My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.
jescordwaineratgmail.com
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Observation on People
I'm guilty of it; and most people are; but sometimes I'm amazed at how little some people pay attention; especially when a question is answered in writing and you're asked the same question again.
One of my favorite moments in life was on the beach in Biloxi.
The "cabbage head" jellyfish were thick on the beach. I was standing with some friends, when a pasty, middle aged man wandered up. He was the epitome of a tourist: a button down shirt; pants tucked in to his checkered Bermuda shorts and black sock under his sandals.
With a heavy Boston accent he said: "Great Scott! What are those creatures?"
We explained, he look troubled, and asked: "Can you move them?"
Being the accommodating Southern folks we were, we smiled, kicked a few out of the way and he proceeded to the edge of the water.
We only waited for a few moments. We had the feeling he wouldn't be grateful; and he wasn't. He never spoke another word; and we had more beer to drink.
For the rest of the day, everyone had a Boston twang and used the term "Great Scott."
The best fun my wife and I had living in Florida was the people watching it was priceless. Watching the tourists was the most fun.
ReplyDeleteOne of my favorite moments in life was on the beach in Biloxi.
ReplyDeleteThe "cabbage head" jellyfish were thick on the beach. I was standing with some friends, when a pasty, middle aged man wandered up. He was the epitome of a tourist: a button down shirt; pants tucked in to his checkered Bermuda shorts and black sock under his sandals.
With a heavy Boston accent he said: "Great Scott! What are those creatures?"
We explained, he look troubled, and asked: "Can you move them?"
Being the accommodating Southern folks we were, we smiled, kicked a few out of the way and he proceeded to the edge of the water.
We only waited for a few moments. We had the feeling he wouldn't be grateful; and he wasn't. He never spoke another word; and we had more beer to drink.
For the rest of the day, everyone had a Boston twang and used the term "Great Scott."