I forgot that’s against the rules. I don’t go during the afternoon either because it would be to crowded, and crazy for me with children running around kicking up sand like little animals, and teenagers blasting music for the entire beach to hear—but that is alright, I mean it’s legal to kick sand in someone’s face while they’re sleeping on a blanket. Only do I go when it is black, and the stars and the moon are my only source of light, and my friends silently surrounding and comforting me.
The beach is wonderful in the night; it is so tranquil and peaceful. Listening to the waves crash, and the wind whipping through the air I don’t have to see to know what is happening around me. It is a real shame that I must park my Jeep so far away in the trees and sneak onto the beach undetected. The first few times I had to feel my way through the darkness, through the trees and listen for the sea, but now, now I can walk to my favorite beach—my sanctuary, after dusk when it’s illegal to be there in my sleep. Can you believe that? I am not allowed to enjoy this glorious atmosphere without breaking the law.
So if I break that law so easily, and have done so nightly ever since I could drive a car, then I surely might as well break another. Part of my nightly ritual is, before going to the beach I make myself a perfect cinnamon hazelnut coffee, with just a touch of half n’ half, and a pinch of sugar. By the time I get to my spot, and ascend the lifeguard’s chair, my coffee is at a drinkable temperature, and the joint in my pocket is ready for me to smoke.
Yes, in America, for smoking a joint, drinking a coffee, and sitting in the lifeguard’s chair after dusk, a police officer can lock me up. It baffles the mind. One time, in fact it was the day my cousin died, I felt the spot light upon my shoulder just as I lit up, and an officer said, “You! You over there! Get over here now! Get down from that chair! What on God’s earth are you doing?!” So, I replied back as I descended, “What does it look like I’m doing officer? I am enjoying God’s beautiful earth in all of its magnificence, I’m drinking a coffee, pondering my cousin’s death, and I’m smoking a joint you stupid bastard—and you, you just ruined my fucking night, and destroyed my peace!”
And after saying that, I took off running through the sand as fast as I could, running in a sort of zigzag like an alligator was chasing me, coffee in one hand, joint in another, and disappeared into the night avoiding that invasive spotlight. I surely wasn’t going to leave my friends behind, after all they’ve been so good to me, and never hurt anyone. When I was safely beyond the reach of capture and punishment, I was happy to have half a joint and half a coffee.
People are being mugged, raped, murdered, and this out of shape bastard has to bust my chops and ruin my beautiful night. Who am I hurting? Who am I bothering? Am I making any noise? Am I destroying anything? That’s the kind of asshole I wish would have a heart attack and just die. A normal officer, one with half a brain, would have said, “Are you alright?” I would have replied, “Yes sir I am, just enjoying this beautiful night.” And then he would have said, “Enjoy the rest of your night,” and I’d reply, “You do the same sir.” Now that I think about it, I would have even accepted a good old, “Stay out of trouble.”
Get over here now; who the fuck does he think he is—a man with a badge, fancy uniform, and gun—I am supposed to respect that? Hell, Hitler had a really nice uniform, lots of flashy medallions and a gun as well you know. Where was that officer, or any officer when I was in Harlem at dusk, surrounded by five men wanting to gut me like a fish, take all my personal belongings, and leave me for dead?
You know if I had a fast car, like a Ferrari or something, and if I were extremely rich, I wouldn’t even stop for the police. I would drive to my closest mansion, close the gates, and have my own private army kill anyone who trespasses and infringes on my autonomy. All governments, all laws conveniently left out the most important part of Kant’s philosophy didn’t they? And it breaks my heart to know that my government is hardly any better than those around the world. For how intelligent and advanced we are, it’s disturbing to me just how ass backwards we’ve become. We vote for these morons who make the laws and amend our Constitution for the worse. More laws, more constrictions are turning our society into a bunch of mindless bastards who don’t think for themselves. We live in a policed state. With every coming year, with each new President, our Constitution is becoming tarnished, weakened, and ultimately will be destroyed. Our civil freedoms and liberties—what is that, what does that mean? Our forefathers—who were they, what were their intentions? How quickly we forgot.
Given any jackass can be a police officer, because after all they are merely pawns obliged to uphold asinine laws, and quote on quote help people—you know what it’s not even worth my time to talk about. Government, that pig destroying my night, my countries views on explicit sex and violence in popular culture, gays, abortion, marijuana, privacy—those things aren’t the point of this story.
