There he is. The beach chair rental guy. He struts around with his sun bleached curly hair and his biceps. He thinks he’s such hot stuff with his flat stomach and bright orange swim trunks with the white stripes down the side. He always wears that brown panama hat………and he hates me.
No, really. He hates me. He must hate me, because every time we rent a tandem set of chairs from him he puts us in the worst seats on the beach. It’s become a dubious tradition. Every early September Sharon and I are finally able to get away for a few days to our favorite Orange Beach condo. And when I say we go to the beach, I mean that literally. We head to the waterfront and park our weary bodies on a lounger and watch the waves roll in. That’s all we do. We’re not there to shop, or visit the water park, or eat seafood, or swim in the pool, or go fishing.
We just want to relax under an umbrella, dig our toes in the sand, and let the rolling waves lull us to sleep. Our idea of activity is trying to read the banners trailing behind the advertising helicopters. They usually urge you to eat at the “world famous” local restaurant. Virtually every dining establishment on the beach claims to be world famous for something. Crabs, shrimp, calimari, sea shells that look like Barry Manilow, whatever it is, they are world famous for it.
No matter to us. We just want to bask in the hum of the roaring surf. Being basically a cheapskate, and lazy, I never invested in my own umbrella and chairs. Seems like a lot of effort. Dragging your own gear all the way down to the sand, desperately trying to dig that hole deep enough to keep your umbrella from dislodging in the wind and impaling a bystander. Why bother? We just rent a set when we get there. Of course, that means we have to deal with the chair rental guy. Did I mention that he hates me?
First of all, he always puts us in the most distant chairs. Once, we were so far away from the shoreline, I think my smart watch shifted into Eastern time. And you can be sure he will assign us a location right behind the large family that has erected a tent roughly the size of a small industrial warehouse. We can’t see the water, but we know it must be there because of all the sea gulls trying to eat the orange peelings the kids in the tent are throwing toward us.
Every few hours the rental guy will courteously visit other chair renters and offer to reposition their umbrellas so they can remain in the shade. Meanwhile we are usually left to pick up and tote our seats, like Lewis and Clark carrying canoes across a sand bar, in relentless pursuit of the shadows.
There was one occasion when he had put us a short cab ride from the water, and shortly afterward we noticed he set up a man right on the water’s edge, way closer than the other rentals. I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask him why. He explained that the man was blind and requested to be closer so he could at least hear the ocean.
Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure I saw the blind man playing volleyball about an hour later.
Even a person as thrifty as me reaches his limit. So this year I took the plunge. I bought all our own stuff. Our own umbrella, chairs, sand drill, cupholders, and the wagon with the wide sand wheels. The whole package. After loading it all up in the condo, I may have pulled several small muscles lugging the wagon into the elevator, down the walkway, and across the sand, but it was worth it. I made it a point to cross right in front of the rental guy’s little headquarters, where he sat with his boom box and his bodybuilding magazine.
I tried to sneer at him as I went by, but there was too much sweat pouring down my forehead to make my face visible. Anyway, I set up as close to the shoreline as I could. Even the blind man couldn’t have gotten closer to the water. I collapsed into my lounger, exhausted but feeling victorious.
After a few minutes, I noticed the rental guy was drilling umbrella holes in the sand just parallel to us. Again, I couldn’t help myself. I asked him why. He said because the beach is not crowded, he can move all the rentals up closer.
Obviously, he still hates me.
Terrific writing!
Thank you Mary Jo.
I enjoy your posts Ken. They’re relaxing and easy to identify with. (Oops! I ended a sentence with a preposition.)
Haha. No worries Jimmy. I do that all the time.
Too funny. My sister-in-law used to say that things like this are all related to “overtipping”. She grew up poor but her husband ended up a big shot and they traveled the world. She told me one day that gratuities, especially excessive ones got you the good stuff.
I guess it doesn’t pay to be a tightwad Bill!