Don’t Rescue Me
I spend a lot of time perfecting my sedentary lifestyle. At my age, the testosterone is testoster-gone. It’s prudent to live still. Safety first. I’ve explained to my grandchildren that I live in a triangle. One point is my bed before the television. The second point is the loveseat before the bed in front of the television. The third point is the chair on the poop deck adjacent to the television. The point to these points is Pop-Pop watches on TV other people do extreme sports. So, he’s safe from sharks, riptides, jellyfish, rocks, high tide, low tide, even Tide, the detergent. Pop Pop’s wife has retiree-proofed the household cleaning products and is thinking to add beer to the list of toxic products.
I’ve also pointed out to the grandchildren that the constant helicopters that fly by my triangle are keeping an eye in the sky on me. During their last visit the grandkids were rough housing with me on the third point or poop deck chair adjacent to the television. I cried out, “Helicopter over here. Save me.” The helicopter started to turn around. “Yes, they see me. I’m being beat up. Rescue me.” The grandkids hesitated, pulled on ski masks, pommeled me harder then said, “Tell us another joke and story. No one can rescue you in time.”
The helicopter flew off. I wasn’t rescued. I told more stories and jokes. So, I was interested to read Indy’s “Beach-goer is Rescued from Secret Cove.” “Rescuers extracted an unconscious teenager to safety by hoisting him into a helicopter from an isolated cove in South Laguna.” Onlookers and South Laguna residents screamed, “Leave him be. He’s being quiet. It’s the rest of the obnoxious, loudmouth teenagers we want hoisted out of here.” And there were plenty of helicopters dispatched to do the job. An Orange County Fire Authority helicopter and two more sheriff helicopters were on the scene. Fortunately, a fourth helicopter owned by United Airlines radioed dispatch earlier that they were overbooked and had dispatched the teenager back into the brink for the other three helicopters to deal with. It’s unclear whether the teenager was conscious or unconscious at the time of his dispatch.
There seemed to have been some confusion on which helicopter had priority to rescue the stranded teenager. There was also confusion on the name of the location of the incident. Some residents call the area Secret Cove. Other residents call it Lovers Cove. I asked the South Laguna Beach community garden’s scarecrow what was the right name. The scarecrow said, “I don’t know, if I only had a brain. But wait. Let me ask this Morning Dove, who’s been cooing in my ear. The Morning Dove answered. “It is Lovers Cove at low tide. Then becomes Secret Cove at high tide. But always ends in Alimony Strand.”
Meanwhile back in my chair on the poop deck adjacent to the television I sit very still. The helicopters fly by on missions to save extreme sport enthusiasts. “Viva testoster-gone.” Then I tell the grandkids another story and joke.
Crantz tells the Indy that he wishes the stranded teenager a speedy recovery. And thanks the brave personnel who came to his rescue.
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