In Memory of K-Mart Dude

About five years ago, I picked up and moved to an island in Florida.  I didn't know a single soul there, and of course, I was apprehensive about picking up and starting a new life on my own.  To top it all off, I moved smack dab in the middle of the Summer, when the islanders all flee home for cooler climates.  Needless to say, no one rolled out the red carpet for me.  Except for one individual.

There is a duplex across the street from my condo unit.  At the time, an “older” couple lived there.  They were extremely friendly.  They smiled and waved and told me what day to put out the trash.  Were it not for them, it would have taken me a lot longer to settle in.  In fact, he was the first local I spoke to after taking possession of my house, outside of the Realtor.  No one in the condo took the time to even notice I arrived, but the couple across the street went out of their way to notice me and make me feel welcome.

I remember my first trip off of the Island.  I went to the local K-Mart to buy those things you inevitably find you need in a new house.  As I was browsing the aisles, I had a sense of someone behind me.  I turned around to see the friendly man across the street. 

“Hi there,” he said warmly.  “Are you finding everything you need okay?”

“Thank you.  I'm still trying to figure out all it is I need, “ I replied.

“Do you know who I am?”  He asked.  Without waiting for an answer or an awkward moment, he continued “I live across the street from you.  Welcome to the neighborhood.  Can we do anything to help you settle in?”  he asked.

Being that we live in a resort community, his next question didn't phase me at all.  “Are you a seasonal person, or are you going to be here more often?”

“No.” I replied.  “I'm not in a dual-residence income bracket.  I can only afford one home,” I joked. 

“Glad to hear that.  You're just what we need in the neighborhood.  We think we're going to like having you across the street.”

That conversation meant more to this scared little transplant than I ever let on. 

Two days later, Hurricane Charley approached, and we had to evacuate the Island.  K-Mart Dude saw me as I pulled back into my driveway, and took the time to welcome me back.

“Don't worry.  We don't have evacuations like that very often around here.  And as you can see, the Island made it through all right.”

A few short weeks later, another storm approached.  I still knew like nobody in the local area.  K-Mart Dude saw me out walking my dog, and he took the time to approach me, to calm me about the oncoming storm.  He told me that most of the locals were not going to evacuate, and I shouldn't feel like I had to either.  He told me we'd probably be flooded in, but said that they'd be sitting it out across the street if I felt scared.  When we all waded out front a few days later, again, he took the time to check on me to see that I'd made it through my first storm all right.  He joked that at least I'd had power a day longer than he, and we laughed while trying to figure out how to string an extension cord across the street so they could save what was still cold in their freezer. 

Unfortunately, after a few short years, K-Mart Dude and his wife moved off the Island.  I never saw him again, but I thought of him often.  Today, I heard that he passed away.

Ironically, in the time since K-Mart Dude moved, I have become very close with the person who lives in the other half of the duplex, someone I never really got to know until K-Mart Dude moved away.  Duplex-mate and I went out for a drink in K-Mart Dude's honor.  Duplex-mate always drinks Rolling Rock, but when we got to the local watering hole, they had run out.  He had a Bud instead, and we raised our glasses in a toast to K-Mart Dude.  Then we decided to we needed to invent a drink in his memory.  We called over the bartender, and we told him we were going to invent the Blue Light Special, in honor of a very special person who had ended his run on Earth earlier that day.  We mixed Blue Curacao, Vodka, and Pineapple Juice, dubbed it the K-Mart Dude Blue Light Special, and raised our glasses. 

“To K-Mart Dude.  A guy as special as you deserves a drink as tasty as this.  We love you, and were lucky to have known you.  Here's to you and your life!”

Two minutes later, the bartender came out from the back.  “Look what I found hiding in the back of the cooler—a single Rolling Rock.”

At that moment, we knew K-Mart Dude had heard us, and that he was sending us a drink in return. 

“How like him,” I commented.  “Only K-Mart Dude would decide to return a toast from across spiritual planes.  Even now, he's still making sure everybody else is okay.”

I never did tell him how special he was for me.  K-Mart Dude was the first person to help take a strange place and make it feel like home to me.  He was the first neighbor I met when I moved to this Island, and as it turns out, my first real friend here.  I never realized how much I appreciated having them as my across the street neighbors until they moved off the Island, and I surely never realized how much K-Mart Dude had meant to me, had done for me, until he was gone.  Now, he has literally and truly moved on to a better place, and this place is all the worse for it. 

Here's to you, K-Mart Dude.  You touched many people in your life.  We love you, and we'll miss you!

(Real names have been replaced to shield the individual's privacy.  But K-mart Dude, you know who you are!)

You Know You're a Local When...

A few of us”regulars” were sitting in our normal area at the bar, conversing amongst ourselves, when we noticed a couple looking for seats together. We all moved “one to the left” to make room for them.

