Dear Beachgoers

There is one convenient road that takes almost everyone in Maryland to the ocean, and that convenient road is also conveniently located less than two miles from my house.  From October through April, this does not lead to many problems for me.  From May through September, however, it's like all of you have designed a special version of The Warriors for me.  Unlike the titular gang from that movie, I am not trying to get to Coney Island.  I am just try to go to the store and buy some damned barbeque sauce, but the consequences are the same.  People try to kill me, and I have to fight them.

Apparently, just so you can go to beach and have a fun weekend of swimming in garbage and urine, my town must become a thoroughfare for your minivans and station wagons filled with boogie boards and banshee children.  Traffic lights on the main road clock in at over 5 minutes long, meaning if I am simply trying to pass across the 50 feet of pavement that we call Route 50 to get to Walmart or wherever else I might need to go, I automatically have to add ten minutes to my trip.  If, heaven forbid, I actually need to drive on Route 50 for any stretch, I must be prepared to join the newly formed parking lot.  I don't enjoy shopping in the first place, and adding any amount of time to that endeavor is not cool, people. 

Here's a secret that people might not have told you: the beach is awful, and it is hot.  I am talking Claire Forlani back in the 1990's, before she got all weird- that type of hot.  It is full of sand, and that sand gets everywhere.  Sand tastes awful, yet it always finds its way into your mouth, and sand feels awful when it gets in your car seat and keeps entering your clothes for the next month.  The beach is also full of stores that appear to sell various and sundry items, but when you enter them, they only sell bongs.  This is the coastal version of a Rick Roll, and I think we've all grown weary of Mr. Astley and his shenanigans.  Worst of all, the beach is full of assholes like you, which is why I avoid the beach.  You think you aren't an asshole?  You came right through my town to do something you think is fun, yet you didn't invite me.  Yeah, you sound like a real sweetheart.

If you continue this coarse of action, I will invoke "an eye for an eye".  I will travel to your town, and I will clog up your roadways.  I will take up reservations at your favorite restaurants, and I will take up all of the pumps at your gas stations so you are late to work.  If this is not enough, then I will sit shirtless on your lawn, surrounded by screaming children and a woman who can't quite remember when she was ever in love with me or what it even felt like.  Then we'll see how you like it.