(I’m with my Girl Scout troop visiting Savannah, GA. We’re walking along a beach and basically just talking with locals and getting to know people and the area. We come across someone sitting on a dock, fishing, and he seems friendly enough so we chat a bit. It should be noted that we’re originally from Wisconsin. While fishing is an incredibly popular hobby in Wisconsin, there’s not really a lot of huge fish, especially for amateur fishing. Depending on the species, it’s not uncommon to catch fish only a foot or two long and consider it a successful haul.)
Us: *noticing the bucket beside him* “Oooh, are those the ones you caught?”
Him: *slightly offended* “That’s the bait.”
(And that’s how we learned about shark fishing.)
My husband, son, I, and our very large dog (100lb+) have decided to spend the morning at the beach. We’ve been to that beach several times before and none of the signage said dogs are forbidden; the only sign to mention dogs simply states that they must be leashed at all times.
After we have been there for about two hours, two teenagers in [National Park] t-shirts approach and rather rudely orders us off the beach, claiming that dogs aren’t allowed.
We are more than a bit put out by the unnecessary attitude and their claims, so we tell them that we will be waiting right where we are for their supervisor to come speak with us. After an almost 20 minute wait the supervisor comes over and, with no attitude at least, tries telling us the same bit about dogs not being allowed. After a bit of conversation we finally find out that there, supposedly, is in fact a “no dogs allowed on the beach” sign… buried under a rock slide at the end of a closed off, dead end walkway, the rockslide having happened two years before! I still don’t know how on earth we were expected to have known about that.
The icing on the cake was when at least three different people walked by us, their very small dogs with them, while we were talking with the supervisor, and she wouldn’t say a word to them despite us pointing it out.
If a rule is a rule then it should apply to everyone. It also shouldn’t be hidden like a game collectable either.
(I’ve gone for a swim. Since the sand is hot, I wore my sandals up to near the edge of the water and left them there. When I come out some people have set up towels around where I left them so it’s not easy to find them immediately. I spot a pair of sandals near a small inflatable boat and go to see if they’re mine. They aren’t, but a woman sitting nearby with a toddler figures out what I’m doing. The toddler has been glaring at me angrily the entire time.)
Woman: “A pair of slippers? Over there.” *points*
Me: *seeing them* “Oh, thank you!” *I go to pick them up*
Toddler: *still giving me a death glare* “DON’T TAKE MY BOAT!”
Woman: “He’s not taking your boat…”
(I am seven years old, at the beach and I need to go to the bathroom. My cousin and her boyfriend take me, which was quite a walk away. After we do our business, my cousin has water on her hands and splashes it onto my neck.)
Me: “Is that pee?”
(Out of nowhere, a random old man comes out from behind one of the cars in the parking lot.)
Old Man: “Now that reminds me of a story. One time there was a monkey and lion in the forest. The monkey climbed up a tree and said, ‘Hey, lion, look! It’s raining!’ and started to pee on the lion. The next day, the monkey climbed up a tree and said, ‘Hey, lion, look! It’s snowing!’ and started pooping on the lion. Then the lion knocked him in the ding-ding.”
(We were so mortified. We all ran back to the beach and I started to cry and told my mom that the old man told us a story about his monkey’s ding-ding.)
(I’ve always looked young for my age; even now at 30 I can still pass for a teenager, so I am used to odd looks and snarky comments when I take my baby daughter out on my own. She is hot, tired, and hungry. I just about manage to rock her in one arm, whilst preparing a bottle in the other. I eventually settle her down, get her fed, burped, and happy. I can feel the eyes of the family next to me bear down on me. Eventually the father of the group wanders over. I prepare for another lousy comment.)
Father: “You’re doing a great job.”
(That was it. It took me a few moments to unclench waiting for the mean remark.)
Me: “Er, thanks?”
(With a smile he left again. It was a rough day, but small comments can mean the world.)