Swooping and then skimming the ocean top, Mr. Seagull gracefully came to a stop upon calm waters. Riding each small wave he floated for a time, bobbing up and down, enjoying the refreshing coolness of the the salt water. Staying for a time, he then took flight to find a car to excrete on.
A hundred yards away, we were sprawled out on an empty beach attempting to soak every ray of sunshine into our skin. Privately owned and shared by certain residents of a compound in West Yarmouth, MA, the beach was laden with the ocean’s treasures of shells and seaweed. The tranquil surroundings were accompanied by the gentle lapping of waves caressing the sands.
Our only job was to enjoy the glorious weather on this glorious day. However, Cape Cod had an unexpected dampener for us.
Being out in the sun for a while can play tricks on one’s mind. So when an angry stampeding five and a half foot woman entered our peripheral vision it was disregarded almost immediately. It soon became clear that her storming swagger was for us, as she stomped her way across the empty beach making her way directly to our side.
She paused to breathe from her death walk and then introduced herself as an owner of one of the beach houses directly behind us. It was a nice building. But she had disagreeable air of arrogance and snobbery, which can only come from good stock breeding.
A few moments were spent as she educated us on her family’s history and wealth. We were taught that they had been there for a generation and we were trespassing on her family’s private beach.
As we understood it, the area that she spoke of was for all residents in the compound, not just her family. Mentioning this to her fell on deaf ears and she demanded that we leave the area immediately. Becoming hysterical we attempted to diffuse the situation by saying “we were not bothering anybody”.
At that point the princess’ face turned crimson and she spun on her heel and headed back to her palace.
A few moments passed and a polite young security guard appeared from the same place the princess had disappeared. Courteous as he approached, he informed us that this was a private beach and enquired as to our business. We introduced ourselves and explained the situation. Realising who we were, the like-able guard took it upon himself to apologise for the woman and for taking up our time. He then wished us a pleasant day before walking away.
Seemingly unhappy with the result, the persistent princess released the hounds from her ivory tower in the form of the head of compound security.
It was not long before the burly man was casting a menacing shadow over our bronzing bodies. Making his way across the beach in gigantic strides he now towered over us. Built to withstand a hurricane he spoke like he had swallowed a megaphone. Every syllable shouted at us was coated in thick testosterone. When tested he was unable to understand reason, logic or common decency.
He wanted us off the beach. Preferably in a body bag. His killing pistol was hanging loosely from his waist, glinting at us in the midday sun.
Begrudgingly we picked up our belongings and began to leave.
As we walked away in defeat we continued testing the un-evolved ape’s understanding. We found that he understood sarcasm, as he was unwilling to hold our hands escorting us from the beach.
As we stepped off the royal land the princess emerged victoriously on her balcony and gave a royal wave to us and her servant.
We replied with our own gesture.
© John Brownlie 2012