The month of August used to always bring on a strong sigh of relief for those of us who live here year-round. Yes, it’s right around the corner. It’s hard to believe, since many of us haven’t been out of the house since March with the announcement of the pandemic. August was a signal that there is a light at the massive traffic jam end of the tunnel.
History tells us July was named after Julius Caesar by the Roman Senate, after much wrangling and corruption over the old calendar. It’s sort of similar to the modern dilemma in the federal government, only back then they had this centurion named Stu the Great, who actually made decisions. Well, there were some rumors about cement togas and DNA.
Not to be outdone, August was named after the Roman Emperor Augustus after he defeated Marc Antony and Cleopatra, which explains why there are so many legal shows like “Judge Judy” and “Hot Bench” today, not to mention August is now known as National Goat Cheese month. Seriously!
In any case, the month of August was fraught with battles, upheavals, wars and controversies. This is why you can’t let your guard down. Again, this is much like today’s political commentators and causes. Most of them I think are in the Oval Office, but that’s a subject for another day.
Secretly, amongst some people, August used to be known as the Last House Guest From Hell month. You remember, with the waning moments of summer around the corner, the final burst of relatives, friends, in-laws, uncles with steel plates in their head, and people you met in line for the bathroom at a truck stop in Pennsylvania will descend like one of those Japanese movies where millions are shown fleeing Godzilla.
And these aren’t just any guests. Most of them stopped having a pulse years ago and their palm print is permanently embedded on the remote control. There is no advance warning before they arrive, either.
In the good old days, we were tan, rested and ready. We would come up with all the excuses you could want for these drop-in guests, even if your face was frozen in a Botox smile. It isn’t going to help now, other than it might be good for your resume should you decide to run for public office. Telling them you are waiting for your virus test results isn’t going to cut it either, since Uncle Bob has hoof and mouth disease anyway.
Sure, you could put a For Sale sign out in front of the house, but remember you are dealing with experts here, that’s why the Winnebago is stocked with air mattresses.
The guest I always fear is the cruise director. This person wakes up happy every morning and asks the dreaded question, “What’s there to do around here?” Hello, there is the ocean, which is what most people come here to experience.
But this person has to be busy every minute of every hour – barbecues, movies, shopping, road racing, mud wrestling, bowling, you name it, you are going to be doing it. The talking is nonstop, interspersed with jingling of coins in his pocket. Hey, just rake your nails over a blackboard and get it over with. Let’s face it, the only peace you are going to get is if you take up scuba diving,
The idea is not to get caught in the first place. That means never answering your phone, doorbell, or mail. And for heaven’s sake never be seen during the daylight hours. Skulking around in the dark is well worth it. You probably don’t have any rods and cones left anyway from all those three-lane jump-overs by vehicles driven by visitors that subscribe to the Fidel Castro School of Driving, Newark New Jersey Division.
Should the inevitable happen (here you may make the sign of the cross) I would adopt the attitude of Frankie Laine’s version of “Rawhide”: “Move ‘em on and move ‘em out!” God, I miss the good old days.
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Nancy Katz has a degree in creative writing and is the author of the book, "Notes from the Beach." She has written the column Around Town for the Cape Gazette for twenty years. Her style is satirical and deals with all aspects of living in a resort area on Delmarva.
