Seeing trash on the beach gives me the tombstone blues, especially when people go out of their way to put it on display.
A few days ago I picked up two beer bottles and a can. The beer bottles were plunged neck-first into the sand. They looked like grave markers. Here lay the remnants of mankind. Rest in peace, decency.
It bums me out to see the beach lined with fireworks, cigarette butts, cups, food wrappers, bottles and cans. I pick up the refuse of others as often as my aching lower body will allow. When I was younger, I didn’t leave Mother Ocean until I had disposed of at least three pieces of garbage every day.
Sadly, studies show that eighty percent of littering is deliberate. People get lazy and then expect others to pick up after them.
That’s not happening. Not in Myrtle Beach. This city does not employ anyone to walk up and down the beach and dispose of trash. The lifeguards are too busy socializing and selling chairs and umbrellas to clean up around their stands.
As a result, much of the trash ends up in the surf’s eternal spin cycle — to be deposited back on the beach or carried farther out to sea. Our refuse is killing sea creatures and making a mess of their habitat.
Some people don’t seem to have a problem with that concept. I do. I wish I could bury those littering fools beneath the bottles that they stuck in the sand.
Epitaph: Here lay irresponsible people who couldn’t handle their beer, buried in sacred sand that they should have held more dear.
Too harsh? Let me know if you think so. Somebody has to yank on my reins every once in awhile.