“You just called me R. Richard, what they call me at work.  Do you know what they call me at the beach?”

“I have no idea.”

“They call me Beast.  Nobody comes up and talks to the girl, when she walks with Beast.”

The lady looks art me for a bit and then says, “This has got to be the dumbest thing that I have done in some time.”

I go and get the wine and the cranberry juice.  I get in my car and then lead the lady's group to a little beach area street that dead ends.  However, it really doesn't just dead end.  There's a little spur that branches off the apparent dead end and we find parking there.

The lady then pours us wine coolers.

(You need to think back to your own 15 to 16-year-old time.  You're not gonna get kiddie soda pop.  No, you're gonna get grown up wine!  Let the kiddies drink their soda pop, BB movin' up!)

We sip our wine coolers, as I lead the others back to the street fair.  We get to the street fair.  There are tables set up offering sea shells, hand made jewelry, hand made sea shell jewelry, bathing suits, driftwood lamps, etc.

The Beast assumes his, 'You try to talk to my chick, I rip your balls off' face and the BB and I stroll past the various tables.

(Most of the stuff offered is basically trash.  However, there are a few semi-nice items.  The lady's bikinis are all guaranteed to show camel toe.  The driftwood lamps are apparently genuine but not from the local beaches.)

As the BB and I stroll through the street fair, several horn dogs address me, from a distance, as Beast.

The BB asks, “Why do they call you Beast?”

I lecture, “I'm an average sized guy, but I fight dirty.  Some punk attacked me the first day I got to the beach.  I black out during periods of violence, but I apparently defended myself. When they pried punk boy off the sidewalk, they took it to University Hospital and I haven't had any real trouble since.  However, some local wit named me Beast and the name stuck.”

The BB asks me, “Did the police talk to you?”

“Alas, I asked them to arrest the punk and I offered to prefer charges.  However, they seemed only concerned about the punk.”

The BB asks, “Why is it that boys fight?”

“I have no idea.  I'm a peaceful individual, myself.  However, if some punk wants trouble, I can apparently give punky boy that.”

We then walk past a selection of surf boards.

The BB asks me, “Do you surf?”

I laugh, “Like you, I have very white skin.  If it has to be done in the sun, I mostly don't do it.”

The BB laughs, “Yeah, I use sun block and mostly stay under a beach umbrella.”

“Very wise.  There are ladies at the beach who got the jungle tan, back when.  Now, they have skin like a ruffled potato chip and they see a dermatologist on a regular basis.”

The BB says, “Yeah, some of the girls at school overdo it and they get sunburned.”

I ask, “What do you take in school?”

The BB says, “English, American history, choir, drama, stuff like that.”

I ask, “Can you type?”

The BB says, “No, why do you ask?”

I lecture, “If you learn to type, you can maybe get a summer job as a secretary.  Working as a secretary, even for just a summer, you'll learn more about dealing with adult ladies than four years of 'To be or not to be.'  You'll deal with adult ladies for the rest of your life, not so with, 'To be or not to be.'”

The BB thinks for a bit and then asks, “What is it that you do?”

“I'm a computer programmer.  I sometimes work with the lady that you're staying with.”

The BB says, “Yeah, that's what she says.  Is programming computers hard?”

I laugh, “Not for me it isn't.  Now singing, that's hard for me;.  My singing voice has been compared, unfavorably, to the croaking of a toad.”

The BB laughs and says, “I can sing, but I don't know how to program a computer.”

“The secret to a happy life is to find out what you're good at and do that, if you can.  At the same time, try to avoid doing what you're not good at, when practical.”

The BB asks, “What are those guys, back in the corner doing?”

“Selling drugs.  Don't have anything to do with illegal drugs.”

The BB says, “Some of the girls say that drugs are really fun.”

I ask, “Do you like to go to a dance?”

The BB looks at me quizically and then says, “Well, yes.”

I lecture “Going to a dance is real life.  Staying in your room and pretending that you're at a dance, that's drugs.”

The BB asks me, “You don't do drugs.”

“I have to live in the real world.  Drugs wouldn't help me survive in the real world.  I don't do illegal drugs.”

The BB says, “Don't you sometimes like to dream?”

I laugh, “Pleasant dreams yes.  Nightmares no.  If you do illegal drugs, sooner or later you wake up to a nightmare.”

The BB says, “That's what they tell me, in school.”

“Probably one of the few true things that they tell you there.”

The BB asks me, “What did you take in school?”

I laugh, “Mostly I didn't.  I stole books from the library and learned on my own.  I always took the books back to the library.”

The BB says, “That wouldn't work for me.”

“Of course not.  You're a girl, I'm a man.  You have to do what the other girls, then ladies do, that's how girls work.  I'm a man, I have to make my own way in the world.”

The BB asks me, “You think that what girls do is silly?”

“Not at all.  Girls have to do what all the other girls do and that holds true for the rest of a girl's life.”

The BB asks, “But, you can do what you want?”

I laugh, “When I was younger, there was a guy who thought that he could do whatever he wanted.  Then he met me.  He found out, the hard way, that he couldn't do whatever he wanted.  I taught myself to program computers and I'm good at it.  However, I have to talk very politely to the man who has a programming job to offer.  If I don't, I can wind up with no job.”

The BB says, “You make everything sound so complicated.”

“Real life is complicated.  Everyday you find yourself making decisions that can impact the rest of your life.”

The BB says, “Oh look, there's a woman selling spices, pretty cheap.”

“Yeah, she buys, on the cheap, a large container of very old spice that's sat in the sun for way too long, puts the stuff in little bottles and sells it below what the supermarket asks.  It's cheap but not a bargain.”

The BB asks, “You know her?”

“Not really.  She sells spice around the beach, mostly to brainless little girls who buy on price alone.  Lady friends of mine warned me.”

The BB says, “Look, they have T shirts for sale.”

“Yeah.  You notice that some of the T shirts sell for twice as much.”

“Yeah.”

“The expensive ones are this year's artwork.  The cheap ones are last year's art work.  Same shirt. Just different art work.  If you wear last year's design, chances are you get called on it.  If you wear this years design, you're okay, for this year.”

The BB intones, “Ya gotta stay in fashion!”