Going to LA

“Aren’t you tan for someone who never sits in the sun?”

“Yes, I just back from LA,” I told my friend.

“LA? Wow! You went all the way there?”

“Why not? I’m fully vaccinated, and I was ready to get away.”

“Was it hot, with the heat wave hitting the west?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “My LA wasn’t in California. I went to the Gulf of Mexico, you know, the other LA-Lower Alabama!”

We both had a good laugh, so I told her about the rest of my trip. My family had the usual good times that involved swimming, relaxing and eating an abundance of fresh seafood.

“The best part was knowing that I could simply relax,” I told her. “There was no way that I would ever see any of those other tourists again, so what did it matter if my hair was frizzy, and my face was devoid of make-up? The whole trip was a total rest. Some people call it the Redneck Riviera, but it was pure paradise after more than a year at home.”

“Well, I love the gulf coast, too,” she said. “And you’re right. It’s not like you were going to see the Obamas in Orange Beach. The place is very laid back.”

“Unfortunately, we did have one incident,” I confided.

She raised her eyebrows in question, so I launched into the story.

Our family was enjoying a quiet, low-keyed trip until one sunny afternoon. While I was floating in the pool of our condominium with my husband, a loud alarm started to sound. Everyone that was in ear shot of the blaring noise turned to stare at our building.

Before anyone could figure out what was happening, the door from the business office opened and a woman holding a baby stomped onto the pool deck. Her body language told everyone outside that she was angry. Within seconds, a sheepish looking man appeared at her side

“How could you set our condo on fire, Dale?” she shouted at him.

“I…I….,” the man stammered.

At this point, people stopped whatever they were doing and just watched the couple.

“Damn it, Dale!” the woman yelled. “I asked you to do one thing-make the baby a bottle-and you set the kitchen on fire!”

Damnit Dale simply lowered his head and mumbled, “I just fell asleep.”

“With a baby bottle on the stove, Dale? What were you thinking?”

Now the gathering crowd of onlookers began to resemble the audience of Wimbledon-heads swiveling back and forth as the pair argued. In addition to the drama, the fire alarm was continuing its earsplitting shriek, which meant that no one could enter the property. Hundreds of people were stuck outside in the heat watching the drama.

Angry whispers started to circulate among the swimmers. Damnit Dale was quickly becoming the object of scorn from his fellow vacationers who started to worry that they would spend the night in a lounge chair by the pool. Suddenly, a firefighter appeared at the office doorway.

“Dale,” a firefighter called to the now infamous man. “Will you come with me, sir?”

The husband trotted into the building behind the Baldwin County Fireman, while his wife and now very fussy baby walked back into the business office. Within minutes, the fire alarm ceased. Relieved tourists started to return to their rooms.

Later that night, we learned that the couple had been safely relocated to another condominium. As our family walked past the yellow police tape that covered the front balcony of their former unit, I hoped for the best for Dale and his family.

“At least no one was hurt,” my husband said, “Stuff can always be replaced,’

“My bet is that Dale won’t leave a bottle on the stove again,” I added.

“Well,” my husband said with a wink, “mistakes happen, but this just goes to show that you can’t cry over spilled milk.”