My Ninety Tranquil Minutes at the Beach

My goal yesterday was to get a little break, a bit of peace and quiet, without questions, obligations, or conversation. I had an extremely busy work week-and the added joy of working on Saturday. Pardon me, but I was due. Overdue. Sunday was going to be my day. The weatherman said to expect a high of 75°, and I’m no fool-I recognize a window of opportunity when I see it. Of course, all my beach stuff has been put away for some time now, so that would be a slight pain in the butt, but I was due and I was determined to go. We have had two weeks of beautiful weather and I’ve been stuck inside a windowless office for almost all of it. I need the beach and I was longing for a small piece of time in the afternoon, being lazy in the January sun.

After going over and over it in my head (one can never plan too much), I arranged my Sunday and had everything planned, almost to the minute. With the right timing, and if everything went according to my very detailed & tight schedule, I could make it to the beach for about an hour and a half. The only caveat: if I was delayed at all, I would have to skip my time at the beach because my beloved football team would be playing later in the AFC Championship game. It would be downright sacrilegious to miss any of that game, and on a Holy Sunday it could bear serious consequences, at least according to my religion. I rushed to get ready, happily pulling my beach gear out and mixing my special tonic cleverly disguised in a water bottle. That park ranger has nothing on me. The last thing I did was to put my notebook and pen in my bag; since I’d be sitting enjoying the sun, it would be a good time to catch up.

I arrived at the beach to find it more like a summer day. There were crowds of people everywhere. Swimmers and surfers, sunbathers and volleyball players, fishermen and kayakers, dog-walkers and drunks—they were all there. But, on my side of the beach, in my perfect spot—tranquility. I parked and grabbed my bag and chair and made my way to my spot. Perfect. I quickly looked around—Roger was nowhere to be seen. Roger, in case you didn’t know, is a beach enthusiast who loves to talk. I met him during the summer when I was struggling with my broken umbrella, and he offered to fix it for me with the duct tape he had in his car. Turns out, he has everything in his car…and he’s slightly more than a beach enthusiast…I think he lives there, in his car, in the parking lot. I like Roger-he’s a very nice man-but I didn’t feel much like talking about the Grateful Dead and the legalization of marijuana, or why sometimes men just love men and women love women, and it’s all love, and God is love, blah, blah, blah. I know, I know, I know, Roger...I just don't feel like talking about it today.

Anyway, Roger wasn’t there and I figured I’d get my wish for peace and quiet. In a few minutes, I had my notebook out and was writing and enjoying the warm sun. And in just a few more minutes, I had dropped my notebook and my eyes were closed and I was drifting off to sleep. Listening to the waves and the occasional plane overhead, a random seagull or two…it was very peaceful and just what I needed.

But then, as if to taunt me, it started. First, a group of teenagers traipsed down from the parking lot with their backpacks and supplies and set up camp about twenty yards from me. They were loud, the girls giggling at a funny story a boy was telling about Friday night in Isla Vista. When the girls giggled, the other boys jumped in, trying hard to impress the girls by loudly telling their own tales of drinking too much and vomiting over the cliff. It was so cute and charming, I’m sure the girls could barely keep their hands off of them. As soon as they calmed their hormones down a bit, they went as a group to frolic and romp in the water-or maybe they went there to relieve their hormones- and I thought I might get a few minutes of quiet while they were gone.

I closed my eyes again and was snapped back to reality by Mr. English Accent and his two toddlers settling in about ten yards to my left. Great. All this empty beach and everyone is congregating in one spot, disturbing my peace. He had several bags and towels and an umbrella he never opened. The children, a boy and a girl, were shrill and begging to go to the beach. “We’re at the beach…if you mean the water, we’ll go to the water but please be patient whilst I put suncream on you…” Suncream? I have never heard that before yesterday. Whilst he applied the suncream to their delicate, pale skin, the children sounded distressed: the boy had sand in his eyes; the sand was too hot; what about the water… Daddy, I’m hunnnnn-greeeeee…

As Mr. English Accent and his heirs made their trip to the water, I had a reprieve for a split second…and then, there they were: Jake and Conner. Who are Jake and Conner? Well…we didn’t actually meet and I’m not sure of their real names. All I know of them is that they are a pair of eight year old boys who were role-playing-or at least the boy known as Conner was role-playing. Jake? Not so much. As they walked past me, a very generous two feet from my chair I might add, they kicked sand all over me and almost ruined my special beach drink, while one shouted, “Hey Jake…Jake…Jake…Jake…Jake…You be Jake and I’ll be Conner. Jake, did you hear me? You’re Jake and I’m Conner…I’m Conner, you’re Jake…Hey!...”

Mother of God, I wanted Jake and Conner to disappear-I begged God to make that happen, and as soon as my prayer was answered, the funny, flirty, giggling group of teenagers came back and decided to feed the seagulls. There were birds everywhere. Loud, dirty birds hovering, waiting for their share of a Subway sandwich. The girls giggled. The gulls squawked.

All I could do was take a big swig from my water bottle-because water calms my nerves. The English family returned and the whining continued. The girl had to go potty. The boy took off running and was in the middle of parking lot before Daddy noticed…after all, it’s hard to watch the boy whilst preparing crumpets for his hungry daughter. A couple of drunks stumbled down the beach arguing about Black Jack, and a man in a big hat and sunglasses stood loitering and whistling outside the women’s restroom, while a woman I recognized as a tweeker shouted into her cell phone about her roommate and how she wanted that bitch gone and gone fast. My wish for Sunday peace and quiet was ruined. The only thing missing? Roger. A little bit of his duct tape would take care of the noise.