The Summer Vacation...a Parody

Ah, summer in the Golden Isles…it doesn’t blossom, it explodes. Memorial Day weekend lights the fuse.

Cities empty. Farms lie fallow. Small towns sizzle. Weeds wither. Humidity hovers. The hordes converge. Blanched bodies walk forward in backward-facing caps. Caravans crawl by with bikes bouncing on bumpers. They’re here for fun, no matter what.

The island sinks. The sea rises. So do prices. Tacos are scarce. Food lines form. BBQ is ubiquitous. Pigs are scarce. Watermelons run short. Squabbles crop up. It’s reported that a melon sold for $500 to a fellow from Indiana. A boy from Enigma helped him eat it. Yes, they both had fun, by golly.

Beaches suffer. The heft of humanity sets up shop with chairs, umbrellas and coolers filled with Red Bull. The sands tremble. Teens sneak out at night to stake out spots. They rent them the next day to late arrivals from Lithonia. Nobody’s missing out on the fun.

Drivers of Hummers with big black dogs scour neighborhoods for parking. Residents guard their Bermuda grass with guns. The Lawn Avengers Patrol is armed with tasers. They stalk all license plates from Alma and Atlanta. Not everyone’s having fun.

The traffic roundabout becomes a bumper-cars course. Last year two widows from Willacoochee got confused. Their tractor trailer, loaded with Spam, jackknifed while dodging bleary-eyed ladies in their Cadillacs who were returning from a bridge tournament. Shrimpers from Darien rushed in and highjacked the spoils for crab chum. The widows married them and moved to Darien. The insurance company is still investigating. The fun is just beginning.

Several years ago sunscreen was in short supply. Some mechanics from Macon conspired with chemistry majors from Mercer to make their own. They combined 40-weight motor oil with antifreeze and Old Spice. They patented the process and branded it Quik-Fry. This toxic concoction boiled the skin of users like fried chicken in hot grease. The hospital emergency rooms had a lot of fun with this.

Tommy, the local druggist, anticipated this sunscreen problem. He cornered the market by hedging derivatives on the entire stock of Caribbean Bronze 1000. Lines pushed and shoved into his pharmacy. Words were exchanged. He sold out and held an auction for the last bottle. He reported that an Amish couple from Cordele paid $890 for it, almost enough to pay for a round of golf at SeaSide. Tommy has a lot of fun these days.

But locals plan for these problems. They scarf up all fresh produce before the prices triple. They drain all gas supplies before the price of unleaded rises past $10 a gallon. They flee the scourge for sanctuaries like Daytona Beach. They take their fun with them.

Beaches seduce tourists. Strange things happen. Last year the boy’s Glee Club from Homerville gained notoriety by arriving a week early and staking off prime property, ostensibly for a chorale concert. It was a ruse. They rented chair spaces to young women in miniscule swimwear for modest prices and promises of Bubbas burritos. Fun and games continue.

Linda and Laverne, retired librarians and occasional Sunday school teachers from Ludowici, visited the Golden Isles. They attracted a curious crowd on East Beach with their rented red Corvette. They wore matching leopard tights enhanced by peacock feathers and passed out religious tracts. Things went sideways when a pack of roving raccoons and a lone buzzard attacked the plumage. Neither has been heard from since. No one recalls if the librarians had fun, or if anyone repented.

Tides are unpredictable. Wind surfing was banned recently. The last two surfers mistook a water spout for a gentle breeze. They were last seen passing Key West. Four body surfers from Statesboro were stranded on a sandbar. Dark fins circled the waters. Later, some fingers and a big toe washed up onshore. They were examined and matched those of a New Jersey man named D’Cappellini. He was last seen leaving Two Way Fish Camp on the Altamaha River with Larry and Butch, two local loggers. The fun never quits.

And so it goes, day by day, here on the Golden Isles. Until Labor Day. They come, they go, they spend. They create memories and stories. They all have fun. After all, what’s summer for, anyway? We’ll be looking for you.

Bud Hearn
May 25, 2012