Here’s why I didn’t do June Week


So, the post-high school kids are here, doing all the things I wanted to do back then but could not, as my parents wisely concluded that I was too (pick one or more) 1. Immature, 2. Irresponsible, 3. Irrevocably Irreverent, or, 4. Too broke to come to Ocean City to celebrate with my other friends who weren’t broke, but were 1, 2, and 3 combined.

The exact reason I was unable to participate in the inevitable destruction meted out locally by my sorry friends remains a little vague, but I suspect it had more to do with the absence of money than anything else.

That would be because I was too (see 1, 2, and 3 above) to worry about such things as working and making money, that being the province of adults who, it seemed to me, had apparently dedicated their post-education lives to having no fun.

Although it was explained to me countless times that having money gave people the opportunity to have even more fun, I could not find anyone in my community, beyond a certain character named “Skeeter,” who actually had as much fun as money.

Skeeter, incidentally, a man well into his 60s, was most notable for riding the merry-go-round at the fire company carnival one night while he was blazing drunk and repeatedly yelling, “Yeeehaaaaa.”

Obviously, he drew quite the crowd, including the local constabulary, which hustled Skeeter off to the pokey, yeeehaaaaa-ing all the way.

Impressive as that might have been, it occurred to me that his way might not represent a good career path and that perhaps getting a summer job might be in order. So I did. At a tomato juice cocktail plant, with a company that recognized my talents. I was in charge of the onion-peeling machine, which was the real reason I didn’t make it to this town back then.

No one’s going anywhere with a guy who smells like Italian dressing, no matter how prosperous he might be.

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