As the images will indicate, it was a perfect beach day. Warm, no clouds, just a little breeze. I set up, turned the Tigers game on, and -- with baseball on the radio having a certain effect on the fan -- dozed off. I dreamed. Kathie Lee Gifford was telling me she had some yard work that needed doing, and could I come over to give her a hand? I said sure . . . and I heard a voice, glass bottle, glass bottle, glass bottle . . . that couldn't be Kathie, could it? No. It was real.
The voice belonged to this uniformed DNR dude --
-- whose name tag indicates his last name is "Noble," standing over me, right hand ready to activate the can of mace in his trouser pocket. His grievance with me being the two glass beer bottles that I found on the beach while walking to my spot, and stuck in my bag before someone could step on them.
He's telling me that glass bottles aren't allowed on the beach (uhh, yeah, like, I know that already, that's why I picked up the two and put them in my bag), and that I have to leave.
Meanwhile, his buddy, whose first name is "Nathan," is also on alert, hand on the can of mace in his trouser pocket --
This one, during the dialog that followed, called me "ma'am." I'm not a "ma'am," don't appreciate being called once by an employee of the state of Michigan, and still consider this sexual harassment. But I'm not a faggot, or a trannie, or any other off-brand sexual misfit, I'm a straight White dude, and it doesn't matter what I'm called.
Long story short: I had to leave. However -- while walking toward the exit path, with the two DNR dudes following me to make sure I left, I saw this guy --
-- breaking three park rules: green glass wine bottle on a folding table (no glass or alcohol allowed on beaches) and a cooker set up (bottom right corner, no fires allowed on beaches).
I walked home, came back, and got this pic. The brown guy was still there. He got to stay as long as he put his glass out of sight. And cook. I couldn't put my glass out of sight (where it was already). I had to leave.
Hmmmm . . . brown guy has glass, and cooks, DNR lets him stay. White guy has glass, DNR says he has to leave. And calls him "ma'am." Y'think the Michigan Civil Rights Commission would step up to defend an old White dude? Probably not. But I gave it a try anyway, with predictable results. No, of course not, there,s no evidence to indicate . . . however -- if I was a Negro, or a faggot, or a transwhatever, or one of those burqa babes who come up from Dearborn to use my park, or a screeching female of any stripe, I'd have social media and the ACLU and the CAIR demanding some answers. But I'm not, and there is no Council on American - Old White Dude Relations.
While you're half asleep / half awake, these cowardly pieces of shit sneak up on you and look inside your covered bags to see what might be in them. There's a few thousand other folks on the beach, but the old man there by himself, half-awake, is the one who needs immediate attention.
For some reason known only to the natives, America's 1,109th best small city still promotes itself as a go-to tourist destination. Here's an example of what could happen to you if you take them up on their offer. But not on this beach. As of July 3 2019, one year minus one day later, this part of the day-use beach at Lakeport State Park is under water. The high lake levels have wiped out almost two football fields' worth of beach. So Noble and Nathan will have to find other ways to make themselves feel useful this summer, like torturing small animals or pulling the wings off butterflies. I can think of other things that would keep them busy, like actually enforcing the ban on glass and alcohol (trash cans placed for use by beach visitors still repeatedly filled with glass beer bottles) or fires (burned driftwood still scattered on the sand). Heads-up, though. If I do cross paths with them or any other DNR drones looking for a reason to feel important: my Obamaphone is gone, I have a real phone that records audio and shoots video, and I'll get more than pictures.
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