You Just Can't Make Stuff Like This Up

We had a relatively quite Memorial Day weekend focused on staying here at the condo and avoiding the bars, restaurants, and all of the “Tourists” in general here on St. Simons Island. Rumor has it that the island was packed, but we chose to not get involved. Call us smart or call us snobbish, we had a lot less stress as a result of our efforts. All seemed quiet to me.

There is a local talk radio show here on AM 1440 that runs from 7:30 to 10:00 each morning that I’ve recently started listening to. The show in its present format is fairly low budget and sort of lame in the commentary, but I have designs on the host’s job—at least on a fill in basis—he just don’t know it yet. I guarantee that I could increase the call volume within three months, although they might be trying to “ride me out of town on a rail…”

Any way, on Tuesday morning I was listening to the talk radio show when a caller told the story of two “Streakers” that were arrested early Sunday morning on the beach down by the fishing pier. By “streakers” I mean “buck nekkid” people—my southern readers know what I mean.

You know—“streakers”—people running ‘round in public with no clothes on.

The story was sort of funny at the time, and on a slow news day a few other callers commented and one guy actually added some additional details, but I basically thought nothing about it, even after hearing the local noon news broadcast giving brief details and the names of the offenders.

Well, let me tell you, over the past two days I have put the story together by doing a little personal sleuthing and guess what…

I know these two young men. Two 20 something year old guys I’ll call Pete and Repeat Here’s what happened…er…um…here’s what they did.

They each work as bartenders down at the local Irish Pub that has been here on the island for almost 40 years. They both worked the night shift Saturday night.

Apparently there was some drinking going on—on both sides of the bar. I mean LOT’s of Drinking. Then the bar closed down at 2:00 AM, and then there were more libations, and some imbibing to be had after roommates Pete and Repeat got home to their rental cottage near the beach.

By 7:30 AM Sunday morning, it must have seemed like a good idea to them to walk out on the beach, strip off their shorts, and jump into the Atlantic Ocean (actually St. Simons Sound) and take a little dip. After running into and out of the surf a couple of times, a bystander notified the authorities of their antics.

This is when the trouble started. Pete and Repeat wandered out of the surf and were walking “buck nekkid” up onto the concrete fishing pier, where they proceeded to dive off into the surf, at great risk to life, limb, and personal private parts (if you know what I mean-there’s sharks out there) and swim back to shore.

Upon exiting the surf this time, they were greeted by an arriving Glynn County patrol squad car. They then delivered various oral explicatives and some universal signs of disrespect utilizing their arms and fingers, finally donning their boxers and running like hell.

Pete was unfortunately apprehended a short distance from the scene of the crime. Repeat initially got away. I say “initially’ because here is what ensued.

Pete, now cooperating with the authorities, politely asked if they would be kind enough to drive by his beach cottage so that he could retrieve his cell phone and wallet, all the better to make phone calls and arrange bail for his indescressions.

The police complied…we have nice officers here in Glynn County. So good so far.

The police, being wise to the ways of the world and not wanting Pete to enter his home alone and retrieve a Uzzi or MK-10000000, or any other potentially lethal, illegal, automatic weapon, elected to enter said premises with Pete and, upon entry, found Repeat reclining on the sofa, basking in the glow of his previous escape.

A couple of thousand dollars later, Pete and Repeat are free on bond, jobless, and Repeat’s father, the Juvenile Court Judge, has dis-owned him.

I swear I’m not lying. As I said earlier—you can’t make this kind of stuff up…