The woman sat down to my right, and instead of saying “Thanks for making space for us,” she blurted “So, you all on vacation?”

“No, we live here.” I replied.

“Well, we're locals,” she bragged. “We're not on vacation. We live here.”

My friend on my left chuckled, snarking “Yeah, that's why none of us have ever seen them before. They're old-timers.”

“Locals?” I queried.

“Yes,” the woman replied. “We're locals. We moved here last week.”

“Well, you're not locals yet, then, “ I joked. “You're still transplants for at least the first six-months.”

At that point, the man started coughing and waving his hand in the air, complaining about the smoky atmosphere. “He doesn't smoke, the woman explained. “I do.”

“That's one way we can tell you're still 'transplants'”, my friend commented.”Locals know not to sit in this corner of this bar if they don't like smoke.”

After the couple moved, our conversation turned to how to know when you're out of that “transplant” phase, and are truly a “local”. Here's some of the ways we came up with to know you've made the cross-over:

You know you're a local when...

• Your name and/or picture appears in the local paper.

• (You really know you're a local when your name appears in an entry in the Police Blotter, instead of just a vague description of the misdemeanor, or when you get a full page article, accompanied by a “flattering” mug shot.)

• You're approached by someone at the Publix. They know your first name, your last name, and in which neighborhood you live. You have no idea whatsoever of who that person is.

• You do, however, recognize your neighbors who are employed at the Publix. You can't even run in-and-out without stopping to chat with at least 3 people.

• Then, when you get to the checkout counter, you chat with the cashier concerning the number of clueless shoppers you encountered in the store, and wonder if they leave carts in the middle of the aisle when they're home in Ontario or Michigan.

• Several people owe you money. They'll buy you a drink, but it will be a long while before they consider actually paying you back.

• You curse the Bridge Tender as you approach, and see the gates going down, because according to your watch, you still have a full three and a half minutes before a scheduled bridge opening.

• It's the first time you've left the Island in a couple of weeks.

• Your idea of “going out of town” is a trip to Tampa.

• You know at least three of the local cops by name.

• You leave your house unlocked when you go to the beach.

• Your idea of crime is the loud renters in the unit behind you.

• You're glad you know those police when you call in your noise complaint at exactly 10:01 pm.

• You're riding a bicycle for the first time in too many years to mention.

• You're glad you know those policeman when that bike gets stolen. You know you can leave your house unlocked, but not your bike.

• You no longer think “The Sandbar” and “The Beachhouse” are the best places to eat on the island.

• Yet, when an obnoxious out-of-towner asks for restaurant advice, you send them to the Sandbar, hoping you won't run into them at your favorite eatery.

• You drag the old Down Parka out of mothballs the first day the temperature drops below 50 degrees.

• You see your beach buddy at the Publix, and you don't recognize him because he's wearing clothing.

• You get asked directions to the beach for the umpteenth time, and you just sigh and point toward the West.

• You no longer go to Manatee Public Beach unless it's to eat, and you only go to Coquina when you want to shop.

• The first thing you do when they're predicting a storm is to hit the liquor store before the stocks run low; the second thing is to check the battery in the cell and portable TV. You only stop at the Publix (for food) as an afterthought.

• You know which convenience stores have generators and are brewing coffee when no one else has power.

• You now own more bathing suits than business suits, and you've started wearing flip flops to work.

• Your income has decreased by 50%, but your quality of life has doubled.

What have I missed? Please leave your comments below.

Locals’ Bill of Rights (Otherwise known as Guidelines for Visitors.)

I live on a small barrier island on the West coast of Florida. From about Thanksgiving until the frost melts up North, we are inundated with seasonal residents and weekly vacationers. Many of these folks are warm, polite people. However, the dip in the economy seemed to bring us a dip in the quality of visitors. The following post is a humorous look at how some of us locals feel about THIS crop of visitors.

This is an open letter to all visitors to our humble Island. We welcome you to our little slice of Paradise, and hope you enjoy your stay. But we also implore you to show consideration for the locals, and observe our local customs during your stay.

Yes, there are some of us who are lucky enough to call this our one and only home. We live here. Year round. And a great number of us are neither snowbirds nor retirees. We’re working class, and we can’t afford the luxury of a second home. Many of us have jobs that have nothing to do with tourism or hospitality. We have to get up in the morning and do the Nine-to-Five thing. (Or the Seven-to-4 thing. Or sometimes even the Six-to-Three thing.) Others work the late shift, and appreciate quiet in the mornings so that they can sleep in.

The world may see the Island as a “resort”, but we view it as our home, a working-class city. Please be mindful of this while you are raising a ruckus in your rental house. Chances are, if you don’t see a shingle hanging outside your window that says “Motel”, you’re staying smack-dab in the middle of a quiet residential neighborhood. Especially if you’re staying in Anna Maria City or Holmes Beach. You have the privilege of being our “temporary neighbors.” We ask that you behave as you would have your own neighbors behave back home. If you want to scream and play loud music early in the morning or late at night, consider staying in one of our many beautiful motels, rather than in a quiet, residential neighborhood.

