The Mast-Head: Dinner and a Show

By chance Saturday night around suppertime, I had nowhere to be and nothing I had to do and ended up at Indian Wells Beach sitting in my truck in the parking lot having a bite to eat.

Not to plug a local business necessarily, but it is worth mentioning that Michael Clark, at the Cavaniola’s shop in Amagansett Square, had set me up nicely with some shrimp salad and a few other things; I had half a Carissa baguette that I had bought at the Amagansett Farmers Market in the morning. And so, I sat in the truck and watched the evening show. And what a show it was.

Memorial Day weekend brings ’em out, that’s for sure, and the comings and goings at the road end did not let me down. As I was about halfway through my first bite, a shiny new Jeep rolled up and barreled onto the beach and out of site. A few minutes later it came rolling up the other way, only to get stuck in the soft sand just before the lot’s pavement began.

The driver, a young woman, spun the Jeep’s shiny new tires, throwing up a cloud of sand. I stepped out of my truck and walked over to an amused-looking town employee who informed me that he was unable to help under Parks Department rules. I snickered and walked over to see what I could do. 

“It’s kind of a finesse thing,” I told her, as I helped let air out of the tires. After her next two attempts to get back to the pavement, I volunteered to do it myself. The driver accepted, and as I walked back to my truck the town guy sort of leaned over to whisper, “Jeeps are crap,” and then to ask why I did not just offer to drive it off the beach in the first place. “I wanted to watch the show,” I said.

Back to my open-faced shrimp sandwich, it was only a matter of minutes before my attention was drawn to a large Weimaraner doing its business next to the lifeguard stand, while its owner, a couple of steps away, paid no mind. A number of people around it and on a nearby bench stared, mouths agape in what looked like a parody of disbelief.

I grabbed a doggie waste bag from a pole-mounted dispenser, walked over, and asked, “Did that thing just drop a bomb?” It had, they said.

“I’ve got something for you,” I told the dog’s owner, as nonconfrontationally as possible, handing her the bag. Without any fuss, she took it and cleaned up the spot. I went back to my truck.

Things quieted down after that. A couple of young people pulled up and passed around a vape pen, blowing clouds of smoke. Someone talked loudly about real estate on a cellphone in another car. 

I finished my dinner and made a mental note to myself to do this more often.