Let me first apologize for my sporadic timing of my recent entries. I had some equipment failure in the form of a laptop that seems to have taken on a life of its own. None of my children are owning up to whom is responsible for the glitches which rendered it practically useless. In any event, I think all is back in order now. And my domestic situation is not presently conducive to going to the library to write and be able to focus and concentrate. So here we go, a little bit later than I wanted to post this, but I think you’ll all get the gist.
We find ourselves now fresh on the heels of our favorite weekend of the year for all Ocean City locals and even part-time residents [he said with heavy sarcasm]. That weekend, which much to our dismay has now become an entire week, is when H2O International comes to town. If you’re not familiar with this little annual autumn gem it’s a massive and ever growing influx of a subhuman, subculture who sugarcoat themselves under the guise of ‘car enthusiasts’. Though I think most of us here would more aptly refer to them as space-wasting, trouble-making jackasses.
To be clear, this is by no means a Town of Ocean City sanctioned event. It’s organized through social media, and there are just enough out-of-work, over privileged, suburban, caucasian, thug-wannabe losers that hail from all over North America to render our quaint little beach town undesirable for the week. I know that they come from all over North America because I have to card everyone that sits at the bar. I can only assume that this is because anyone over 25 years of age has outgrown the fantasy of being a cast member in the Fast and Furious movies which incidentally went six installments too many. Or they were finally forced to move out of their parents basement. It’s really nothing more than a modern day version of Dungeons & Dragons for kids who know how to work a wrench. And for what it’s worth kids, if your hero is Vin Diesel than your future is more dim than the intellectual prowess of a member of congress. And if your entire wardrobe consists of jeans that are two sizes too large and hang below your ass, white ‘wife beater’ tank tops that are two sizes too small, and baseball caps worn with the brim cocked to the side, don’t rule out driving into the inlet as a viable option next time you’re in town.
If it seems like I’m being overly harsh towards these wastes of flesh, it’s because I am. My life is so great now in fact that recently I’ve been trying to keep my posts a little more positive. In fact, I promised myself that I wasn’t even going to write about the “fart car” culture this year. But then the first batch of them came into the bar last Tuesday night. The first pair I waited on (and gave impeccable service to just to prove my point) had a check that totaled $38.49. They told me how great everything was and wrote in a .51 tip on their credit card. At that point, just outright stiff me. I’d much rather think you’re an idiot than an asshole. Each subsequent group was pretty much the same. I try not to generalize groups based upon a few individuals, but until I have just a single one prove otherwise, I’m going to lump them all together. It’s the same every year!
The premise to this group who come in droves predominantly from places like Ohio, Quebec, Massachusetts, and of course, Middle Earth, is to buy old German-made cars, mostly Volkswagens and Audis, and devote their entire lives to fixing them up into street race cars and ‘show’ vehicles to be admired by other people who won’t get laid this year. There were more old piece of crap VW’s in town this past week than there were at Woodstock. By and large, the vehicles of choice seem to be older model VW Rabbits and Jettas. This is actually pretty hysterical to me because when I think back to my own youth, these are the exact cars that all of the upper middle class girls in my school used to get as Sweet 16 gifts. If you ever saw a guy driving one of these it meant one of two things. Either he had to borrow his sister’s car or he was a complete and total douchebag. Ironically enough, 30 years later that hasn’t changed a bit.
When they come into the bar (unfortunately), they’re usually in groups of about 8-10 guys and only one girl. This is because the only one out of the group who could miraculously pull a girlfriend only has her because she is so incredibly pissed at her father for whatever reason that this was the absolute worst thing she could do to get back at him. Mission accomplished young lady. As a father I promise you got Dad’s attention. I guarantee if one of these tools ever showed up on my front porch to pick up one of my daughters that’s as close as they’d ever get to her. Now go make up with your father and get out of this racket while you still have a chance at a future brighter than check out girl at a Dollar General.
I’ll admit (and I’ll venture to say that I’m not the only local who thinks this) that each year when they come, I spend the entire week fantasizing that I drive a monster truck and own a grenade launcher. I’d just drive around town maniacally giggling like Renfield. I’ll also now admit that I couldn’t be more thrilled about the weather while they were here. Of course I don’t want any destruction done to our town, but since most of these pathetic excuses for vehicles sit about 4-inches off the ground, I was hoping for just enough flooding to send the message that Mother Nature thinks they’re assholes too. It’s one of the rare times that I actually feel cool driving a minivan. At least the original creators of ‘low riders’ had the decency to take good old fashioned American made steel and muscle them up. These punks spend $400.00 on an ‘87 V-Dub and then max out mommy and daddy’s credit cards to make them look like lava lamps and sound like a Whoopie cushion.
I think I’ve made my point, and presented my opinions of this group unequivocally, so I’ll end my rant here. The point being, unless you own a roll back tow truck, no one in town makes any money on these clowns. And as far as the weather is concerned, I didn’t mean to make light of a potentially dangerous situation. I’m deeply bummed that we lost both Winefest and most of the Realtors convention. I’m glad that Ocean City sustained minimal damage from the storms, and I hope everyone emerged unscathed.
Thanks for playing along. Until next week, Syd Nichols
Please share your thoughts with me at sydnichols@yahoo.com