If your children need a place to run around and play, we have several child-friendly hot-spots on the island. We have playgrounds and tot lots. We have the Skate Park in Holmes Beach. And we have miles of beautiful beach front. All of these provide wonderful places for kids to run around and scream without bothering the neighbors. We even have a couple of playgrounds on the beach.

And speaking of our beaches, there’s no arguing that they’re the most beautiful and most popular part of our island. And we ask that you help us to keep them that way. Although the “No Alcohol on the Beach” rule is barely enforced, we ask you to at least respect the “no glass” rule. There are very good reasons behind this rule. There are trash receptacles by every beach access. Please use them. The Gulf is NOT an appropriate place to deposit your empties. Dirty diapers are especially bad for the wildlife. Likewise, the beach is not a giant ashtray, which is why you’ll see the locals carefully collecting their spent butts before they leave the shore.

We love the beach. We are fishers, and swimmers, and skimmers, and walkers, and we all co-exist peacefully. The skimmers try to stay away from the swimmers, and the swimmers try to stay away from the skimmers. The fishers try to stay away from both groups. If you choose to fish from the beach, rather from one of our many scenic fishing piers, we ask that you find a spot away from the swimmers. The walkers carefully watch the fishers and the skimmers, trying not to get in their way. They hate having to avoid the unfilled craters left by children long gone from that stretch of sand. If your children love digging holes, encourage them to make filling them back up the last activity of the day. It’s one less hazard for the walkers, joggers, and skimmers to have to avoid. And believe it or not, unless they’re below the water line, the surf will not fill the holes back in.

We love our dogs. This is probably one of the most pet-friendly destinations in the country. But the locals have to take their pets to the “Doggie Beach” at Palma Sola. Since we get admonished for bringing our pets past the Beach Access, expect us to do the same to you if we see you with your pets on the sand.

Yes, there are many of us who live here, part-time or full-time. Our island is more than merely a collection of rental units. We love our lawns, and we carefully tend our fruit trees. We get extremely miffed when someone parks on our grass, leaving tire tracks, helps themselves to our fresh fruit without permission, or ignores the local “pooper-scooper” laws. We get angry when we see people littering our beautiful paradise. When we drink, we recycle our empties. We are mindful of our impact on this island, and ask our visitors to show similar consideration.

We are lucky not to have to jump in our cars every time we want to go somewhere. We have wonderful, “green” transportation options on this island: the trolley, and the bicycle. Please take advantage of both. But also, be reminded that a bicycle is considered a motor vehicle in the state of Florida. While you may feel safer on the sidewalk than on the street, remember you are supposed to give way to pedestrians and dog-walkers on the sidewalks; they are not supposed to clear the sidewalk for your bicycle. And be mindful that cars use the streets too—pull over to one side when traffic is approaching, rather than staying three abreast, and use your headlights and tail lights at night. We’d like to see you go home with all your limbs intact, and our insurance rates are high enough.

Speaking of the roadways, we do have some beautiful stretches of scenic highway, replete with palm trees, beaches, and water views. We locals are not immune to the beautiful vistas. We just have someplace we need to get to. For many of us, that place is “work,” maybe even at your intended destination. And we’d like to go the speed limit while we’re going there. We ask that you not slam on your brakes in the middle of the bridge to admire the view. There are parking places on either side of each bridge where you may park and admire to your heart’s desire. Those brick things? They’re crosswalks, not speed bumps. You don’t have to slow down unless a pedestrian is approaching, in which case you’re supposed to stop. The whole circle at Bridge Street is a crosswalk. If there are no pedestrians, there is no need to stop. You’re supposed to yield to the traffic already in the circle or to pedestrians. If there’s neither, then there is no need to stop. And we’d like to remind you that the speed limit is over 25 MPH through most of Holmes Beach (and much of Bradenton Beach.) When you get to that restaurant, and your table’s not ready, it may just be because your assigned server was stuck in that traffic behind the guy going 25 in a 45 zone, slowing down to enjoy the view.

We love our island. We choose to live here because we think it is one of the greatest spots on the planet. And we have the best “locals” around. One of the things that make it such a great vacation spot is that we’re more than just an empty resort town; we’re a collection of colorful townies with eclectic histories. We welcome you to our little slice of paradise. However, we’d like to remind you that it’s our home, and we’d like you to respect it as such. You’re playing in our backyard. Remember those “guest manners” your mother taught you? Treat us with respect and observe our local customs, and we’ll welcome you back into our home, time and again. And we’ll even tell you the REALLY good places to eat.