- May 2, 2024
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When it comes to natural disasters, you’ve almost got to feel bad for tropical storms.
Equipped with their best serious voices, TV weathermen work hard to legitimize the poor guys. The most recent storm had especially bad luck with a name like Beryl, which hasn’t been popular in a century. Is it a boy’s name? A girl’s name?
But in the end, I just can’t help but imagine every reporter on every station as a father trying to bolster confidence in his shrimpy 6-year-old kid, the one who’s shirtless and thinks he’s a wrestler, rocking a Ninja Turtles blanket cape.
“And now,” the dad says, announcing into a wooden spoon, “hailing from behind the jungle gym, weighing in at 42 pounds: the big … the bad … the Beryl!”
And then Beryl stomps out and flexes his twig arms. Snarls with a missing front tooth. Tries to growl but ends up coughing.
Still, Tropical Storm Beryl blew in last weekend and did his worst. He brought rain. He brought wind. He maybe even ruined a Memorial Day barbecue or two.
But, really, all he did to Flagler was help lift its burn ban.
“I’m serious,” the little squirt kept threatening, as his bands inched closer to the coast. “I’m really going to hit you hard this time.” And like fathers placating our kids, we told him he was he was just too tough for us.
But our hearts were never in it.
Breaking news-wise, Bad Girl Beryl never stood a chance. As a community, our attention was simply elsewhere.
We had fried chicken to think about.
It was a dreary day in Palm Coast when word got out that Zaxby’s had submitted a site-plan application. It was gray, the kind of day when people in relationships get dumped, then aimlessly walk around town, Charlie Brown-sad, only to be splashed by puddle water from passing cars.
On the PCO Facebook page, however, the gloom was gone. Zaxby’s news broke. And people went nuts.
In less than an hour, the Zaxby’s permit story collected 31 Facebook likes and 77 comments. The site hadn’t seen that much action since the School Board approved flip-flops in its uniforms policy.
So it got me thinking.
For years, we’ve been bullied by these no-good, rotten, yellow-bellied tropical storms. We watch them strut around and taunt us. Like chumps, we pull in our garbage pails and flower pots whenever they get close. But, in one fell swoop, Zaxby’s put things back into perspective.
Beryl needed a gut-check.
With fiery indignation, I made a series of harassment posters: “Beryl < Zaxby’s,” “Does your face hurt? ’Cuz it’s killing me!” and then a softer sell, just, “How dare you?” Then I trudged into the rain and taped them to my roof, so I’d be sure he’d get an eyeful.
“Party’s over, pal,” I yelled into the sky, taping posters onto shingles. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen!”
Looking back, I have to admit I sort of regret running the puny runt out of town like that. But if I’ve learned anything from mafia movies it’s that, if you want to send a message, you’ve got to make an example.
So, to any other tropical storms out there, beware. Maybe you used to be big news in Flagler. But there’s a new sheriff in town. And he brought chicken.
