"I love this island," she exclaimed as we stood around the pool table in Bennie's for the afternoon gathering of "The Bored."
"Tybee is just one great island," she gushed on. "The ocean, the breeze, the Palm Trees ... the laid back way of it ... and everyone is just so friendly and accepting."
"Uh, huh," several of us muttered as we either (a) sipped our libation (b) ordered another round (c) watched whoever was taking the next shot at the pool table (d) took the next shot at the pool table or ... was doing what I was doing which was watching girls walk down the sidewalk in bikinis.
"The only thing that I don't understand," she went on in an exasperated and exaggerated way "is why y'all can't decide on a speed limit."
Everyone in the place stopped what they were doing at the same time and looked at her.
Well ... everyone except me.
I was incredibly focused.
"What?" Johnny O asked.
She placed her hands on her hips. Wearing shorts and and an air-brushed tee shirt with a colorful painting of a pirate driving a stock car into a sunset over the ocean. Her fingernails were painted blue with designer streaks in them and her toenails were matching. The earrings were silver dolphins dangling. The sandals were Birkenstocks ... with black socks. She was pretty enough in a non-matching sort of way.
"What I mean is," she said looking at Johnny O as though he were a fifth grader, "is why in the hell does your speed limit keep changing? I mean one second it's 30 miles an hour and the next second it's 29. Then it changes again for God's sake! Then it's 32 and then it's 30 again."
The entire crowd gathered at Bennie's burst into explosive laughter as though the Tybee Bomb had finally gone off. Turning my head from the girls in bikinis, I saw Johnny O's mischievous grin and the woman's confused look as to why everyone in the whole damn bar was laughing their heads off.
Johnny O leaned his pool stick against the table and put his arm around her. He looked like a missionary who had found a lost person in the woods of Africa. She looked up at him like a lost person in a bar on Tybee Island.
"Honey," he said with words soaked in honest sarcasm, "have you ever seen a speed detector?"
Appearing confused yet confident she replied, "No sir but I seen signs all up and down the expressway that speeds in Georgia are detected by detection devices."
The Tybee Bomb went off a second time. Bennie's exploded in laughter. Girls in bikinis wandered inside to see what was going on. Because I was standing by the door, I grabbed a stool and pretended to be the bouncer and asked for their ID's to get inside, which they obviously had to search for.
It was a good day.
Johnny O was still giving the missionary smile.
"Honey," he said, "its a machine that lets you know how fast you're driving so you know if you're going over the speed limit or going under it. It's a public service."
"Oh," she said in that embarrassed sort of way.
"Don't worry about it," Johnny O said putting his arm around her. "It's not for you."
"What?" she asked with tears welling up in her eyes.
"Hell no," Johnny O said still hugging her.
"What's it for?" she asked wiping snot off of nose with her arm.
"The Tybee Island Police Department," he explained.
"Thank you," she said wiping more snot off her nose with the other arm.
"Sure thing Hon," Johnny O continued. "Next we'll teach you about Parking Services."
The Tybee Bomb went off yet again.