Every night, besides that one incident, after finishing my coffee, and smoking my joint, and gazing at the Big Dipper or North Star, or the light Gatsby spoke about, or into the sea thinking about whatever it is that’s on my mind; I always throw the roach regardless of its size into the sea, as my offering, as my gift. I don’t need to save it, or be selfish and smoke all of it, and I appreciate the sea continuing to work hard every day and bring me peace of mind, so it deserves at the very least a gesture of gratitude.
One night I got to the beach in the early morning—still before the joggers, and the folks with their dogs, but a lot latter than I usually do. And I decided to leave my roach up upon the lifeguards chair, and stick around to see what happens.Soon, the crazies came and left, and I would say approximately forty-five minutes later, this beautiful woman arrived. Let me tell you, she could save my life any day. She was 5’8” or 5’9”, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and flawless skin. Definitely movie star material if you ask me.
After taking off her shirt and shorts, I noticed she was wearing the standard one-piece red bathing suit, with white lettering on the front and back saying, “Lifeguard,” and it was creeping up her crack ever so slightly showing her glorious ass. As if the whistle around her neck, her bronzed skin, and her impeccable physique didn’t give her away off the bat. Anyway, now she was the only one on the beach, and I was tucked away at a safe viewable distance; just far enough so she couldn’t see me.
Mind you there is that old adage that, “the truth is stranger than fiction,” and in this case that phrase most definitely holds true. I couldn’t make up a story like this if I tried, and it is perfect just the way it is, so I won’t embellish in the slightest. She climbed to her seat, as she probably has so many times before, with a brown paper bag in hand. While arranging her coffee, orange juice, everything bagel, and muffin, she happened to notice the roach. When she noticed it, I saw her take a few glances in every direction, and when she saw not a soul around, she decided to pick it up. With one swift leap she was off the chair, on the sand, roach in hand. She opened her purse, which was placed on a picnic table adjacent to the lifeguard’s chair, and pulled out a lighter.
Being sure to cup her hand and block the wind, like a true smoking professional, she started to smoke away. I would say she enjoyed that roach for at least five minutes and got a good number of hits off of it; and why shouldn’t she. I know I’m perfectly capable of snapping out of it, and if need be, no intoxicant would stop me from performing a task like driving a car, or saving a child from a burning house.
But perhaps she got more stoned than she could handle; after all I only smoke the best hydro around, and I noticed her gazing out into the sea. More specifically, she was looking at the floating markers defining the parameters people are able to swim within. How large it was she must have thought, because with an Olympians speed, she swam out to the markers, dove deep under the sea, and started to move them. When she was finished what was once the size of more than a football field was reduced to the size of a tennis court—for a singles game mind you.
Upon exiting the water, and toweling herself off, she gazed at what she had just done with a certain sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, for she just made her work day easier by at least ten fold, and it’s not like any superiors would be around to check on her. The lifeguard after all is the boss of the beach. Perhaps the person who runs the concession stand would be by later in the morning, and they could both have a good laugh.
Well, it’s easy to tell a hot day when it’s before 8:00a.m. and you’re profusely sweating—and I knew that day was going to be a scorcher. Sure enough the families came, the screaming, kicking, shitting little kids, the teens, the fat bastards, the book readers—you name it, my beach was packed, and it was unbearably hot. And where did everyone swim? Yes, people were actually walking fifty, sixty, seventy feet or more, just so they could be in the defined parameters under the lifeguard’s supervision. People were next to one another packed like sardines, and couldn’t even swim. In the deep water you just had people smiling like mongoloids, bobbing up and down next to one another. Mothers screaming and reprimanding their children for walking along the shoreline even if only one toe was in the water, “It only takes one inch of water for you to drown, now go over by the lifeguard.”
I couldn’t believe it, not one person questioned a fucking thing! The lifeguard never even had to use her whistle—not even once. Wasn’t anyone at the beach the previous day, didn’t they notice the difference? Did they think it was a new rule or something? I don’t blame the lifeguard, after all if you can do something like that, and make your minimum wage job easier, and get away with it why not? God forbid someone was to ever drown, you have tremendous responsibilities, a hell of a lot more than the bitch who sells ice cream sandwiches and makes just as much money as you. I don’t blame her; if a superior was to come, she could have come up with something quick like, “Today I was feeling a bit under the weather, and the safety of all the beaches patrons is my number one priority. In order to perform to the best of my abilities, without endangering another’s life, just for today I decided to move the markers in;” and that would have been good enough. I blame the people, or shall I say the cattle, the mindless buffoons. You know, I’m going to go back to the beach during the day; I’m going to confront that girl; tell her I saw what she did—and get her to go out with me! What a set of balls!! Did I mention her physique, and that ass you could bounce a quarter off of?