In an effort to get out of the house, practice my photography, and do that neat trick where I synthesize vitamin D using only my skin and sunlight, I packed up the camera, met a friend and headed out to the beach.
I got a few photos, a sunburn, a broken stabilizer bar, and a lesson on political discourse. How did I fit this all in to a single day?
Let me say, it hasn't been easy.
My friend and I were new to the area, and they had beaches you could drive on. I've driven on sand, but only at high speeds in a Volvo made for the task. I was sure though, that my Camry could handle a bit of packed sand, and didn't think twice when I pulled off the road and followed a truck down a trail.
This was my first mistake. The sand got deep, fast, and without having my speed up, I got stuck pretty quick. After 10 minutes of trying to dig myself out, a group of people in a rather large, white, crew cab, extended bed, dualy pick-up truck pulled off the road and backed up to the place where I was stuck.
Without a word, the driver of the truck started unreeling a tow line and handed me an end. Not wanting to have my masculinity called in to question, I made what I hoped would be a competent dive for the sand and wrapped the two line around the first substantial thing I could find. This turned out to be the rear stabilizer bar, which is not nearly as substantial as one would expect. Oh, sure, compression and tension it handles just fine, but sheer forces are another matter. This was my second mistake.
After everything was set in place, the helpful driver got in his truck and proceeded to show me exactly how much force he could apply in a sheer direction to my stabilizer bar. Turns out, it was a lot. I've been towed out of sand before, but never like this. Never with such vigor.
After I undid the tow line the driver opened his mouth and lead me to my third mistake.
"Do you still support Obama?"
He said this in reference to my Obama bumper sticker. I've vowed to leave it on as long as possible. I had to stare at W 2004 stickers in traffic as late as 2007, so I'm giving back a bit.
"Yep" I said.
"Well, when I pulled in and saw your sticker I wasn't going to stop. But the good Lord told me to help you out, so I did."
"Oh." was all I could come up with. "Well, I really appreciate the help. Is there any way I can repay you?"
"No. Just, just remember that someone who's not an Obama supporter helped you out."
Are you ready for it? Ready for mistake number three?
"Aww hell man." I said in my best East Texas drawl "Its just politics. It doesn't mean regular folks don't help one another out."
I wish I could have gotten a picture of the sky opening up and the spirit of Glenn Beck stuffed inside Rush Limbaugh suddenly infesting this man's body. He instantly launched in to a tirade about how Obama is basically the worst person to ever walk and any supporter of his deserved what he got. Only, the tirade was right about the 30 minute mark.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I still appreciate that you helped me."
So what's the moral here? The moral is, don't be this guy. Help shouldn't come with hooks. Assistance shouldn't be predicated on preaching. I was at his mercy and he chose to attack me based on a sticker on my bumper.
Our little micro example here is exactly why organizations like The Salvation Army and the groups that get money from the Office of Faith-Based Initiatives are the worst sort of predators. Like the mystery driver, they have the resources to help those like me who are stuck in some way. It could be a few inches of sand, the miles of filth that is drug addiction, or the sticky web of poverty. But like the mystery driver, they assume that their help has entitled them to some amount of control. It could be a time wasting screed or a requirement for profession of faith. Either way, the results are the same. Help wasn't offered, it was sold and the price was dignity.