A Site for Shore Eyes

This time I was certain I had it wrapped up pretty tight. It wouldn’t get away, not this time. I’d keep it right there under my watchful eye, and if it made a run for it, I’d catch it and bring it back. That was the plan, the same plan I used every year of my youth. The same plan that never worked.

Summer at the shore, you see, is slipperier than a greased piglet in a mud wallow. You just can’t get a good grip on it, and before you know it, it’s gone, and it won’t come back. Seems there’s only a week or two between the Fourth of July and Labor Day. That’s the way it is here, and that’s the way it’s always been.

Some people down here breathe a sigh of relief once the last tourist heads out. There’s something to be said for that, but mostly I hate to see them go. Most of my summer friends and coworkers always disappeared by Labor Day or sooner. Yep, it’s quite a bit easier to get around the island, but it’s still a funny feeling to be filled by emptiness. Even worse when you know school sits there waiting patiently. At least I don’t have that to deal with any more.

It’s not over yet, though; we still have a couple more weeks. Maybe we’ll still get around to actually doing some of the things we had planned. I always had big plans for the summers here, but sitting around watching the seagulls poop on the pilings interfered with some of them.

I went crabbing twice this year and caught a bunch of crabs, none big enough to keep. My fishing line hasn’t been wet in over a year. That new reel I bought two years ago still needs spooling, and that could still happen, but I’ll probably just stick with the old one for now.

We’ll miss some of the seasonal businesses after they close, especially the ones that sell food, whether eat in or takeout. Those things that tell us summer is here. The extended season keeps some of them going until about Columbus Day, some only on the weekends. The atmosphere’s not the same though. The wait staff can’t wait for it to be over and the customers keep hoping to reel the summer back in, but it’s long gone. Sure, there’s football, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, but then that dark stretch comes along; that time when the sun doesn’t really shine again until about April or so.

And so it was in the beginning that the end was already near. But maybe the brevity is what makes everything so special. We have no long, hot summers here, and if we did we probably wouldn’t like them very much.

Perjury charges seem to be popular these days in our nation’s capital. The following is an account of a trial as reported by one of the jurors. To protect his identity, we’ll call the defendant John Dough, because his real name is John Doe. Mr. Dough takes the stand, but the court deputy retrieves it before Dough absconds with it:

Judge: Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?

Dough: My name is John Dough, your honor.

Judge: Why is that relevant?

Dough: Because you called me God. I’m not God.

Judge: No, I didn’t. I called you you, and asked God to help you. I think that’s what it means, anyway.

Dough: What was the question?

Judge: In a nutshell, I asked if you swore to tell the truth.

Dough: I think swearing would be inappropriate, especially if I’m telling the truth.

Judge: I won’t allow swearing, unless it’s necessary. Okay, then, do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Dough: This is a perjury trial, your honor. If you’re trying to prove that I lied in that other trial, why would you believe me now? If I make this promise, and you decide I wasn’t telling the truth, we’ll be right back here for another trial. I don’t want to go through this again, so I’m not making any promises.

Judge: You have to swear to tell the truth.

Dough: I still think I can tell the truth without swearing. Anyway, you didn’t tell me I had to tell the truth, you simply asked me if I would. I thought I had an option here.

Judge: You have to promise to tell the truth.

Dough: This is getting ridiculous, your honor. First you ask me if I’ll tell the truth, then you tell me I have to. Why bother asking, then?

Judge: Because that’s how it’s done. I ask, and you have to say “Yes,” or, “I do,” or something similar.

Dough: Okay, then, I don’t. That’s similar, right?

Judge: It’s similar, but not close enough. If you don’t promise to tell the truth, how can we tell whether or not you’re lying?

Dough (shrugging): Well, even if I do promise, how can you tell?

Judge: I can’t. We have to go on your word.

Dough: Then I guess I’ll go ahead and say yes, with the understanding that I could be lying in some cases. And that thing about the whole truth. Can we scratch that, just in case I can’t remember some of the details?

Judge: You’re trying my patience!

Dough: I didn’t even know you were a doctor, your honor. And your patients aren’t the ones on trial here.

Judge: Look, I’m just trying to swear you in. If you don’t cooperate, I’m going to find you in contempt!

Dough: Where’s that?

Judge: Where’s what?

Dough: Contempt. Where is it?

Judge: I meant I’ll find you in contempt of court!

Dough: I don’t think you’ll find me there, your honor. I don’t even know where it is. Anyway, once I get out of this place, I’m hoping you won’t find me anywhere.

Judge (drumming his fingers): I meant I’ll fine you! Or I could even have you thrown in jail!

Dough: Well, then, you should have said you would fine me in contempt of court, although I still don’t think I’ll be there. And if you have me thrown in jail, I’ll file police brutality charges, and we’ll be right back here trying to straighten that out!

Judge: Okay, then let’s proceed. Please make a note of the fact that this is a hostile witness.

Dough: Your honor, I’m not saying I witnessed anything, and my friends consider me rather congenial.

Prosecutor: Your honor, may we have a side bar?

Judge: No side bars. We’ll break for lunch later.

Defense Attorney: I want a side bar, too, so you’re outnumbered!

Judge: Okay, we’ll have a side bar, but not now. And the jurors will have to find someplace else to eat. Now, where were we?

Prosecutor: We were about to begin. The defense attorney and I flipped a coin, and I deferred until the second half. He has elected to defend the defendant.

Judge: You don’t have to flip a coin, and you can’t defer, because there’s only one half.

Prosecutor: You can’t have only one half. You can have one whole, but not just one half. Two halves make a whole.

Judge. Okay, so we’ll have a whole. Proceed.

Defense Attorney: Did you say, “We’ll halve a whole, or we’ll have a whole?”

Judge: Yes, I did. You heard me right.

Dough: Your honor, may I go hide in contempt of court and see if you can find me?

Judge: Absolutely not! You said you didn’t even know where it is!

Dough: I thought maybe you could provide directions. Anyway, I have a GPS, so I’m sure I can find it. Then if you find me in contempt of court, I’ll come back and finish this thing, but if you can’t find me I get to go free. How does that sound?

Judge: It sounds pretty reasonable to me, but I’m warning you, I’m not going to look very hard for you!

Prosecutor: But what about the side bar, your honor? You promised!

Judge: Fine, fine, we’ll have the side bar, but for now, just let this idiot go hide in contempt of court. I’ll try to find him in it later. Order in the court! One side bar for three!