Spoiler Alert: This discussion today has nothing to do with fiction even though I tagged it as such.
Kind of an interesting walk on the beach today (yes we take the dogs for a walk every day) in that we noticed a pickup truck driving near the water’s edge heading straight for my wife and me. I should explain that vehicles are allowed to drive on South Texas beaches. They are not allowed to drive near the water since there are delicate ecosystems that live in the sand and at low tide these systems are exposed to whatever dangers are present. One danger that they should not have to put up with is good ole Homo sapiens cruising in their one ton pickups over the top of them. A quick math calculation puts the weight at any one spot where the tire of a pickup meets the beach at 500 pounds. (Two thousand pounds divided by four) So let’s say for example; there is a small crustacean (or several hundred) under one of these tires for one half a second. Survival of the fittest challenge would go to the tire. Well anyway…my wife and I tried to signal the driver to pull away from the waterline (if nothing else to avoid an expensive citation) only to have him, not only refuse to change his course, but to mock us as well. (I’ll let you imagine the mocking gesture) We couldn’t help but notice the license plate on his red truck indicated that he (or at least the truck) was from Minnesota. I should explain that here in South Texas we have migrating snow birds from the North called “Winter Texans” who come mostly from the Midwest. They usually arrive sometime after Thanksgiving and leave around Easter. Most are fairly nice and have some semblance of having been taught good manners. Then there are some like this fellow from Minnesota who is not only rude but ignorant of the common sense rules that keep our environment stable. I would have liked to talk to this person but he drove away at about double the speed limit (which is 15 Miles an hour). I silently apologized to the tens of thousands of crustaceans; those of who survived will have tales to tell their grandchildren of the Day of the Tire. I also secretly hope that the beach patrol will catch him with one fish over the limit in his bucket which even as I write I know he does every day. I’ll even bet he throws plastic bags on the sand, guts fish and leaves the mess, and drinks his beer and leaves the empties. Back home I’ll also bet he wouldn’t do any of these things and would probably get upset if I visited Minnesota and paid him back in kind.
I’ll have another author profile tomorrow.