Month: July 2019

We have all been in the situation where you know you need sunscreen on your back, but you can’t reach. Though there are probably some people around who would do it for you, it still isn’t something you feel confident asking a random stranger on the beach about. That is the focus of the new app “Luber” The app will scan for people nearby and show your their profile. If it looks like a person you would want to lather with sunscreen you swipe right.

There are also options to enter your sunscreen preference. For example if you don’t feel comfortable rubbing it in you are a “SPRUB” which means spray but no rub. If you won’t use chemical sunscreen you are “Mineral Queen.” Some terms from similar apps have also appeared in the app depending on how much hair you have on your back. The scale starts at Seal and goes to Otter, Pup, Wolf, and finally Bear.

“It’s great,” said local waitress, Candace, “I open it up and all of a sudden I am swarmed with helpful people. I think some people aren’t even at the beach, but they come out of their way to help out. It really supports my belief that humans are genuinely good and friendly”

“I haven’t had anyone help me yet,” said Bruce the burly accountant, “I have been keeping my shirt on in the meantime, but I haven’t given up hope yet. I did get a match once, but it was a spam account, which actually got me a new pair of Oakley’s cheap!”

The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, in cooperation with the Dare County Sheriff’s Department, has unveiled a new public information campaign to promote safer summer driving along the Outer Banks. The public face of the promotion will be cartoon crustacean “Crossy Crab,” a sign-wielding sand crab encouraging sensible traffic turns.

NHTSA Lieutenant Peregrine “Poppy” Hargreaves explains: “Dare County highways can experience dense traffic congestion, especially during the summer tourist season. Sometimes, drivers will spot their destination on the other side of the road at the very moment they are passing it and will suddenly swerve across several lanes of traffic in order to reach their objective.”

Locals call this dangerous driving tactic the “Bypass Blitz” because the principal traffic artery along the beach, the five-lane bypass, is a common location for unexpected lane crossings. Another local name is the “Buffet Blitz,” so named because many dangerous cross-lane swerves are prompted by sightings of All-You-Can-Eat Alaskan snow crab leg buffets. Other common destinations include Wings stores, mini-golf courses, national fast-food restaurant chains, and shops with names using the word “vape” as a pun/ironically/nonsensically.

The most dangerous version of the Bypass Blitz is a beeline from the far right lane, across the fast lane, the turn lane, and both oncoming lanes, usually without a turn signal or any awareness of traffic in either direction. The illustrations below show the usual result of this maneuver:

Dare County Director of Disorder Containment James “Flaco” Purdew speaks for local and national safety officials: “We hope that Crossy Crab will bring attention to the very serious danger posed by the Bypass Blitz. If we can reduce the number of blind lane crossings by 50% over the next seven years, we will feel that we have done our job.”

The job of a lifeguard involves hours of mind numbing boredom punctuated with intense adrenaline inducing emergencies. Saving lives is why they are out there, but 99% of the time they are just watching and waiting. Southern Shores Lifeguard Mitchell Buchanan watches as the woman from New Jersey wades into the ocean. His eyes continue to scan the shoreline, observing other swimmers as they frolic in the surf, but his attention keeps returning to the Jersey tourist. 

“Watch,” he says. “This one has no business in the water. This morning she was wearing floaties on her arms. Now she feels confident and thinks she can handle it.”

Sure enough as the woman slogs toward the break a two foot wave nearly knocks her off her feet. As she staggers to regain her balance she side steps closer and closer to a rip current. Buchanan stares, expectantly, as the woman moves closer toward the dangerous rip.

“I could say something,” he argues with himself, “but then I wouldn’t get to save her. I should warn her. No she will just yell at me for ruining her vacation and I will get a reprimand. Yes, yes a little closer now. What am I doing? I can’t just let her… Come on she will be fine. You will save her and be a hero. If you blow the whistle at her everyone on the beach will think your an asshole. Just let nature take it’s course and swoop then swoop in. It’s a win win.”

The woman is tumbled by another wave and this time loses her footing. The rip current sweeps her out to sea. Her arms flail above her head

“She trying to remember those swim lessons she took at the Y back in 1998,” Buchanan says. “Hard to remember important stuff when you are in a death panic. If she drowned it would serve as a lesson for the rest of the tourist herd, but then I wouldn’t get those stats. Tough call.”

Buchanan says he feels bad wishing somebody would drown but he says it is the only way to help others gain awareness of the dangers of the ocean. He says people become complacent about the ocean until somebody dies, and then for a week or so everyone is more careful, which makes his job easier. He notes that the caution level for people visiting from the area where the victim came from tends to last longer, sometimes the entire summer season.

“Where’s she from?” the supervisor asks.

Buchanan’s radio crackles to life; it’s his supervisor asking about the situation with the drowning woman. 

“Trenton,” Buchanan says. “Jersey.”

“Shit. We just had one from Trenton drown in Duck last week. Maybe this lady didn’t get the news. Go ahead and pull her out.”

Buchanan shrugs and slings his lifesaving buoy over a shoulder and he jogs toward the water. He cuts through the water like a pike, straight toward the drowning woman. He reaches her just as she appears to go under one final time and tows her back to shore. She staggers from the water, sputtering, while her family busily records the moment on their cell phones. 

“Look, next time you jump in to save me, could you use a yellow floatie thing? The red doesn’t look so hot with my bathing suit,” she tells the Buchanan. Buchanan shrugs and returns to his stand. 

“Maybe the next one will be from Philly,” he says.