I presently find my boat tied up at Salty Sam's Marina just across the bridge from Fort Myers Beach. There are but a few boats tied up here and I've yet to see any hired help out and about checking the goings-on at the docks.
This marina is somewhat pricier than the City Marina up the river some fourteen miles and is not quite as nice. I'm thinking that perhaps I could have waited out the stormy weather forecasted for the next couple of days and slipped on out of here without anybody knowing any different. But no, I just had to trek up to the offices first thing this morning and report my arrival and be socked with some hefty daily dockage fees.
Nevertheless there are a few water front business establishments nearby catering to both hungry and thirsty passers-bys including me... so I find myself typing away while sipping on a cold one after having a bowl of so-called "black bean soup" at the "Big Game Bar & Grill".
I did my best to spice up the bean soup with some Tabasco sauce but all they had was a weak imitation of some off brand hot sauce... Which brings to mind the time the car engine in my fully depreciated yet still functioning car was overheating and I was hungry and I had to go pee real bad and I needed a tank full of gas.
This was after driving through the backwoods of Louisiana on my way back to Ennis and after smelling the foul odor of the oil spill. The same foul odor which Rep. Joe Barton would most assuredly claim had the sweet scent of huge corporate oil profits and campaign donations.
However my bladder could no longer hold out before reaching Beaumont so I pull into a service station with a Bar-B-Que diner offering a lunch special. I get a full tank of gas but not before relieving my bladder and later filling my gullet.
Getting my gullet filled was another matter though. Upon entering I couldn't help but note that this was not your generic independently owned service station... as in owned and operated by someone from India but rather a Black establishment not that it mattered to me. Well it's just me walking in with but another patron or two when I walk up to the cash register to place my order.
Behind the counter were two of the largest, fried-food fed sistas one can envision. Both studiously ignoring me with their arms crossed over their enormous bosoms and making up bullsh*t chatter to better justify ignoring me.
Well this did indeed bother me. I don't seem to recall walking in there wearing a ball cap with some moronic backwoods Confederate flag on it declaring to everyone within sight that I disliked all those without a pasty white complexion.
Didn't these sistas know that Barrack is my homey and that we are best buds? ... and that if I were to set sail for Havana and later participate in the annual International Chess Tournament held each November in memory of the late Cuban World Chess Champion Jose Raul Capablanca, that the US State Department would not mess with me?
I finally had to politely interrupt the idle chatter and overlook their abrupt and hostile demeanor directed towards me when placing my food order... which finally brings me back to the Tabasco sauce mentioned somewhat earlier. I purposely pilfered a large bottle of Tabasco sitting on my lunch table because I was pissed-off at the hostile attitude of the two lard-asses behind the counter.
Yeah... I swiped your big bottle of Avery Island's finest hot sauce and I enjoyed every drop of the stuff. I would even splash some over my cornflakes in the morning. Next time I'll pilfer two damned bottles of the stuff if I get anymore of the same attitude.
Not that anyone gives a "fricking fried okra", but my bar-b-que lunch plate along with the mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, collard greens and corned bread was incredibly good and at a very reasonable price.
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