I am highly ritualistic.
Especially in the morning.
And I wake up ridiculously early to protect my morning ritual, no matter what.
Even on vacation.
We go to the same place in Florida every year.
After a quiet hour of coffee-drinking and reading on the lanai, I go for a long-ish run.
And I don’t wear a shirt when I run.
That’s not what you do on vacation.
Now, I’m certainly not turning heads on the beach a la Daniel Crag in Casino Royale.
But I don’t think I’m embarrassing myself, either, running the streets of a South Florida beach town sans tee shirt.
And immediately after my run, I like to jump in the ocean.
There is no better way to cool down.
I occasionally swim out to a buoy about three hundred yards offshore.
And try not to think about sharks.
During flight school, instructors would sometimes let you make a low pass over Pensacola Beach on the way back to home field.
To check out the talent, as they’d say.
And it wasn’t uncommon to see a shiver of sand sharks mulling uncomfortably near a group of unaware swimmers.
The vison of sand sharks always creeps into my head at some point during my swim, and I wind up hauling ass all the way back to the beach.
But that’s fine.
Then, after a quick, open-air rinse-off, I head back to the room for more coffee and something to eat.
The complex where we stay has a loose, no-shoes-no-shirt-no-problem policy, so I feel perfectly comfortable walking around in my shorts and flip-flops.
That’s the way it’s supposed to be on a beach vacation, right?
I do enjoy my morning vacation ritual.
But it required some tweaking this year.
Fort Myers Beach is our usual place.
Which, unfortunately, was all but leveled by Hurricane Ian last September.
So, we relocated to Clearwater.
We’re staying in a high-rise condo building, set back from the beach about a quarter mile.
Among the building’s residents, those with an AARP card far outnumber those without.
There are signs everywhere directing occupants to wear beach cover-ups and footwear in all common areas.
No shoes, no shirt, big problem, apparently.
Senior Floridians’ love of rules is well established.
As Jerry Seinfeld observed of residents of Del Boca Vista in 1998, “These people work and wait their whole lives to move down here and enforce these rules!”
Still, I assumed there had to be a loophole for early morning runners not wanting to wear tee shirts.
But, in case not, I exited the building the first morning, shirtless, via the stairwell.
No one ever uses the stairs in a place like this, I figured.
I got out of the building without encountering anyone and proceeded on my run.
But, when I returned, I found the door to the stairwell locked from the inside, and I was unable to get in.
So, I took the elevator.
And, of course, I immediately encountered a retiree who wryly observed, “Looks like someone stole your shirt.”
Okay, dude.
Message received.
I don’t want any trouble here.
Of course, my other problem was the distance between the condo and the beach.
In Fort Myers, it’s literally steps from our door.
Here, it’s a haul.
And I have no interest after a run in the subtropical humidity to make that haul.
But the pool, on the other hand, is right out the back door.
So, the next day, I staged my towel and tee shirt on one of the poolside chairs before heading out for my run.
It was about six-thirty.
When I returned an hour later, I showered off, jumped in the pool, and paddled around for half an hour.
It was quite nice.
I did notice on the list of rules that covered an entire wall next to the pool that it apparently didn’t officially open until eight o’clock.
Again, I thought perhaps there might be a loophole for early morning runners.
So, the next morning, I once again walked through the little gate onto the pool deck and staged my towel and tee shirt.
But, when I went to leave, I found the gate had locked behind me.
I couldn’t get out. Through the gate, at least.
My only option then was to jump the wall.
And hope some over-zealous, senior-citizen resident didn’t see me and call the cops.
I went on my run, hoping for the best.
Then, when I returned, the security guard at the front gate stopped me.
“Was that you in the pool yesterday morning?” she asked me. “I could see someone in the pool on my camera, and it looked like you.”
Whew. She didn’t mention the wall-jumping.
Yes, I told her. I was in the pool.
“You can’t be in the pool until eight o’clock,” she said, sternly. “That’s the rule.”
Well, I said, I didn’t realize that until I was already in the pool.
And why not get in the pool?
As Maverick told Viper in the original Top Gun, “I had the shot. There was no danger. So I took it.”
Made sense to me.
“How’d you even get in there in the first place?” she asked.
I walked right in, I said.
“Well, that gate’s supposed to be locked,” she said, displeased. “I’ll have to talk to my night security manager about that.”
Yes, you should do that.
And stop bothering me about it.
Now, in fairness to her, I’m sure the condo board president is all over her ass on a regular basis about enforcing these rules.
Peace be with you, security lady.
The next morning, I staged my towel and tee shirt as before, but without actually entering the pool area.
I reached over the wall I’d jumped the previous morning and dropped them onto a chair on the pool deck below.
And I timed my departure to return just after eight o’clock.
That way, I could enjoy my post-run swim without breaking any rules.
I took off running and returned as planned.
This time, I encountered the security guard as she was walking away from the pool area towards the front gate.
Is the pool open for business? I asked her, trying to exude a no-hard-feelings-about-yesterday vibe.
“Yes,” she said curtly. She was clearly still annoyed with me.
And then I noticed she was holding my towel and tee shirt.
“Are these yours?” she asked me.
Yes, I told her. Those are indeed mine.
“Well, how did they get into the pool area? I told you you couldn’t be in there before eight o’clock,” she said.
I wasn’t in the pool area before eight, I explained. I dropped them over the wall.
She seemed confused.
“But you can’t be in the pool area before eight,” she said again, starting to get angry.
I wasn’t in the pool area before eight, I repeated.
“Well, your stuff can’t be in the pool area before eight, either,” she said with finality.
Shit, lady.
You’re exhausting me.
Stepping back, I’m reminded of a couple things.
First, I’m really no different than the people on condo boards throughout Florida who set these ridiculous rules.
I enjoy rituals. They bring order and comfort to my life.
Rituals require rules. And I have plenty of my own, some of which others may find absurd.
Like my wife and daughter.
Second, I should be happy I’m still young enough to laugh at these crazy condo rules.
That point was driven home when I read the last rule on the sign at the pool.
Incontinent persons without bladder or bowel control are not permitted in the pool.
Yikes.
At least I still have bladder and bowel control.
For now.
You win, security lady.
You won’t find me
Or my stuff
Or my bladder
Or my bowels
Anywhere near the pool
Before eight o’clock.
Ever again.
You’re welcome.