The Sand Debate

i'd put off going to ocean beach two days in a row-- partly because of the lengthy ride on the 38 and partly because san francisco summers mean foggy beaches. but i'd promised myself several times over that i'd get some sand for a beach-related art project i wanted to complete.

after a third day of fog, i was on my way to meet techboy and brandon at naked lunch, but decided to hit a tiny playground nearby my house first. they're usually good for sand. (by the way, do you guys remember tanbark? what kind of asshole invented that stuff?)

"excuse me," a man said from behind me, "what are you doing?"

i turned to see him hovering above me. i'm certainly not wearing cargo-shorts like you. at first i couldn't understand why the man had any interest in what i was doing, but when my eyes reached his disapproving face i realized he was another parent out to save the day from nothing particularly wrong.

one of these days, i'm going to just look one of these heroes in the eye and tell them i'm rubbing sand on my hands so that when i rape their infant the blood and tears won't make them as slippery and easy to drop. you know, like rock-climbing chalk.

"i'm getting some sand," i said pointing at a small ziploc, "to use for an art project."

"this playground is not here so you can come in and take sand."

"oh," i said, "i have no doubt that it serves many other purposes. but i live right around the corner and it's too foggy for me to go all the way out to the beach."

"yeah, well you can put that back now," he said, pointing at my tiny bag of sand.

"are you being serious?" i asked him.

i had only been crouched down filling the bag for a matter of seconds before he came marching over in his safari outfit. he literally would've had to have seen me walk through the gates and sped over before having any idea what i was planning on doing.

and it's not like i was taking sand out of some kid's castle-building bucket. i was off in the corner, minding my own business and trying to be as quick about it as possible.

for someone so worried about the well-being of the playground, where were his kids?

"what happens when everyone comes and takes sand from this playground? then what?"

"uh," i said, astonished at his question, "i guess then the parks and recreation team refill it?"

"no," he said.

i waited a good amount of time for an explanation following his "no" but he just stood there glaring at me instead.

"well," i said as i stood up, "i'm going to go. sorry if i've somehow offended you."

"you can leave that," he said pointing at my bag.

"look, man," i said, "i'm sure you're going to leave with more sand in your shoes."

that one got him.

in hindsight i would like to have said "...more sand in your vagina." but that would've taken the conversation to an entirely inappropriate level.

and for all i know, that man may have already called the cops and reported me vandalizing or stealing from the park. but the important thing is i got my sand and i can get started on this art project. this was PART III: DISCIPLINE MY CREATIVE MIND EVEN WHEN ANGRY JERKS TRY TO STOP ME.

i'm not even sure i like that sand, after all. it's a bit too pebbly.

p.s. i think it's funny that "p.s." stands for "post script" and was invented during the days of the typewriter when it was more efficient to just add "post script" to the end of your letter than having to go and type the entire thing over just to add one sentence. nowadays, we can use computers to add sentences wherever we choose and yet we still use "p.s." simply because it's kind of cute.