Tower Tale Shorts: A Ramp Story

Sometimes that which I think is beyond obvious to the public, well, apparently isn't.  So, as evidenced by the above title, let's take my ramp for example.  If I am inside my tower or standing upon its deck, I have only one safe means of moving from tower to the sand, and that is, yes, my ramp.  Sure I could leap over the railing and hope for a soft, safe landing in the sand below, but a twist of an ankle or a foot split by buried glass could quickly turn a rescue into a recovery.  A recovery only because I was unable to get to the victim in time.

This is the reason we put cones around the tower.  This is the reason we keep the public off our digs.  We need our space.  By giving us our space you give us the opportunity to execute our duties unimpeded.  This is something we appreciate in more ways than you may realize.

And hey, you don't park your car in front of a fire station.  So don't block a lifeguard's ramp.

Which brings me to this fellow.  He was a softly built, balding fellow who, judging by his accent was either Russian or of one of the former Soviet Republics.  He had been jog/walking over the same twenty-five foot stretch of sand for several minutes but had now taken to that arm flapping that often precedes greater physical effort.  His arms were completely bent at the elbows.  His hands were clenched in chest-level fists.  All were shaking in unison.  Well the bones were.  The soft tissue had its own agenda, and each cell seemingly its own page.

Suddenly, as though attempting to best an oversized rubber band, his elbows shot backwards and his hands punched in, out, up, down, and wherever space was available.  His flapping finished, he reached down, untied and retied his speedo, and then, for good measure, pulled it up higher than it was meant to go.  Whatever he was about to do was going to be substantial.

So with a head rub then two, he adjusted his aviators, turned on his heel and walked towards my tower.

Anticipating a forth-coming question, I open the door and walked out to greet him.  "What can I do for you?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied without looking up.  He flexed his arms one last time.  He dropped to his knees at the base of my ramp.

"Can I help you?" I asked, my tone changing from curious to concerned.

"No."  He replied in his thick accent.  A shoulder''s width apart, he extended his hands in front of him.

And assumed the push up position on my ramp.

His feet were at its base, his head not so far from my feet.  Given the fact that he was working with the incline he must not have felt too compelled to exert himself.  Or even exert the effort to see if my ramp was the most appropriate place for his push ups.

"Whoa!  Whoa!  Whoa!  Hold on there champ!  You can't be doing push ups on my ramp!  This is an open lifeguard tower.  I'm working here."

He stopped in the mid descent of his first push up and dropped to his knees. "You serious?" he asked to the ground before finally acknowledging me with a look.  And it wasn't a friendly one.  Perturbed would be a more apt description.

"Yes I'm serious!  I can't be running down my ramp to make a rescue and have to leap over you in the process.  I know it may not look like there is a lot going on, but that is no reason to start doing push ups on my ramp."

Standing, he brushed the sand from his knees.  "Yes, big man.  Very important job." he mocked as he again readjusted his speedo.  He rubbed his head and walked away but not without one last parting shot. "Very busy.  Lot of responsibility.  Important man."

There were so many rejoinders that sprinted through my mind each pointed and designed to win the exchange.  I chose the best one.  I chose silence.  He returned to his original spot.

And sat down.

No push ups.  No stretching.  No jogging.  He turned and looked at me.  I looked at him.  He paused then turned back to the direction of the ocean, arms resting on his spread knees.  I returned to the interior of my tower.  He laid back in the sand and, judging from the long lack of purposeful movement that followed, fell asleep.

I guess the push ups had not been that important.


© Copyright 2012 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved

Tower Tale Shorts: A Recent Exchange

It's been a while since my last post.  My bad.  And this one is about yet another dog/owner interaction.  Chalk that up to coincidence and less about a fixation of mine.

Summer in February combined with fantastic surf puts such a permanent smile on your face that it reaches deep inside of you and roots itself in your heart.  I was so enchanted.  And I was more than happy to share the good vibrations.

A scan of the beach revealed a fellow walking a dog that is only affiliated with the canine clan through genes alone.  It was a tiny white thing that was probably confused to find itself traveling by its own effort rather than comfortably ensconced within an oversized Gucci bag.  Toy breed or otherwise, a dog is a dog and my duty was to inform the owner that an existing ordinance required required his puff ball's immediate exit from the warm sands.

The fellow noticed my approach and as I had his attention, I pointed to the pooch and smiling, shook my head, "Nope.  No dogs."  He immediately picked up the pup and closed the gap between us.

"Unfortunately dogs are not allowed on the beach, but you are more than welcome to walk him on the boardwalk," I said.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!  THIS IS THE FUCKING UNITED STATES OF FUCKING AMERICA!!!!"  he spat even louder than the all capital letters conveys.

Oh, yep.  You would be correct if you assumed that I was taken aback.  And more than a bit.

"Ah, that it is sir, but unfortunately you still have to take your dog off the beach."

"I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!   JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"

"Okay."  I replied.  That was all I had.  I was still trying to figure out what was going on.

"Hey, you have a nice day." he said with a calm sincerity.

"Thank you?"

"I HATE THIS FUCKING COUNTRY!"  he then bellowed, emphasizing each word with increasing venom.

Oh. I got it.  I had just been in the eye of the hurricane.  It spun its way to the back of the beach and vanished between the hotels that line the boardwalk.

In case you were wondering, the fellow had no accent.  And the sun did return.  And my smile still stretched from my face to my heart.

An illustration form my forthcoming Children's book.


© Copyright 2012 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved